E/N: Ain't this a bitch? I upload a chapter, then only the next day do I find out it's broken. Problem is that my work schedule prevents me from doing anything about it for several days until now. So yeah, you can stop messaging me now. And I should be able to get the copy of the next chapter up sometime tomorrow as a semi-apology.
Chapter 105: Social Media Downfall
Battleship Musashi smiled as the hazy veil of sleep slipped astern with all the substance of a passing fog bank. She wasn't exactly sure how long she'd been asleep for, her night with the American Amazon had worn her crew to the bone, and even now they staggered to their stations half-awake. But she did know that her night had been one to remember.
Her belly was full of salty chips, popcorn dripping in what Jersey so vehemently claimed was butter, and still-fizzy root beer bubbled against her bunkers. Her bare chest was soaking in hot, sweet American drool from the shapeliest battleship ever to grace the seven seas.
Well… at least the most proportionate, Musashi herself was—like her beloved big sister—a creature of such titanic size and prowess that she stood above mere mortal standards of beauty. Jersey might have the cutest little stern Musashi had ever seen, but the Japanese super-battleship sported the largest rifles ever fielded and the only impenetrable armor ever fitted to a battleship.
And, if she was quite honest, her first-hand experience with her own stern was limited to a few brief glances in steamed-over mirrors. She favored a proper Imperial skirt after all, not the typically American short-shorts. For all she knew, her armored-over hangers might yet rival the American's smoothly-curving gun tubs.
But all of that was a discussion for another time. Musashi, for all her usual bombast, didn't feel like arguing semantics today. She was content to let the world go uninformed of her obvious superiority in the realm of naval warfare, at least for a little while.
Mostly because there was a far more important thing the world needed to be informed of.
Musashi stretched her arms to the sky, her back arching until her keel snapped back into alignment with a mechanical clunk of oiled steel slamming home. She pushed her last fleeting remnants of her dream aside. A handful of scattered memories of oiled-up muscles, typically American delight in horrible puns, fresh-baked pie, and something about ice meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Musashi found her glasses on the floor next to her night-stand, and chuckled to herself as she slid them on. She half-expected them to be mangled beyond recognition after that night. The big battleship took a moment to tie her hair up into its usual snowy twin-peaked style, and snapped a few selfies for her Instagram.
No, she wasn't wearing a shirt. It's Instagram, why would she be wearing a shirt when clever camera angles would do the trick. Besides, she had a duty to her country, her beloved big sister, and the engineers who forged a dream into steel and oil.
She would not let the world go unaware of the engineering marvel that was the Yamato-class battleship, nor would she shroud that seagoing beauty again. The Iowas had served longer than any battleship in history, but she would not allow her sister to be forgotten.
Musashi snapped a handful of extra pictures, just to be on the safe side. Then, with her daily quota of tastefully-nude images uploaded to her adoring internet fans, the battleship set herself to ensuring said legions of adoring fans were properly informed.
Thankfully, Twitter was magic and should be worshiped.
IJN Musashi Bas3dMusashi. Dec 26th
I just had sex AND IT FEELS SO GOOD! Thanks for the ride, USNavy.
#ChocolateSurprise #RodeTheBlackDragon #TotalPenetration #LonelyIsland
Content that the world was now properly aware and informed of nightly activities, Musashi snapped a final selfie for twitter. She'd learned that there were some poor, deprived souls unable to follow her Instagram account (Also known as "the single best thing ever to happen to that website in the history of ever) and her sense of honor wouldn't allow her to deprive those poor people from the sight of her glorious drool-covered cleavage.
But, with her duties taken care off, the battleship was forced to set her course towards more utilitarian actions. Her night battle with the American had drained bunkers already depleted by a long, frigid crossing of the Pacific. Battleship Musashi was in desperate need of supply.
Thankfully, she could smell pancakes cooking from here. Musashi smirked, and pulled her shirt square over her hips. After such an entertaining night, there was nothing better than a hearty breakfast to refill her stamina.
"Battleship Musashi!" Musashi thrust her fingerless-gloved fist in the air, "Heading out!"
The towering battlewagon stormed though her door and powered down the hallway, only to be stopped by a surly Marine who's face went a brilliant crimson the moment he laid eyes on the greatest exemplar of Japanese Naval Might ever produced.
After a few minutes of heated conversation, Musashi shuffled back to her room with a scowl that was most certainly devoid of even a hint of poutyness. "I, Musashi," she said with petulant defiance, "Will put on sarashi before leaving."
—|—|—
Support carrier Shinano was happier than she could ever recall being in her entire life. Her… admittedly rather short life, but she was still very happy regardless. Her tummy was bursting with warm pancakes speckled with chocolate chips and drowned in warm syrup (the "good stuff" according to Jersey), spiced sausage links, orange juice, and icy milk. It was a better meal than the carrier had ever had, and she'd almost refused to accept it.
But after a few minutes of cajoling by Jersey and White—or… really cajoling by White. Jersey just yelled at her and shoved fistfuls of pancake down her throat whenever she opened her mouth to protest—Shinano had finally accepted the Americans' generosity. It was Christmas after all. Shinano didn't really know what that meant, but apparently it was very special, and Jersey seemed very insistent on pampering the big auxiliary carrier. Shinano was too shy to even attempt to dissuade the brash Americans from getting their way.
Not that she would have in the first place. The way Jersey fretted over her warmed her heart. The gigantic American battleship barked at her in a dusky tirade that was somehow both profane enough to peel paint from the walls—literally—and motherly enough to make Shinano's heart swell with contented pleasure. That was something she loved about Americans.
When they wanted to make you feel loved, they pulled out all the stops.
Of course, even Jersey's instruction paled in comparison to White's decision to curl up on Shinano's lap for nap. The tiny little carrier who'd faced her own sister in surface battle had apparently been defeated by Jersey's insistence on force-feeding pancakes to everything within arm's reach. Not that Shinano cared, feeling her momboat's warm, tiny body in her arms made her flush with warmth on this cold winter day.
"Jersey-sama?" Shinano coughed to hide the crack in her voice. She was still getting used to addressing proper capital ships, let alone being pampered by one.
"Enough with the nip honor shit," Jersey rolled her eyes and ran her fingers though the carrier's ashy black hair. "Call me Jersey. Or fucking Jer if you want."
"Jersey," Shinano nodded. "I…" she thought for a second. "Thank you for showing me how to do this."
"'s the least I can do," the American said almost absentmindedly as she fished a lock of Shinano's hair out and braided it in.
"You're a very nice woman," said Shinano.
Jersey froze for a moment, and a low rumbling growl slipped past gritted teeth. "No," she hissed. "I'm not."
Shinano shivered, and tried to make herself as small as she could with a sleeping escort carrier on her lap. "B-but—"
"I'm a shitty," said Jersey, "Mean old battleship, and don't you forget it."
"Oh—" Shinano nodded, "Okay, Jersey."
"Mmm," Jersey nodded and tucked a few more strands into place. "There, tell me what you think."
Shinano didn't need to ask for a mirror. One of the benefits of being a carrier—or really, any ship bigger than a destroyer—was her aviation complement. She could always send a spotter plane up to take a look around, even back at her. Besides, her pilots could always use the practice.
"Eeeeeee!" the young carrier squealed in happiness and tossed the end of her braid over her shoulder. This was so much better than the ponytail she'd been wearing ever since she came back. It looked just like the style she'd worn when she'd first answered her summons, the style she'd tried so many times to replicate herself. "Thank you!"
She swung around and buried her face in Jersey's belly. Her arms wrapped around the sinewy American in a warm hug. "Thank you so much!"
"Fuck," Jersey grunted and hurriedly scowled to hide her smirking smile. "It's the fucking least I could do, kiddo."
"Well," Shinano glanced up from the battleship's belly, and promptly leaned back a bit more to regain line-of-sight. "It's really nice, I like it a lot!"
Jersey planted her hands on her hips and stared out the window with a brooding scowl. "Yeah… well…" she sighed and shook her head. So much for the detached brooding angle. "Fuck it, you look cute as fuck, kiddo."
Shinano smiled and let her head loll back against Jersey's tummy. "Warm," she sighed.
Jersey rolled her eyes, and ruffled the sleepy carrier's hair. "Yeah, kiddo."
"J-Jersey?" Shinano's eyes were solidly closed, and her voice was barely above a sleepy mumble.
"Yeah?" Jersey lazily scratched the carrier's head with a contented smile on her face.
"Whazzat braid you have?" asked Shinano. "looks like a water fall."
Jersey squinted, and ran a hand though her strawberry blond mane. "A waterfall braid?"
Before either girl could say anything more, the doors exploded open with a thunder of straining wood, inexplicably fluttering doves, and burning cordite. Framed in the suddenly present portal with her fists resting confidently on her hips was none other than the perennially shirtless form of IJN Musashi. The Japanese battleship's gait had a cocky swagger to it as she stormed over to the breakfast line, and her smirking face never quite left Jersey.
"Mushi." The battleship's name slipped past Jersey's lips with stony, furious indifference.
"Jersey," Musashi winked at the battleship, but any further attempts at smooth comments were ruined by a rumble from her belly that knocked over the house of cards a pair of Fubukis were working on.
"Onee-sama!" Shinano shuffled White off her lap in a panicked flurry of limbs and heavy canvas skirting. The moment the tiny American carrier was safely deposited on a chair, the towering Japanese flattop bolted to her feet and bowed deeply to her chocolate-skinned sister.
"Sister," Musashi beamed at her sister, but her smile withered under Jersey's stony, hate-fueled glare. There was something not quite right with the big American, but Musashi couldn't shake the feeling that she was only seeing reflection of something that was pointed squarely inwards. "J-Jersey."
Jersey just grunted.
"Um…" Shinano wrung her hands and glanced from Musashi's boots to her own. "S-sister… Jersey and I were going to visit Akihabara today."
"Hmm?" Musashi cocked her head, partly in physical expression of her question, but mostly because her pancakes were getting in the way.
"It's fucking weeb land," said Jersey.
"Oh, I'm aware," said Musashi. Truth be told, she'd been wanting to visit the district ever since she learned about it, but her long isolation had made that impossible. Now, however, she could mingle with the adoring public, and maybe pick up some toys or something. Word is the New Jersey Nendoroids were already hitting the shelves, and she'd have to get some of those. And if a daki cover were to fall into her bag, well… Musashi would do her part to support the Japanese economy!
"Well…" Shinano scuffed her toe against the floor. "I-if you'd like to join us…"
Musashi opened her mouth to say yes, but something stopped her. There was something about the way Jersey scowled at nothing, the way her massive legs were taut with straining muscle, the way her glare seemed to cut through even her mirrored shades that uneased the titanic Japanese battlewagon.
Then the American sighed. "Yeah," Jersey hooked her hands over her gunbelt. "She's your sister, you should tag along."
"Mmm," Musashi puffed out her chest. She wasn't quite sure why, but getting approval from the American she'd spent the night with made her feel far more confident. "Then I, Musashi, would be happy to accompany you!"
—|—|—
Admiral Goto smiled as the fresh aroma of freshly-made coffee filled his office. Coffee was an ever-present constant on the naval base, but good coffee was a rare luxury only present for a scant few days after a supply convoy pulled in. Goto knew full well that it'd be gone before he could blink, disappeared down Ooyodo's collection of implausibly large mugs.
The admiral was confident the only reason Ooyodo hadn't died from a catastrophic caffeine overdose yet was simply because she constantly too wired for her body to notice. That girl almost drank more than the entire base put together.
Not that Goto minded his aide's voracious appetite for stimulants. Rare was the day that the old command cruiser got more than an hour or two of sleep, and without her tireless logistical magic the Islands would have fallen months ago. Ooyodo'd earned her coffee.
But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy his share.
Goto settled into his chair and smiled at the warm sent washing off his brimming "#1 Teitoku" mug (a gift from Kongou, of course.) The warm ceramic had just kissed his lips when he heard the sound of furious footsteps pounding against battered flooring.
"TEEEEIIIIIII~"
Goto sighed, and put his mug back down.
"TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~"
Truth be told, he had missed her. She might be batshit crazy with an inexplicable fascination for a certain out-of-his-depth admiral, but she was as good a ship as any man ever had.
"KUUUUUUUUUU!"
The office door slammed open with a groan of stressed wood and wrenched hinges, revealing the bubbly, frantically smiling figure of the British-built returnee herself. "Teitoku!" she flung her arm out with a rustle of detached sleeves and… rather inexplicable cherry blossoms.
"Kongou," Goto gripped the arms of his chair and braced himself.
"I'm so happy to see you again!" Kongou squared her stature and planted her shoes firmly on the ground. "BURNING LOVE!" The battleship exploded off the floor and hurled herself into a spinning human—or battleship—cannonball. The girl hurtled towards Goto in a spinning mass of giggling battleship and frantically flailing nontraditional Miko robes.
For an instant, everything slowed to a crawl, and Goto briefly contemplated ducking out of the way. But he was only human, and Kongou was already in the air. He doubted that he'd clear the blast radius in time. Besides… it was the day after Christmas, and Kongou hadn't had a proper celebration.
So Goto just grabbed the sides of his chair and held on with all his might.
"LOVE!" Kongou slammed into his chest with far more force than her slender build might imply. Her shapely stern cushioned the blow at least slightly, letting her fall squarely onto his lap in a puddle of giggling battleship.
Goto winced, sure his sternum was bruised to hell and back. He'd never had the pleasure of a lap-Kongou before, and she was far far heavier than she looked. His legs felt like they were aboubt to give out under the immense weight of her slender body, but… But at the same time, he couldn't be happier to have her on his lap.
Kongou blinked, her mind suddenly catching up with her body. She blinked again, glancing from her own very much seated body to the Admiral who was cradling her in his hands instead of standing beside her smirking at the crater she'd dug in his floor. Her head tilted to the side, and she brought a single finger to her lips and uttered a quiet "What?"
"Merry Christmas, Kongou." Goto smiled and wrapped his arms around the immensely heavy warship.
Kongou wasn't sure what'd just happened. But she was quite sure she liked it. "Dess," she said contentedly.