ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ & ˡᶦᵍʰᵗ

❛  𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 ❜ 

[kagoshou]

P I N N E D  P O S T .

ind. coffeeman account. my ( pretty generic ) rules can be found here; some additional character info to help with interactions for people who aren’t too familiar with this guy can be found here. reminder that my take on him might not match certain simplistic ‘fandom interpretations.’ 

                                   -----  ✦ HIATUS INFO ✦ ----- due to personal circumstances (work, overall exhaustion, various deadlines, no mental capacity for social interaction, etc.) i’m currently taking a break! you may expect zero to spotty activity for the time being. i’ll be back. catch me on discord/private blogs the meantime.                                    -----  ✦ HIATUS INFO ✦ -----

✦ useful links: verses, ask prompts ( just browse if you want to start interactions but don’t know how? don’t mind the dates. i don’t rb a lot of them. ), some of my art, memes to steal, fun little sideblog with ace attorney ocs.

✦ useless trivia: pro-crocs, team moozilla, team stepladder.

[kagoshou]

wishlist for interactions etc.:

post-timeskip investigation but go*dot is getting a bit too into the detective noir atmosphere ( novel research purposes or just for the hell of it ) and committing hard to his role; ironically probably with decent results

murder cases in jail while he's still in jail. investigating in spite of being in jail

supernatural encounters/exploring his relationship with the spiritual world ( whether it is bc he 'died' or due to his proximity with the fey clan, he's definitely more attentive to it than most )

coffee disappearances. and now you have to deal with him decaffeinated. it's a terrible experience for everyone involved so you better quickly figure out where all the coffee went

visiting/hiking around the fey clan mountainscape

cruise ship murder mystery. complete with gambling and ... person #2 eventually realizing that go*dots a wild card since he can't fuckin see the red on cards or the roulette

go*dot being called in to provide a workshop/lesson for younger lawyers, give general advice on different legal scenarios, teach about intimidation strategies, and naturally this all sort of escalates

go*dot driving a car when he really shouldn't. who the hell let him

roped into someone's stage play because a person called in sick last minute. commits to the bit

cryptid hunting/investigation with someone, only it becomes increasingly clear over time that the cryptid of legend is actually go*dot who's been seen at night in the shape of a disembodied red glow. only the guy seems to not realize it. or is having too much fun and refuses to point it out

group of guys breaking out of jail and deciding he makes a good hostage ( wrong. he's insufferable and has no self-preservation instinct )

pilfered something interesting from a crime scene which unexpectedly is crucial evidence. spends the day being hunted down for sport with sb trying to take him out. whoever is with him gets to be targeted along with him without even knowing why ♡

[bloodxhound]

GODOT.

          “—you want to know … ?” it seems this is the correct question to make his face lighten up proper; even if the light source in question is little more than placid mirth fueled by an invitation to play cat & mouse over more trivial matters. ( a weight less heavy for either of them ). “ha. you’re already familiar with some of it. the remaining bits, i’ll leave up to your outstanding deductive abilities. consider that the price of competence.” a tease, of course. but not a baseless one. he knows it to be the truth, one way or another. knows that the man is more than capable of putting together pieces the size of dust particles and still find discover something of value. DECIDES, quietly, as he so tends to do, that this is why he prefers to move heedfully: as not to raise any.

          “either way: there are people who like to drink their post-dinner espresso just so. … and there are also people who are frightfully apt at guzzling my coffee before i could ever get a second sip in.” he makes it a point to consider the detective with a prolonged, three-striped stare. ( yes. you. ) “lucky for me, ‘savoring’ this is par for the course.”

     𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊. A smirk slinks onto his lips as he regards the other man with a deliberate tilt of his head, as if to announce he made a big mistake in leaving this up to the detective’s imagination.   ❛❛ Let’s see… ❜❜   Stroking his chin, he feigns deep contemplation for a moment.   ❛❛ Jittery hands. Coffee breath that you can smell from the other side of the room. Aggression near the coffee maker. Toilet breaks ev’ry thirty minutes. ❜❜   Shoulders squared, his chin raises in tandem with the corners of his mouth; he’s clearly enjoying himself.   ❛❛ I forgot anythin’? ❜❜

     The silent accusation is met with that same self-satisfied smirk that is near impossible to wipe off his face once it has made its appearance.   ❛❛ This might shock you, but some of us don’t got the time to savor ev’ry cup. Sometimes it’s all ‘bout that quick fix. ❜❜

[kagoshou]

     "HUH," he stares back at the detective, incredulity blending smoothly with simmering amusement. his hands most likely are a little shaky by the end of the day—but as for the rest ... "we'd both be in trouble if i couldn't last through an average court session at the very least. you think they build urinals underneath those benches or what?" ( banish the thought. the first project in line should be coffee dispensers ). fingertips rise to the other man's temples in an attempt to administer a delicate push and undo the askew angle; turn back the clock; deactivate this unfavorable investigative modus operandi.

     "most of us don't. now you understand." ... or maybe he doesn't. ( leave it to staggering confidence to make a proper assessment near impossible ). "but that's why you should do it. be a little insolent. if your time's running out either way the least you can do is make sure your memory's not just filled with the sound of seconds ticking down by the end of it all." he withdraws; gaze locking onto the coffee maker in the back with proficient urgency. "... i know. i'll have you practice with me."

[lovethisheart]

Trekking on the slopes of life, breaking from the pack, that was the destiny of many. Brick by brick he'd built that camaraderie. His teeth dig into his tongue, raising his chin.

Shi-long's past career had been lively, a bit hard to miss internationally. Thus, these words weren't without a shred of evidence, like some lawyers liked to operate. It was respectably a pointed shot. " For what?"

" I never needed little things to make me happy, prosecutor. But you're free to like what you enjoy best."

His neck rolls slowly, and onward he passes him- shoulder checking is optional, but a grand opportunity that he doesn't hesitate seizing.

[kagoshou]

those are some lofty words coming from a man equipped with a fluffy dogwolfthing plush whose shiny eyes resemble those of afternoon kids show mascots. ... but he decides not to point out the obvious; like what you enjoy best indeed. "i am—" he starts, still far from placid but unbothered by snide; refuses to budge in spite of the other's inbound shoulder, slightly adjusts his grip around the coffee mug, if anything.

"—oooops. careful there."

his coffee? spilling. hot black liquid seeps through fabric instead of trickling down his throat. for shame. however could he have anticipated that the mug's tilted angle would match poorly with a bump? a knowing smile unfurls on his face. "wouldn't want your 'little buddy' to end up with third-degree burns."

[bloodxhound]

DIEGO.

         there’s a pause, then he blinks back—not that it mattered much behind that mask of his. “didn’t know we’re playing a drinking game. shouldn’t there be some ‘never have i ever’s’ in there?” with a few spills more there’d be scarce left in the glass and all the more stains on the man’s shirt. not a terrible outcome; but he grabs the most-nearest tissue anyhow and begins patting the other down. “your turn.”

    𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐇𝐔𝐇? It wasn’t his intention to play one, but he decides to humor the idea anyway, hoping to utilize it to his own benefit.   ❛❛ Never have I ever… ❜❜   Hm. He thinks for a moment, routing his murky mind for a suitable strategy, before his gaze lights up, devious but well-intended.   ❛❛ —worried you to the point of gettin’ drunk over it. ❜❜

[kagoshou]

      "hey." that's what he gets for bargaining with a drunk man. "don't just include me in your trivia. is this your first time playing—?" unoccupied fingers straighten stained fabric into a workable surface with a decided tug while his mask's threefold glow reaches for the other's face in a bout of short-lived frustration. if it wasn't for doctor's orders, the detective's antics might've sent him into another substance-induced coma a long time ago. "you worry me every day."

[kagoshou]

❝ i just live in each second as it comes. that’s all i have. ❞ / fantasy au

seconds are as meaningless as fallen leaves where he comes from—woodlands that swallow all life to see it soothed by eerie permanence. he'd tried to keep track of time at first. but what's a day to ancient tree roots. what's a week to the collective consciousness of its fungal denizens. what's a month to the night-born creatures hiding in the shade of its crown. time had ceased to matter before he'd known and, just like that, he'd shed another layer of human skin.

"i wonder if you're giving yourself too little credit. ... or too much," he says plainly, a dim smile crawling up the corners of his mouth while he blinks into the setting sun. half-blind; waiting for the sting in his eyes to make way for pleasant clarity.

"there are no seconds without a past and a future. humanity is blessed with conceiving all three." things are a bit different now. perhaps he could remember what it's like to bask in dusk's afterglow and anticipate another day with a sense of childlike restlessness in his stomach. he'd even embrace anxiety over whatever somber apathy had long settled in his heart, if it came down to it. smile overflows into a grin that flashes sharp canines without concern for appearances. he raises a finger to make a point; secretly revels in how the passing sun so perfectly illuminates his 'captor's' face in support of his theory. "the frown lines on your forehead wouldn't be nearly as deep if that was truly the case. you shouldn't abandon your gifts so easily."

[bloodxhound]

DIEGO.

      “i’m being perfectly realistic,” he says almost sternly in lieu of outright opposition but with enough conviction to raise the question whether he took the accusation of casual optimism personal. “either curl up a little or retract your limbs like a giant turtle, why don’t you.” and although he refrains from pointing out as much: there would be no choice but to continue wracking his head; what else was his mind to do with the many spare hours to fill with something on any given day? it might as well resort to repetitive rumination. of course, there’s a difference between brooding on your own and attempting to mull over a matter in the presence of another. at this point it’s easy to let himself be distracted by the weight on his lap and the ludicrous noises emitting from it and postpone contemplations to a more lonely moment. for more reasons than one.

        before long, he also decides to postpone the question whatever the hell of a miserable life he must be leading for awry measurements to be the pinnacle of his buoyancy.

     “that’s right.” his voice carries on with a mischievous undertone—a less than frequent accompanist these days. he relishes its presence accordingly; doesn’t even attempt to hide that he is up to … something. “we’ve conspired. but as i said, no peeking. privacy of correspondence; fourth amendment.”

    ❛❛ 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. ❜❜  He yields with a quiet groan, shifting onto his side and bending his legs at his knees until they’re more or less safely stored away on the couch. His cheek pressed against Diego’s thigh, he feels the tension seep from his shoulders like poison draining from a wound. A steady expulsion that culminates in a sigh. He’s being audacious, he knows. But in the haze of exhaustion all social conventions that forbid a man from seeking—what exactly, comfort?—in the company of another man cease to matter. Although the one who would judge him the harshest for such a proclivity is long rotting six feet under, forever silenced and yet brimming with commentary nonetheless. An all too familiar, angry voice that’s reverberating in the confines of his memory. No matter. He’s curled up like a duty-weary dog all the same. 

    ❛❛ Not sure I like the sound of that… ❜❜   Though that’s not to say he harbors any real misgivings. After everything he’s put his mother through—the absences she’s been made to endure of both husband and son, one more permanent than the other—it’s a comfort to know Diego has kept in touch with her, even if irregularly. Brown eyes flutter open, staring at the empty wall across the couch where most other people like to keep their TVs. He imagines his mother instead, her smiling image projected on bland wallpapers with faultless clarity. Knowing her, she’s relishing the notion of conspiring, especially against the favored victim of her whimsy. A small smile dawns on his lips, despite the foreboding feeling that’s lightly raking its claws along his nape.   ❛❛ You put a lot of faith into a guy who treats the law like it’s a loose guideline, ❜❜   he mumbles in jest.   ❛❛ All those complaint letters back in the day didn’t teach you a damn thing, huh. ❜❜

[kagoshou]

   accommodating to the weight of a weary head comes surprisingly natural to him; even with years gone wasted to self-imposed solitude. perhaps his failure to share burdens ( of his own or of others ) in the past had at the very least rendered him more perceptible to the art of solace ... and to whatever else in a room tends to remain unseen. unspoken. ghostly traces emanate from every corner of this world—whether one chose to believe in the supernatural or not. sometimes they linger. sometimes they grow. sometimes they set themselves free by cutting through the string that had yet connected them to the living. ( ... and then what? ) undecided fingertips trace the curve of the other man's shaved nape from a polite distance.

   "... i'm sure you know there's a difference—" he hums into the quiet room, a gentle flavor engulfing his tongue that would've never seen the light of day while surrounded by office walls. "—between following the law and respecting its purposes." digits settle down on warm temples; massage them lightly as if to procure a brainwave from his friend's exhausted mind. he's teasing ... or so he'd like to make himself believe. the truth is a little more desperate: this is a string he couldn't bear cutting ... and two days are far too short. if only for a moment, he should indulge in their arrangement. "even in ancient rome, lady justice had been more symbol than god. obviously, law was never meant to be absolute." circular motion slowly gives way to flimsy tapping. "... ... though those letters certainly were absolutely annoying. if nothing else, my current correspondences are far more pleasant."

[kagoshou]

*flips page in notebook* "also how do you like to be woo'ed?" (this is for a science experiment i promise-)

"... ... come again?"

[kagoshou]

"sir! how are you feeling today?"

“hmm.” he doesn’t look up from the contents of his cup; let’s the black liquid swirl along its rim instead with a practiced bob of his wrist. the lax smile on his lips would greet him right back ... if not for three glimmering scars usurping everything else in sight atop this bottomless ocean.

“right now ... you could say i'm swimming with a school of  anchovies," 'feeling' is a loaded word. 'today' a concept defined solely by humanity's craving for some type of order in this unruly world. an effort as futile as it is necessary ... much like most other things in life. “... ever keen on reaching southern shores all while knowing that it might be the end of me."

[lovethisheart]

"Even the smallest ones are clunky to have on hand. That's what a good jacket is for." The commemorative red wolf doll goes back under his arm; it still needed to be rehoused with the others at home, but advertising it to possibly interested passerby was how he kept promises to those of his favored canines in captivity.

But now there was something he couldn't move on from. Letting a lawyer have territory in his precinct? Unthinkable, even in conversation. If he was going to chew on something, it fell upon Lang's shoulders to provide something that was on his mind anyway. "Chihuahua-ologist is funny, though."

" Loud, overinvolved dogs seem to be your forte- but I don't typically dig into people's dating lives at work."

[kagoshou]

aching eyes narrow underneath trademark mask; few things about the other man scream ‘discretion’ and his whimsical handling of base principles does nothing but confirm the fact. "then ... could it be you're trying to make yourself popular by barking up a storm? you're out of luck." fortunately, he’s never been burdened with delusions of moral superiority. if there are tittle-tales to tell, chances are that he’s already heard them in threefold variation and mused about their veracity alongside fellow hobby theorists. ( that is to say, he has no qualms about digging into people’s dating lives at work ). 

"why don't fold a napkin into a fan and hold it close to your heart to feel a little less lonely?"

[kagoshou]

❛❛ Geez. Who broke your heart. ❜❜

irritation cuts through his thoughts—the ones he’d so diligently smoothened out into edgeless versions of their former selves with nothing but time and determination on his hands. anger is a blade one can only wield expediently when its tip has been welded to perfectly puncture its sole target’s chest. justice is an excuse one is only entitled to use once the echoes of grief have yielded to a measure of clarity. he doesn’t qualify for either right now; not while the bitter flood of coffee he’s just crammed down his throat in a rush seeps on into the marrow of his bones. “... you want to know?” it’s a saving grace that the other is likely fueled by naive curiosity before anything else. an innate need to understand matters that have no bearing on him and are none of his business on top. a detective through and through—he can’t fault him for that. his timing, though, has always left much to be desired. a streak of crimson flares up against the smooth ceramic walls of his mug as he lets his gaze drift past the man, far into the distance.

“ha—.” granted, it feels a little surreal to cough up a dry laugh while working through mental list of the guilty and accused. the cops who’d done sloppy work at the scene. the courtroom that’d cared more for its affluence than for its integrity. the lawyers who’d comfortably wallowed in picking up the pieces instead of, at the very least, indulging in rightful outrage when it’d long been due. the doctors who’d done too little and had left him to drown in an ocean of obliviousness until it was too late. the doctors who’d done too much and ensured he’d see the light of day again just so that he could stand before a barren bathroom mirror in a quiet one-room apartment and trace the outlines of his own silhouette with blood-stained fingertips.

he makes-do with a smile; even if none of it is all that funny. “i managed that on my own.”

[kagoshou]

bro... are we flirting or is it like... a bro thing

granted, he's accumulated plenty of bro experiences in his youth. sharing a cigarette in a bout of youthful curiosity. sharing a drink out of empathy after an afternoon of club activities in the scorching hot sun. sharing a bed out of necessity after a fun night out and no common sense left to make it home in one piece. sharing a seat on a cramped train, regardless of the curious looks they'd draw from their fellow students. sharing a tub. sharing a ██████. or a ████████. in the end, boys will be boys. and boys that are boys could get away with just about anything without any strings or meanings attached. he offers a slow blink underneath his relentlessly glowing mask. he's missed out on 6 years of bro culture development. how should he know?

"—i know i've fallen a bit behind the times ... but flirting is a tad more straightforward in my memory."

[lovethisheart]

" This-?" Under his arm is a fairly small creature. It's bright black eyes could feasibly be the same size of an apple-headed chihuahua, and perhaps because of its' stature, around the same general size. However, these sewn-in eyes are unblinking, round, and surrounded by a cuddly fabric especially selected by the foundation for saving wolves. This month, a focus on the critically endangered red wolf, which has been lovingly made into a plush doll. While not a one-to-one recreation, it mimics the basic features of the attached picture on its' ear. Lang presents it as proudly as if it were a golden statuette.

" Why, would it not fit in your purse if it wasn't?"

[kagoshou]

it probably isn't. but it does have the presence of one. what with the void eyes that resembled the depths of hell themselves and could reflect raw rancor at a moments notice. or the small snout, built to bait, born to bite. he's met enough chihuahuas in his life to not mistake physique for innocence—though by far not enough to differentiate it from its canine cousins in this flanderized, fluffy form. this could also be a poodle for all he knows.

"ha. you're asking me?" why is it a chihuahua? and why did it cross the road and made it into the local wolf-lover's arms? "do i look like a chihuahualogist to you?" he raises his coffee cup to his lips; takes a long-drawn sip while threefold stripes remain set on the other's new little friend. "... you bring up good point, though. where's your purse?"

[bloodxhound]

     𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑. The word had felt caustic on his tongue when he spat it out, but as it echoes from Godot’s mouth, the sentiment seems to rot away into nothingness, evaporating into a sigh he cannot hear but see. Their distance seems enormous to him now, as impenetrable as the security barrier placed between them. He yearns to do away with it, to break through partition and man alike. What would shatter first, he wonders, the glass or his fist? Certainly not his resolve. Such musings spell restraint, for true impulse would’ve rendered any such thought superfluous. For now, there’s only the unceasing, white-hot burn of his stare, competing with the non-descript glare of Godot’s visor.   

❛❛ Is it also human nature to kill? To take the easy way out? ❜❜   He scoffs, the bitter taste in his mouth forcing his lips into a grimace.   ❛❛ You embrace that too? ❜❜   His fists tighten, harmlessly tucked away in the fold of his arms, yet itching for something, someone they could pummel into.   ❛❛ Spare me the autobiographical bullshit. You never were generous with details ‘bout yourself. By now I've lost interest. ❜❜

     It shouldn’t matter, Godot’s right. It should’ve ceased to matter the moment he learned what the former prosecutor’s secrecy amounted to. Yet he keeps returning, aggrieved and scornful, to subject him with the reality of a world he chose to exchange for this grey tomb from which he might never rise again. If not for his health, then because of his self-ruinous mindset. His nose twitches, rippling the skin along the bridge into wrinkles like that of a threatened dog, though his teeth remain tucked behind his lips, set to grind as his jaw grows taut. He tries to not dwell on this, the grimness of the situation, his helplessness. Least of all here, right in front of Godot. It only invites encumbrance, the kind of sentiments that are eager to chip away at his anger, to challenge it. He’s not having it. Spite will be his armor. ❛❛ We gotta fill these visits with somethin'. So, go ahead. Speak your mind. Tell me what you're really thinkin'. ❜❜

[kagoshou]

a philosophical question. to those who consider humanity a subcategory of beasts, the answer would simply be that when killing becomes a necessity for survival, no animal would shy from the task. if one wanted to be more generous than that and elevate people above the evolutionary chain by ascribing them 'reason' as a unique feature, the question became a little more complicated. more nuanced. he, for one, remains silent on the matter. there's no telling whether the ability to kill that inhabits his hands is innate or acquired. whether his decision to follow its call was conscious or instinctive. one life for another. there probably could have been an alternate way if only he'd thought things through from another perspective.

"that's good," he says, voice muffled lightly by the transparent barrier between them, "my first life was cut short and my second life was never meant to be much more than an echo in the dark. in a way, you already know all there is to know." if nothing else, he can embrace the simplicity of his existence. there is nothing to lament. nothing to regret. his actions are a consequence of the choices he's made and absolution is the last thing he seeks.

"—still ... since you're offering—" in spite of all previous claims, really. veiled gaze surveys the ripples in the other man's features; concludes conflict with relative ease but stops short at the reasons thereof. maybe his former partner is more sentimental than he lets on. "—i think that your reputation is beginning to catch up with you. ... don't get me wrong. you've always been a guy who's hard to miss in a crowd," ever the beacon, whether the man desires such attention or not. if there's a regret that nests in his chest after all is said and done, perhaps it's having lost the resources to offer the other a measure of protection. not that the detective would want or need it—he's far more likely to be burdened with a craving for closure. ( a shame. he can't offer that either ). "but it does feel odd to be asked about you by people who don't belong to the press or insurance companies."

[kagoshou]

"—guess what time it is."

[kagoshou]

"... what's that? a chihuahua?" @lovethisheart

[kagoshou]

Poring over case files together yields clues at long last, paving the way to a victory-sure roar,  ❛❛ Fuckin’ finally! We got a new lead! ❜❜  In a sudden surge of energy, the detective pivots in his chair, hand instinctively lifting for a congratulatory pat on his partner’s shoulder, not realizing he has already leapt to his feet. It lands squarely and firmly on the curve of his superior’s backside, the sharp clap echoing in the quiet office. Bewilderment spreads upon his mien as his fingers flex involuntarily, palm filled when it shouldn't be. ❛❛ Uh...? ❜❜

timing is a mysterious thing. he'd risen to his feet about half a second off-cue to the detective's exhilarated cries, immersed in findings of his own but present enough to pause his trajectory to paper stack-filled shelves and grant himself a glance at the document that'd returned a week's worth of energy to the other man's formerly frustrated mien. too little too late. the dead angle produced by his visor's frame keeps him from spotting the disaster-in-the-making; his movement is too slow, too sluggish after hours of inertia. a clap thunders through the room. his lungs are robbed of a solitary breath.

'uh...?' doesn't even begin to describe the sizable jolt that seizes his lower spine upon encounter between buttocks and palm. "... ... ..." the half-filled coffee cup in his hand sways dangerously while his mind is still concerned with the question of what the hell just happened rather than on the matter of steadying it. a second hand rises slowly, utterly intuitively, to offer support from the opposite side of the handle and quell the rising tide of hot, deep brown broth. "uhm ..." it's unlike him to be at a loss for words—but, to be fair, any sane person would've withdrawn from accidental touch in an instant instead of doubling down with an uncertain squeeze.

"... ... if you're done ... ," he finally says, voice as low and collected as possible to willfully counter the absurdity of their shared circumstance, "... let's move on and compare what we've got."