#kamikaze sensation

[heartoflesh]

You blamed me. But what is the difference between pulling away slowly and doing it all at once. In the end, we will still end up being the ghost of each other anyway.

Excerpts from a book I'll never write, William

[noctambulbe]

Ce matin, j’ai esquivé un pigeon kamikaze, le genre de bestiole qui te fait croire que même les volatiles ont un contrat sur ta tête. La bestiole s'est tirée avec un croissant, me laissant avec la désagréable sensation que même le petit-déj' est une lutte pour la survie. Alors, je me suis dit, "ok, si même les oiseaux se foutent de ma gueule, c’est peut-être le moment de réévaluer mes priorités." J’ai continué ma route, enfilant les rues comme des perles sur un collier bon marché, avec ce sourire en coin qui dit “la vie, c’est une farce, et moi, j’en suis le clown involontaire”. Entre deux regards mal interprétés et une poignée de mains moites, j’ai croisé un type qui semblait avoir perdu une bataille contre ses propres vêtements. Ça m’a rappelé que, finalement, on est tous là à essayer de ne pas se vautrer, que ce soit sur un trottoir bancal ou dans nos foutues existences. Alors ouais, j’ai rigolé, parce qu’au fond, qu’est-ce que tu veux faire d’autre ? Rire, c’est l’ultime pied-de-nez à cette mascarade qu’on appelle la réalité.

[angel-inked]

Winding down with them

Just time spent relaxing with the boys

Taglist: @vvkingofgaybisciutsvv @thequeenofthewinter @thedevilshardy @mollybegger-blog @wandawiccan60 @cameleonhardyfan63 @hoodeddreams13 @inkwolvesandcoffee @liliac-dreamer @potter-solomons

The rainy morning.

Thunder rumbled quietly outside as droplets raced each other down the window, the soft whirring of passing cars added to the ambience of the rain drumming on various different surfaces, ranging from the roads to the sidewalks to the rooftops. Well the weather made a dreary morning for those who had jobs to get to, safe to assume the weather reflected their mood, others took this morning as a sign that it was time to have a lie in. A well-deserved lie in, Tommy thought, sinking deeper into the pillow being held in place by his brawny arms. A dull ache settled around his right eye, the blow he took from his opponent's knee had caused some deep colored bruising, but any tension he'd held onto from last night was currently being massaged away by your hand wandering up and down his back. He released a satisfied sigh as you applied gentle pressure at the top of his spine with your thumb and ran it down the middle of his expansive muscle mass. Occasionally your mouth would make contact with the back of his neck, kissing and suckling, pulling away before you left any marks, neither of you were in the mood, let alone had the energy for that sort of thing. You nuzzled into him, slowly moving up from the base of his thick neck up to where his hair started and back down.

Tommy was vaguely aware of the sounds of the movie you put on coming from the laptop speakers, something about Virginia moonshiners waging war against twisted and corrupted law enforcement, truth be told he hadn't exactly followed most of the plot, his consciousness had been floating somewhere between sleep and barely awake at most due to the slow pace of your touch. Last he remembered was thinking about was how he related to the youngest of the three brothers, who were at the front line of all the fighting. He knew what it felt like to feel as though you were living in the shadow of your older sibling and often wished that could've been the only complaint he had from his childhood. At least in this moment, he felt as far removed from his past as he felt he could get. Your hand continued its path up and down, your mouth continued to caress his skin, and your warm breath and body against his in the bed remained one of his favorite sensations in the world. All the horrors he'd experienced, during his time as a US Marine and as a kid, were worth it in comparison, he found he was glad the initial internal kamikaze mission he'd entered the military with fell through.

He felt the skin of your cheek press against his shoulder, he heard you release a soft sigh of pleasure, and all his sleep drunk mind could think was that he couldn't be bothered to move. Your arm snaked its way around his bare torso and the muscles in one of your legs stretched lazily as it splayed across his, like it had the right to be there, truth be told, it did. On top of what he thought to be music playing over the credits, Tommy could hear your soft humming, could feel the vibration of your vocal chords in your throat against his skin. Between the soothing sound pulling him closer and closer to sleep, and the rain still plummeting down outside, straight and silvery, like a punishment of steel rods beating on the roof. That thing that grew inside of him as a boy, a seething rage that he tapped in the cage and when his dad went too far and Tommy used what the old man had taught him against his teacher, that thing that usually wreathed around in his chest had settled, still there, but settled.

The seaside.

The seaside was surprisingly sparse with people. The sun beating down had almost everyone who was there seeking refuge in the water, which remained cold as if it were intent on defying the sun. The soft white sand greedily soaked up the sun's rays as you hauled a pail of water across it, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. You had your sights set on your fiance, napping the afternoon away in the shade of a tree. He was in for a rather rude awakening. You almost felt a little bad as you approached him, the content expression of peacefulness on his face, the way his full pink lips were slightly parted in sleep, a part of you wanted to kiss them and another part wanted to see the shock on his face from receiving an ice cold shower of sea water. Both parts won out eventually. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, pulling back with a grin as he, even mostly in his sleep, instinctively tried to follow your lips. That grin widened as you lifted the pail up and turned it over, dumping the contents onto his head.

Farrier jolted awake, "Gah!" He sputtered in surprise, wiping water from his face with the back of his hand as you doubled over laughing. "You little..." Farrier exclaimed, and you took off down the shoreline as he got up to chase after you, laughing and dodging his first attempt to grab you. He caught up to you eventually, "You think you're clever?" He laughed as he slung you over his shoulder. "Tom!" You squealed amongst laughing fits, wriggling in his grip. "No, you're not getting away that easy." He grinned as he tightened his hold, hauling you into the sea and tossing you into the water to give you a taste of your own prank.

You surfaced with a loud gasp, the cold water feeling like it was seeping into your very being, you splashed him in the face once more for retaliation. Farrier laughed again, shaking the water from his head in a manner similar to that of his black and white border collie, Confetti, after she had just had a dip in the pond, pulling you into his arms and flush against his chest. "Think I was missing my alarm clock, did you?" He asked with a grin, nuzzling his face into your soaked hair. You pulled back slightly to stick your tongue out at him in a pout, "Cheeky." He murmured with an easy smile, guiding your head back to his chest.

Too crowded.

Fall harvest, celebrated with a barn dance, a ruckus rising hoedown. Forrest hated it, how ever good for business it was. He hated it. A whole horde of people, dancing, touching, socializing, most would be drunk off illegal liquor, his illegal liquor, before the night was half over. Call it what you will, but being in a crowded building made him feel like he was suffocating. So, he parked himself on a bail of straw by the entrance. The fresh night air felt blissful in his lungs, combined with the smoke of the smoldering cigar he held between calloused fingers. Several party goers greeted him as expected. He was well known for what he considered rather undesirable reasons. The idiots, he thought, were the ones who stopped and tried for conversation, only earning a grunt here and a measuring look here and there before being hauled back off into the crowd. Closing his eyes and exhaling a smoke cloud sharply as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. A few deep breaths before his hazel orbs flickered open again, staring directly up at the harvest moon. He wondered for a moment if he was even needed here. If not for keeping his brothers in check, he wouldn't be. With all the alcohol involved, Jack couldn't handle Howard on his own, not that he could handle the man particularly well sober either. Then he began to wonder if his older brother was ever truly sober. He shook his head at himself, feeling kinda stupid for wondering that, of course he wasn't.

The crowd emerged from the barn just as it had disappeared inside. the only difference that occurred to Forrest was that they were headed in the opposite direction. The music was done, but the festivities were far from over. He stretched his legs out straight, grunting quietly in satisfaction, then standing with another low sound, this one coming out as a strained groan. He was used to feeling older than he was, this eventful life he'd gotten himself into, It'd be the death of him sooner or later. He reached a hand behind himself to brush off whatever straw was clinging to his brown corduroy pants and then straightened up the rest of the way. He took a few steps toward the crowd, stopping at the edge of it, scanning the flow of people for his brothers, and finding them within a few minutes. Spotting Howard above the crowd was fairly easy with his height, Jack was trailing along behind silently with his head down, glancing up at Forrest like a child who had just been caught mid-squirmish. There was still a part of Forrest that was tucked away somewhere far in the back that wished Jack didn't look at him as such, but someone had to step up, and he wasn't going to chance leaving that to Howard. The middle brother eyed the empty wooden crate in Jack's hands, "Go on." he waved him off with one hand, and the other reached for the crate. Jack looked up at him with wide questioning eyes, "Well, you wanna run around, don't ya?" Forrest asked, and he didn't have to ask twice.

Howard guffawed as he watched Jack scamper away, Forrest shook his head at both of them for the umpteen time. His eyes landed on a blonde, seemingly conversing with a friend. "Who's that?" He asked, inclining his head toward the pair. "Patricia Holliday, she's the mayor's daughter from a couple counties over," Howard answered, Forrest turned to him, how Howard always seemed to know everyone, and their mother was beyond him. not bringing the same warm body home twice probably had something to do with that he figured. "You're gonna need a crowbar if you wanna get inside her, baby brother." Howard smiled, Forrest roughly punched his shoulder for his rude comment. "I'm not looking at her, dumbass!" He barked, loud enough that his voice carried to someone never intended to hear. "Does that mean you're lookin' at my friend?" A voice asked sweetly, sounding particularly amused. Forrest turned to the voice and found himself face to face with a grinning Patricia Holliday. "Um..." Forrest grumbled, removing his hat and stiffly nodding a greeting to Patricia and then to her friend, mentally cursing Howard, who appeared to be enjoying his baby brother's increased awkwardness with a grin. "Hey Howard!" Patricia beamed up at the eldest happily. "Y/n... you don't mind if I leave you with Forrest, do you? I think Howard and I have some catching up to do." She said, tucking herself under Howard's arm, her head barely reaching his shoulder, and smirked up at him as she pulled him into her with an arm around his midsection. "Sure, why not? Besides, he's cute." You grinned, watching with satisfaction as Forrest flushed pink.

You linked your arm with his, feeling him tense against your side, managing to get a distance of what you thought to be out of earshot of Howard and Patricia before Forrest decided to stop dead in his tracks. "Where in, and I do beg your pardon, the hell are you so intent on dragging me off to?" He asked. "Anywhere away from Patricia and that brother of yours, if they're 'catching up' the way I think they are, I have no interest in being anywhere near them." You explained, noting how Forrest seemed to relax once you had let go of his arm. He merely shrugged in response, "Guess I've heard enough of Howard to not think about it." He murmured, and you cocked your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes. "Living together does that." He added because that deserved a little more eloquence. "Alright then," you said, silence taking hold as you wondered, 'what now?'. "Um.." Forrest started hesitantly, looking off in a direction you thought he seemed rather keen on. "Yes?" You asked, trying to gently ease him along. You knew enough from Patricia to understand he wasn't exactly a conversationalist. "Was just thinkin' we could head toward the pond, fewer people there than here I'd reckon." He uttered, refusing to meet your gaze head on. "Let's." You agreed, gesturing for him to lead the way and you became increasingly more intrigued as you watched people make a point of moving out of his way as he did. He did seem as quiet and awkward as Patricia had said he was, but she left out the part about how people would huddle and whisper amongst themselves as he passed by. However, catching glimpses of a jar tucked into the pocket of his sweater gave you a few ideas. Learning about the quaint character hidden under his shyness on a peaceful stroll away from the far too dense crowds sounded miles more interesting than what Patricia and Howard were doing.

Sturgis

His shipment went to Pierre, the capital, but he couldn't pass up stopping off in Sturgis on his way back, not knowing if he would get the chance again. The streets were lined with hordes of bikes, a few classic cars, and some hotrods. Johnny thought the best part to be the feeling swelling in his chest that he was home, though It wasn't the place that felt like home. It was the crowds attending bike week, the fact that nobody gave him anything other than a nod, a wave, a smile, no judgment to be found in their bright expressions. "Hey," a bearded biker called to get his attention, "catch!" He exclaimed, tossing a beer can into Johnny's hands. "Cheers." Johnny said, holding the can up in the air and smiling at the cardboard sign that read, 'Ask me for a beer!' with an arrow pointing at the man's cooler. He continued walking with a relaxed pace, and the smile stayed plastered to his face. He wasn't being othered, alienated, or ignored. He was getting to be 'just Johnny' for a couple of days. Something in that wild streak he never grew out of seemed to settle somewhat in a way, settling happily into the understanding atmosphere. Johnny was welcomed as he was, being who he was for once wasn't leaving him more alone. His smile widened as a couple on a trike waved to him. The man had a prosthetic leg, and the woman was missing an arm, but they couldn't care less because they were happy and enjoying themselves. Of course, everything had a price, and nothing in the world was free. The memory of overhearing his wife discouraging the kids from speaking about who their daddy is like it was something for them to be ashamed of felt like a large fist slamming into his chest. His marriage had been good once upon a time, great even. By the time his firstborn started going to school was when everything went to shit. Suddenly, his wife was more concerned with keeping up the image of a perfect little American family, but apparently, a tattooed biker Johnny didn't fit that image according to her. He pulled the beer out of his back pocket and clutched it to his chest, hopeful the kindness of the man who tossed it to him would seep into him through the aluminum can and bring back the happiness with it.

He forced his legs to move him forward, trying to find something to distract himself with. He noticed a wet T-shirt contest in full swing, which didn't exactly have much to do with bikes, although most that were gawking probably thought the skimpily clad bebes looked better straddling the hunks of metal between their legs, it wasn't hurting anyone, so why not?. He moved on to the burnout contest. That was more to his tastes, standing amongst the crowd watching contestants prepare as much as you could for something like this. The smoke and squealing tires were a welcome distraction, onlookers clapped and hollered, some lewd whistles were thrown around as one of the contestants entered the box with one girl on his bike in front of him and another behind him, Johnny rolled his eyes with a snort, concluding that he was the only one actually looking at the bike instead of the women.

As the sun sunk lower, he found himself sitting on the window ledge of some business, inhaling the tobacco of a freshly lit cigarette, glancing up at the 'no smoking' sign near the entrance with a light scoff, like that was gonna stop him. His coping mechanisms may be worse than his actual problems, but memory keeps tapping a gun against the inside of his skull, demanding the dead be brought back to life. Some dinky sheet of tin wasn't going to stop that either. The rally wasn't a place where rule-followers went, it was a place for people like him. Who really just had a craving to be understood.

[ishomieokay]

And We Made You Pairs (Ch. 4)

──── a homelander x arab oc story.

✰ summary - Homelander’s mission in Syria puts him in direct conflict with Noura, an activist working to protect her country from foreign interference. Although their initial encounters are fraught with tension, over time they develop a begrudging respect for one another. Homelander is drawn to Noura’s fearlessness and conviction, while she catches glimpses of humanity in him.

When Noura’s town faces annihilation, Homelander must make a choice. Will he remain the military’s loyal wardog, or will he do something good for once in his life? ao3.

✰ warnings//tags - enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, terrorism, kamikaze missions, minor injuries, intrusive thoughts, mental health issues, parasocial relationship, obsessive behavior, one-sided attraction, anxiety disorder.

✰ taglist - @discowizard88, @possiblyafangirl, @sacha1slytherin, @infinetlyforgotten, @redroserabbit, @1800imgay Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Homelander gritted his teeth, his arms wrapped tightly around Amir as they shot higher into the sky. The man was barely conscious, his face streaked with soot and tears, his thin frame trembling against Homelander’s unyielding grip. Amir’s hands clung to his shoulders with a desperate strength that made stripping him of the explosive vest a clumsy, frustrating task.

"Hold still, you little—" Homelander muttered, his words bitten off by the sharp snap of a loose strap finally giving way. With a growl of effort, he yanked the vest free, throwing the mass of wires and metal to the side. For a fleeting moment, there was only the sound of wind howling around them.

Then came the blast.

The world erupted in fire and sound, a shockwave tearing through the air and swallowing them whole. The heat seared his back, even through his almost indestructible suit, and he clenched his jaw against the pain. Homelander twisted, curling his body around Amir, his arms tightening like a vice. The man was limp now, his head lolling against Homelander’s chest, oblivious to the chaos.

The familiar sensation of control—the effortless mastery of flight—was ripped away. The force of the explosion had hit them like a tidal wave, knocking Homelander off balance. They tumbled through the air, spiraling out of control. It was disorienting, like being caught in the barrel of a wave at the beach, dragged down and spun around by an unseen force. The smoke blinded him, the heat clawed at his skin, and for a moment, he wasn’t the all-powerful Homelander. He was just a man trapped in a storm of his own making.

"Goddammit," he growled, his voice barely audible over the roar of the shockwave. He forced himself to focus, to cut through the dizziness and the noise. His instincts screamed at him to let go of Amir, to prioritize his own safety. But then the image of Noura flashed in his mind—her wide, tear-filled eyes, her voice breaking as she screamed her brother’s name.

Homelander pushed harder, his body straining against the aftershock as he fought to right himself. Finally, he broke through the worst of it, emerging into clearer skies. The fireball from the explosion still lingered below, a furious bloom of orange and red, but the immediate danger had passed.

Panting, he slowed, hovering midair. Amir dangled in his arms, completely out of it, his head resting awkwardly against Homelander’s chest. A thin trickle of blood ran down from his temple, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. He was alive, though, his shallow breaths warm against Homelander’s suit.

Homelander looked at the man with irritation. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?" he muttered, though there was no one to hear it.

He glanced down at the cityscape, smoke rising in thick plumes over the square below. From this height, it almost looked peaceful, the chaos of downtown Damacus muted by distance. His mind churned with frustration. The plan had been simple. Let Amir blow himself up, then watch the story hit the airwaves: Violent Terrorists Claim Suicide Bombing as Cease-Fire Diplomacy Resumes. It would have been a perfect headline, a clean, easy way to make the world see with what sort of savages they were dealing with.

Al-Sayed had ruined it, though. Her sudden appearance in the square had thrown everything off balance. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t calculated. He’d acted on pure impulse, snatching her brother away from her without stopping to consider the consequences.

Now he was stuck with the fallout—literally.

Amir stirred slightly, a faint groan escaping his lips. Homelander stared at him, his irritation flaring anew. "You better appreciate this, kid," he muttered. "You just cost me a hell of a lot of PR."

The thought gnawed at him as he began his descent, the city’s lights growing brighter as they approached. His mind flicked back to Al-Sayed again, to the way her voice had cracked when she screamed for her brother. There had been such raw emotion in her tone, such desperation. He hated it. Hated how it had clawed its way into his chest and made him feel… something.

With a heavy sigh, Homelander tightened his grip on Amir and adjusted his flight path. There was a hospital nearby. He would drop the man off, let the doctors handle it, and leave before anyone could start asking awkward questions. He glanced down at Amir one last time, his expression hardening. He should have let him die. Gladly would have, if it wasn’t for… well, that didn’t matter anymore. Now, he needed to focus on damage control.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor buzzed faintly, casting a cold, clinical glow over the pristine tiles. Noura sat perched on the edge of Amir’s hospital bed, her hands clutching the thin blanket as though it could anchor her. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside him was the only sound in the room, a metronome marking time. Amir’s face, pale and bruised, looked impossibly fragile. A faint trail of dried blood stained his temple, and his left arm was wrapped in a thick bandage. But he was breathing. He was alive.

The doctor’s call had been a blur of words—“stable,” “lucky,” “brought in by someone”—but she barely remembered any of it. Relief had flooded her, an overwhelming wave that left her legs weak and her throat tight. Watching Amir’s chest rise and fall now, she felt the tight knot in her stomach loosen, though the edges of fear still gnawed at her.

Her brother stirred, his eyelids fluttering before slowly opening. His gaze was unfocused at first, then landed on her. “Noura?” he croaked, his voice rasping like sandpaper.

The sound broke something inside her. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she dared. “Amir,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re alive, you’re alive.”

Amir winced but didn’t pull away.

“I... I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words barely audible.

She pulled back, her hands cupping his face. “What were you thinking?” Her voice cracked with a mix of anger and anguish. “You could have died! What were you trying to do?” Her words came out in a rush, her chest heaving as she fought to contain her emotions.

Amir turned his face away, his jaw tightening. “I thought... I thought it was the only way. Hassan said—”

“El Ghany!” Noura spat his name like poison. She released Amir’s face and stood, pacing the small room. “That man lied to you! He used you. Don’t you see that?” Her hands clenched into fists, the nails biting into her palms. “He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone!”

Amir flinched at the venom in her voice but didn’t argue. His shoulders slumped; his gaze fixed on the blanket pooled around his waist.

“I know that now,” he said softly.

She stopped pacing and turned to him; her eyes harsh. “Then why, Amir? Why would you—” Her words caught in her throat as her gaze fell on him, so small and broken, sitting in the bed like a boy caught in a storm far too big for him.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Tell me everything. I need to know.”

Amir hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. “It’s hard to explain,” he began, his voice shaking. “I just remember pieces, the wind blowing… I didn’t think I’d make it. But then… he took the vest off me.”

Noura stiffened. “Who?”

“Homelander,” Amir said, looking up at her. His brow was furrowed, as if trying to piece together the fragments of a dream. “He... he saved me.”

The room seemed to tilt. For a moment, Noura only stared. “He what?” she whispered, the word barely leaving her lips.

“He took me out of the square,” Amir continued, his voice growing steadier. “He flew me into the sky. When the bomb went off, he—he shielded me.”

Noura’s mind raced, trying to make a sense of what she was hearing. Homelander? The symbol of everything she despised—the butcher who had left her town in ruins, who had stared her down through the smoke and blood without a flicker of remorse. That man had saved Amir?

“You’re sure that’s what happened?” she asked, her voice tight.

Amir nodded. “I remember his face. He looked... angry. Like he didn’t want to be there. But he didn’t let me go. Even when the bomb went off, he held on.” His gaze dropped to his hands, his voice lowering. “He brought me here after. Left without saying a word.”

Noura sank onto the chair, her legs giving out beneath her. Her thoughts churned in confusion and anger. Why would he do that? Homelander, the man who killed with impunity, who paraded himself as a savior while leaving only destruction in his wake—why would he save Amir?

Her chest tightened, a thousand conflicting emotions clawing at her. She hated him. She hated him for the lives he’d taken, for the grief and pain he’d caused. And yet, he’d saved Amir. He could have let him die. He could have watched as the bomb consumed him and flown away without a second thought. But he hadn’t.

“Why?” she muttered, more to herself than to Amir.

“I don’t know,” Amir admitted. “He said something before, when we... he said it wouldn’t matter if I died. That it wouldn’t change anything.”

Noura didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her mind was a maze of unanswered questions, each one leading to a dead end. Was it a game to him? Some twisted attempt to make himself look good? Or was it something else?

“He’s playing with us,” she said finally, her voice sharp with anger. “That’s all this is. Don’t think for a second he did this out of the goodness of his heart.”

Amir’s expression darkened, guilt and confusion warring in his eyes. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I’m alive because of him.”

Noura turned away; her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t know what to feel. Gratitude didn’t come easily when it was tangled with hate. She wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers from the man who had turned her world upside down. None of that would change what had happened, though. None of it would erase the truth.

Homelander had saved her brother’s life.

The alley was shrouded in darkness, the dim glow of a distant streetlamp casting faint shadows across the damp ground. Homelander leaned against the cracked concrete wall. He had flown halfway across the city, away from the chaos of the markets and the prying eyes of both allies and enemies. His iconic red, white, and blue cape was singed in places, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to it. His hands, usually steady as steel, trembled faintly at his sides.

He stared at them, his jaw tightening. He clenched his fists, trying to will the shaking away, but the tremors only grew worse. The pain from the explosion was dull now, an ache buried under layers of adrenaline and denial. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a blast head-on, but something about tonight felt different.

He hated it.

“You’re a mess, John,” a familiar voice drawled, smooth and mocking.

Homelander’s head snapped up, his gaze falling on a puddle of rainwater pooling near a drain. The reflection shimmered, and there it was—his shadow-self, lounging against the opposite wall, arms crossed and wearing a smirk that Homelander wanted to wipe off his face.

The other tilted his head, feigning concern. “Shaking like a leaf, all alone in a dingy alley. Not a great look for America’s golden boy.”

“Shut up,” Homelander growled, pushing off the wall. His boots scraped against the wet ground as he paced, trying to channel his frustration into movement. “I’m not in the mood.”

The other straightened, his form shifting slightly as if the puddle rippled. “Oh, I can see that. Big night, wasn’t it? You pulled off quite the stunt. Risking your flawless self to save that scrawny little arab. You almost looked like a real hero. Almost.”

Homelander stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “I was ready to let him die. It was all part of the plan. It should’ve been easy! But then...” His words trailed off.

“But then she showed up,” the specter finished for him, his grin widening. He clapped his hands together slowly, the sound echoing faintly in the empty alley. “Bravo, Johnny boy. Once again, you’re letting a pair of big, pretty eyes throw you off your game. And the worst part is she doesn’t even know you. She’s just some woman you stalk on social media. It’s fucking… sad.”

Homelander turned away, his shoulders stiff. He stared down the alley, his gaze unfocused. “She wasn’t supposed to be there,” he muttered, more to himself than to the voice. “None of this was supposed to happen. I had it all under control.”

“Oh, sure you did,” the other said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, saving the woman… that I can understand. I mean, if you really wanna hit that. No judgement. Saving the kid, though? Shielding him from the blast? Dragging him to a hospital like some fucking paramedic?” He let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, real controlled.”

“I didn’t do it for her,” Homelander snapped, spinning around to face the reflection. His voice echoed off the walls, sharp and biting. “It wasn’t about her.”

The other arched an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. “Of course not. You just felt like playing guardian angel tonight. Happens to the best of us.”

Homelander’s jaw worked, his teeth grinding together. He knew the truth, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He could still see Al-Sayed’s face, twisted in fear and desperation as she screamed her brother’s name. It had been raw, real—nothing like the fake saves he was used to performing back home. For a split second, her voice had cut through the noise, through the chaos, and he had acted.

“You’re obsessed with her,” the other said, stepping closer. The puddle’s reflection rippled slightly, as though it were leaning in for effect. “And you hate it. That’s why you keep flying to her rallies, hovering outside her apartment, scrolling through her videos at night like some lovesick teenager.”

“Stop talking,” Homelander hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits. His hands twitched, the urge to smash something, anything, coursing through him. “You don’t know anything.”

“Oh, but I do,” his reflection said, his tone softening to a mockery of pity. “I know you’re scared. Scared that she sees through the suit, through the speeches and the smiles. Scared that she doesn’t fear you the way everyone else does. That’s what gets under your skin, isn’t it? She doesn’t buy the act.”

Homelander’s chest heaved, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He could feel the words digging into him, each one like a knife twisting in his gut. He wanted to shout, to lash out, to silence the voice. It wouldn’t matter if he did, though. Deep inside he knew that every single word was true. He understood now what the shaking was about, and the explosion had nothing to do with it.

He was afraid.

“She’s nothing,” he said finally, his voice strained. “A nobody. A little activist with a big mouth. She’s nothing.”

The other’s smile widened, but there was no humor in it. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, Johnny, go ahead. But you and I both know the truth. She got in your head. Like Madelyn, like Stormfront, like Maeve. And she’s not going anywhere.”

Homelander turned sharply, his cape snapping behind him as he stalked down the alley. The puddle rippled again, his reflection fading into the distorted light. But the voice lingered, echoing in the corners of his mind.

“You’re slipping, Johnny,” it whispered. “And sooner or later, you’re going to fall.”

Homelander didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. The truth was already chasing him, no matter how fast he flew.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted Amir’s bruised face in warm light, highlighting the purples and blues of the day’s events. His breaths came shallow but steady, his chest rising and falling under the thin hospital blanket Noura had tucked around him. She sat in a wooden chair by his side, her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Every so often, she glanced at him, as if reassuring herself he was still there. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on her, heavy and unrelenting. Before he woke up, she had spent hours waiting in the sterile hospital corridors, pacing and praying. Now at least, she could breathe a little better.

The creak of the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned her head just as Fatima stepped inside, her face lined with worry. The older woman had been her steadfast friend through so much, and yet tonight, Noura felt a gulf of incomprehension between them. How could she explain what had happened?

Fatima crossed the room in a few hurried steps, her eyes darting to Amir’s sleeping form before landing on Noura. “I came as soon as I heard. Is he...?”

“He’s alive,” Noura spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t know what else to say. “He’s... alive.”

“Praise be to God,” Fatima murmured, her tone reverent. “What happened?”

Noura opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. She looked at Amir again, his features so much younger in sleep, almost childlike. Where could she even begin? The note, the market, the explosion—all of it blurred together in her mind like a terrible, surreal dream.

Finally, she said, “It was Homelander.” The name came out thick on her tongue, like something foreign and unwelcome. “He saved Amir.”

Fatima blinked, confusion flickering across her face.

“What do you mean, ‘saved him’?” she asked cautiously, as though Noura might shatter under the weight of the question.

Noura pressed her palms together, her fingers curling tightly until they turned white. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “The bomb went off, and I thought... I thought Amir was gone. But he saved him. He flew him out of the blast and... and brought him here, to the hospital.” Her eyes flickered to Fatima’s, as if asking for an explanation. “Why would he do that?”

Fatima’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Why do you think?” she asked, her tone sharper now. “It’s a publicity stunt. A way to make himself look like a hero. It’s what he does. You’ve said it yourself, time and again. Don’t fall for his games, Noura.”

Noura flinched, the words cutting through her like a blade. Fatima was usually so soft-spoken, so unassuming. Perhaps because of that, the statement stung more. “I know who he is,” she said defensively, though the conviction in her voice wavered. She remembered Homelander’s eyes as they locked with hers, just before he took off. Wide, confused and so very, very blue. Human. “I know what he’s done. But this... this felt different.”

“Different?” Fatima’s voice rose slightly, incredulous. “Noura, the man is a killer. He’s destroyed families, communities—he destroyed our town. You think one act of mercy erases all of that?”

“No,” Noura said quickly, shaking her head. “No, of course not.” But even as she said it, doubt crept into her mind, insidious and persistent. She looked back at Amir, the memory of his trembling hands clutching the detonator fresh in her mind. “But he didn’t have to save Amir,” she added quietly. “He could have let him die. It would have been easier for him.”

Fatima’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “That’s exactly why you should be careful,” she warned. “He’s the type to play long games, Noura. He didn’t do this for you or for Amir. He did it for himself.”

Noura bit her lip, her gaze falling to her lap. Fatima was right, of course. She knew from past experience that Homelander’s actions were nothing more than calculated self-interest. It would be easier to hate him, to hold onto the anger that had driven her for so long. But the raw force of the explosion, the image of him shielding Amir with his own body lingered in her mind. It didn’t fit the narrative she’d built around him. It didn’t make sense.

“Maybe,” she said at last, her voice barely audible. “Maybe you’re right.”

Fatima reached out, placing a firm hand on Noura’s shoulder. “I am,” she said with quiet certainty. “You’ve seen what he’s capable of. Don’t let one moment of weakness make you forget the bigger picture.”

Noura nodded slowly. Fatima’s words made sense, and still her heart refused to settle. There had been something in Homelander’s eyes when he had looked at her—something she couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t the smug superiority she had expected, nor the cold indifference she had come to associate with him. It had been... different.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes for a moment. “I just don’t understand,” she whispered. “None of it makes sense.”

Fatima gave her shoulder a squeeze before standing.

“Maybe it’s not meant to,” she said. “But you can’t let it distract you. Amir needs you now more than ever. Focus on him.”

Noura opened her eyes, watching as Fatima moved toward the door. She nodded again, her thoughts a tangle of conflicting emotions. As the door clicked shut behind Fatima, she looked back at Amir, reaching out to gently take his hand in hers. His skin was warm, his pulse steady beneath her fingers.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow. Safe was a relative term in their world, and she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the city lights flickered in the distance.

Homelander’s face flashed in her mind, unbidden. She could still see the way he had stood in the market square, towering and unyielding, a force of nature. She hated him for everything he represented, for the destruction he had brought to her home and her people. But still she wondered.

Why had he saved Amir? Beneath the façade, could there be more to him than violence and cruelty?

Noura didn’t have answers, only questions that wouldn’t let her rest.

The hill overlooking the desert felt eerily still under the night sky. The lights of Damascus twinkled in the distance, a faint shimmer against the endless darkness. Noura’s steps were slow but deliberate, her heartbeat a drumbeat in her ears. She wasn’t entirely sure what had brought her here—anger, desperation, or the stubborn need for answers. The weight of the day was bearing down on her, the memory of Amir’s bruised face lingering in her mind.

Ahead of her, Homelander hovered above the ridge, a looming figure against the starlit sky. His cape fluttered faintly in the desert breeze, the red fabric dulled with soot and grime from the earlier explosion. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her approach until she was almost within reach. Then, as though sensing her presence, he descended effortlessly, his boots touching the sand without a sound.

Noura stopped short, her breath catching in her throat. She had imagined this confrontation a dozen different ways, yet none of them felt as surreal as the reality before her. He looked different in this light—not the polished, untouchable icon from the news but something... frayed. The skin around his eyes was drawn tight, and his jawline was clenched with an emotion she couldn’t place. It was his hands that caught her attention, though, trembling faintly before he laced them behind his back.

“Why?” The word escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her voice, raw and sharp, cut through the quiet. “Why did you save my brother?”

Homelander tilted his head slightly, as if the question amused him. His lips quirked into a shadow of a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Was this just a game to you? Playing with his life—playing with our lives?”  

He turned to face her fully now, his clear blue eyes oddly distant. “It’s always a game, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone light but edged with something darker. “That’s what I do. The big bad American supe, toying with the little people. Would that answer satisfy you, Noura?”

Her name on his tongue was jarring, spoken with a strange familiarity that sent a chill through her. She’d been sure he didn’t know it. As a matter of fact, while she made her way to him, she’d wondered if he even remembered who she was. For some reason, he did. “Don’t do that,” she snapped, stepping closer. “Don’t try to turn this into something clever. I want the truth.”

Homelander’s smirk faltered. He exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh. “The truth,” he echoed, his gaze drifting past her, to the lights of the city below. “The truth is... I don’t know why I saved him. I just did.”

“You’re lying.” Noura’s voice rose, a mixture of fury and frustration. “Men like you don’t do anything without a reason. You wouldn’t risk yourself for nothing.”

“Risk?” He barked a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Do you think that blast could’ve killed me? Hurt me, sure. Stings like a fucking sunburn. But I’m still standing. I always am.”

“You could’ve let him die,” she pressed, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you?”

Homelander’s expression hardened, the faint flicker of amusement vanishing. For a moment, he said nothing, his silence stretching unbearably between them. Then he shrugged, his tone turning mocking. “Maybe I just didn’t feel like watching your brother burst into little pieces all over Damascus. I do have a sensitive stomach.”

Noura stared at him, her chest heaving with suppressed rage.

“You’re unbelievable,” she whispered, her voice harsh with anger. “Do you even hear yourself?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze slipping away again, as if the conversation no longer interested him. That dismissal, that refusal to acknowledge her, ignited something in her. She stepped forward and shoved him. It was like hitting a brick wall. He didn’t budge, didn’t even flinch. But before she could pull away, his hand shot out, catching her wrist in an iron grip.

Noura froze, her breath hitching. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was unyielding, a silent reminder of the power he wielded. His eyes, now fixed on hers, were colder than she’d ever seen them, and yet there was something else there—a flicker of an emotion that was quickly buried.

“You’re not going to change me, Noura,” he said softly, almost too softly. The words hung in the air, strange and weighted, as though they were meant more for himself than for her. “No one can.”

Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I don’t want to change you,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I just want to understand.”

Homelander’s expression shifted, the briefest crack in his facade. He released her wrist abruptly, as if the contact had burned him. “Good luck with that,” he muttered, bitterly. Noura took a step back, her pulse racing. She wrapped her arms around herself, the night air suddenly feeling much colder. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the silence between them heavy with everything unspoken.

Before she could say anything else, he rose into the air, the gust of wind from his departure rustling her clothes and the edges of her hijab. She stood there in silence, watching him disappear into the night sky.

The room was still and silent. Stripped of his suit, Homelander stood in front of a wide mirror, his reflection bathed in the dim glow of a single lamp hanging from the ceiling. His skin was bare, pale, and unblemished except for the faint pink hue that stretched across his back and shoulders. The aftermath of the explosion.

It was strange, feeling pain. Not sharp, not excruciating—just a persistent, dull sting, like the aftermath of a bad sunburn. He hadn’t lied to Al-Sayed about that. The sensation was alien to him, unsettling in its novelty. He dipped his fingers into a tub of cream and began spreading it over the discolored patches. The coolness offered little relief, but it gave his hands something to do, something to focus on other than the whirlwind in his mind.

His eyes flicked up to the mirror. He didn’t like the man staring back at him. He looked too human, too vulnerable. The faint tremor in his hand as he applied the cream hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Get it together,” he muttered under his breath, but the words rang hollow.

The explosion replayed in his mind, a loop of heat and chaos. He remembered the searing wave against his body as he wrapped himself around Amir, shielding him from certain death. It hadn’t been instinct—he’d hesitated. He could have let Amir die, let the narrative write itself, a tragedy spun in his favor. But then Al-Sayed had appeared, and everything had gone sideways.

“Why?” he whispered to the reflection, as if it held the answers he couldn’t find within himself.

He remembered what he’d said to Amir in that alley. Show them you’re not some mindless weapon. At the time, the words had been meant for the would-be-bomber, a taunt, a challenge. But now, stripped of his armor and alone with his thoughts, he wondered if those words had been aimed at himself. Had he been trying to prove something? To Noura? To the world? To himself?

The thought made his stomach churn.

Homelander’s fingers tightened around the edge of the dressing table, his knuckles whitening. He wasn’t some bleeding-heart wuss. He was strength, control, and power incarnate. That was what made him untouchable. So why couldn’t he shake the image of Noura’s tear-streaked face back at the market, the anger in her voice when she’d demanded to know why?

“You’re not going soft,” he told himself firmly. His voice echoed off the sterile walls, but even to his ears, it sounded like a lie.

He turned away from the mirror, pacing the length of the room with measured steps. His cape lay discarded on the floor, a crumpled heap of red and white, its pristine image marred by soot and dirt. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this—uncertain, conflicted, human.

A distant rumble broke the quiet. The sound of engines approaching. Military vehicles, their headlights slicing through the darkness outside the window. General Thompson was approaching.

Homelander’s jaw tightened at the thought of the general. He had never disobeyed Thompson, never given him a reason to doubt his loyalty or his effectiveness. The man’s approval had always been a given, as steady and reliable as the suit Homelander wore. But tonight? He could already picture the disappointment, the anger etched into Thompson’s face.

For a moment, a fleeting moment, the image of Thompson’s fury made something deep inside him recoil. Not fear—he didn’t fear anyone—but something dangerously close. Shame. It sat heavy in his chest, a weight Homelander didn’t know how to carry.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head. “No more of this.”

He squared his shoulders, forcing the conflict down, burying it beneath layers of hardened resolve. He was the Homelander, America’s greatest hero. He wasn’t built for doubt, for regret. Whatever had happened tonight—whatever impulse had driven him to save Amir—it wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it.

By the time the sound of boots reached his door, his expression was cool, his stance unwavering. He was back in control. Or at least, he would make them believe he was. But deep down, beneath the surface, the questions still lingered, unanswered and relentless. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to face them.

[aita-blorbos]

wibta for manipulating the mechanics of my world?

Hi, I'm a builder. I don't know much about myself, but I know I seriously love building things. I just woke up in this beautiful world with limitless materials and nothing else to do. I don't remember anything about who I am or how I got here, just my name (you can call me S) and that I really, really, really love to build things.

It was morning when I woke up here, and I was pretty excited to start making this world my own. I worked all day, cutting down trees, making tools, and earning a real sense of achievement. When night came around, I wasn't even tired! I was going to just keep working and sleep when I can build myself a bed.

Except… night is really weird here. All of these monsters show up - skeletons that shoot at you, zombies that chase you down, slimy blobs that try to smother you, and these weird walking bush things that go all kamikaze on you. It's the worst! How am I supposed to construct my dream home in these conditions?

So, yeah, I died on my first night. It was a horrifying experience. I thought it was all over for me, but then I just… woke up again! That was almost worse, if I'm being honest. It was like all my wounds had disappeared, but that lingering sensation of death… eugh. I'll never forget that feeling.

I picked up all my stuff from before - I guess my body teleported away when I got un-death'd? - and just hid in a hole until morning. It was the worst night of my life! You'd think things would be better now that I have a house, but life is still really difficult. I keep getting shot, and then this tall thing tried to kill me for literally no reason, and I'm just so sick of it. I'm not good at combat, I mean, I almost died while I was trying to craft a new sword last night!

I don't want to give up, though. Maybe just… make a quick change. There's this sort of thing I can do, I'm not sure how it works, but I can make life easier by changing how the world operates. I can make myself heal faster, I can make my hunger go away, and I can make my enemies weaker (or even disappear altogether). It's a pretty sick deal.

Things don't feel quite as rewarding this way, but I'm really only interested in building a house anyway. I mean, one of those zombies knocked down my door last night. I don't want to mess with their agency or anything, but like, again, how am I supposed to build in these conditions?? I don't think it's too rude to just… make them weaker. I'm not getting rid of them, just making them easier to kill. That's not too bad, right?

[glygriffe]

Something borrowed

Fandom - Supernatural Characters - Dean & Sam Word count - 697 Warning - hurt/comfort, brotherly feelings, strong language/cursing A note - Set near the beginning of the episode Faith, in season one. Missing scene. For @sicktember, Day 7: borrowed hoodie

Sam left the hospital room with his jaw clenched. Dean couldn’t see it from the bed, but the tone of the “Watch me” his brother gave him before turning to the door and all his body language - his brooding shoulders, the swagger in his step - let him know that fact.

Dean sighed and clicked the TV back on. Day-time TV wasn’t so bad, he just didn’t want Sam to know he liked it. But he couldn’t concentrate on the plot of the telenovela he channel flipped to, the dialog drowned over the sound of his own labor breathing. That and the fact that Sammy’s body language had also told him he was worried. In his mind’s eye, he could see his little brother gnawing on his fingernails while searching restlessly on the internet for a treatment that the doctor might have overlooked.

What if Sammy did something stupid to save him? He could be doing something to endanger himself right now, in the attempt to find a solution to Dean’s predicament. That would be the cherry on this shit cake, wouldn’t it? His gigantic sibling injuring himself or getting arrested trying to save Dean. Because the sonnofabitch was stubborn as fuck.

Enough was enough. He wasn’t gonna live his last days on Earth in a cozy hospital bed when Sam was out there, alone, doing who knows what. He wasn’t lying earlier when he said it was a dangerous gig. And Dean was responsible for bringing him back to hunting, for god sake. He should at least look after him to the end. And looking out for his little brother had always been his job, anyway.

Decision made, Dean threw back the sheet and swung his legs out of the hospital bed. His heart was pounding as fast as Thumper’s leg in Bambi. He stayed sitting on the edge of the mattress for a long time, waiting for the dizziness to subside. That’s how he realized his feet were swollen. He hoped he wouldn’t have too much trouble putting his boots on.

Leaning on every piece of equipment or furniture within reach, he got to the closet to find his clothes. Everything was still wet from the water he had fallen in earlier. His jeans and jacket were the worst, being wet half the way and caked with basement gunk. Luckily, the hoodie Sam had covered him with while waiting for the ambulance was dry, and his socks and t-shirt were mostly just damp. He decided to forgo his jacket and Dickies shirt for the time being. As for the jeans, he didn’t have a choice. He scowled as the wet, smelly denim stuck to his legs as he pulled them on. Shivers ran up his spine from the sensation of the icy fabric, and he felt bout to pass out from the effort. From putting on his fucking pants!

As soon as he regained a modicum of strength, he put his brother’s dark grey hoodie over his t-shirt to stop freezing. When he zipped it all the way up, he got a whiff of Sam’s sent. It was a mix of cheap laundromat detergent, Irish Spring soap, and l’Oreal shampoo. The odor, subtle as it was, hit Dean with full force. It was as if his baby brother was right there and hugging him. Without thinking, he hugged himself in response. His dark-rimmed eyes began to sting.

He exhaled sharply, berating himself for indulging in something that could be perceived as a chick-flick moment. Yet he couldn't help putting on the hood, to keep the smell closer. It gave him as much strength as the warmth did.

It was his job to protect his brother, damn it! Always has been, always will be. It was not a job his father forced on him like second-hand or borrowed clothes; more a mission that belonged to him, that enveloped him like a mighty cloak and that he claimed with all his being. His future might be short, but he was still alive and still able to at least steer Sam away from danger if he went kamikaze.

“Hold on, Sammy”, he whispered, “I’m coming to you.”

[itsuki-minamy]

"SIDE GOLD"

CHAPTER 2: UNNO YUTAKA (PART 1/2)

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Special Attack"... Short for Special Attack Corps. A suicide ram attack is generally referred to as a special attack unit. At the end of World War II, the Japanese army, which was in a difficult situation, made a systematic and large-scale effort to get out of the war situation. On October 20, 1944, the name of the first special attack unit, "Kamikaze Special Attack Corps", could also be called "Kamikaze".

Unno Yutaka was screaming at the empty sky.

"Hey, please wait."

At noon on August 15, 1945 (Showa 20). He had been yelling ever since he was told the war was over, after the radio broadcast at Oita Air Base, where he had no idea what was being said. There were those who cried, those who crouched down, those who were stunned... There were many, but he was the only one who...

"I do not think."

...was screaming.

"I guess we're meeting here to carry out a suicide attack."

Driven by a sense of mission and exhilaration, he was taught that his own emptiness was the same as death, and it all bothered him, but still, from the bottom of his heart, he couldn't help but scream.

"Since I joined the camp, I've been beaten up by shitty people for shitty reasons, but I'm still here to hold on to fly and throw everything I've got to that shitty enemy in the sky... I guess."

He jumped from the barracks into the scorching summer sky and screamed at the place where he had decided to die.

"It's too good to provoke a lot of people and stop because it's over. Like you until this morning, say something nice. What about your beliefs, what about your spirit?"

The boy's cry did not resound like a cicada and disappeared under the sky.

Because he was like that, he was glad when he heard that the lieutenant general, who had been the commanding officer, had decided to launch a kamikaze sortie on his own, saying that he wanted to follow in the footsteps of a large number of loyal generals who had not yet received a formal ceasefire order.

"That's it. It's about taking responsibility for what you've done."

Without hesitation, he volunteered to accompany him.

Several people who had just woken up from his collapsed state immediately after the broadcast also volunteered to accompany them.

Then, after 17:00 on August 15, the 11 "Comet" carrier-based bombers that could fly at the base flew into the pre-sunset sky with a heart-rending engine sound. It didn't even have a machine gun, it was a kamikaze plane that couldn't be used for anything more than the 80th weight bomb that would hit the enemy.

The sky is infinitely wide, and the sea is infinitely distant. It was a sight that made them forget that far ahead, a brutal American and British fleet was closing in to trample their homeland. They greeted the setting sun.

"Well then, Sun God. We will never meet again."

Before long, night fell, and when the formation flight began to be in danger, they were able to miraculously meet the enemy fleet.

Having avoided the worst possible outcome of a running out of fuel accident, he was delighted at the chance to throw as much as he could, and turned his nose towards the enemy fleet. A tremendous density of flak guided them from the other side. Or maybe one of the wingmen crashed first.

"Thank you."

He thanked the enemy fleet and his wingman and began to descend.

His body floated, and then he was pressed against the seat. Wrapped in those shuddering sensations, his mouth wrapped in a white silk scarf contracted.

(I’m not afraid, I cannot be afraid.) He thought like that frantically, had not any moment for flashing back to his whole life. (It is not fear, I have no fear, laugh, hey come on, laugh.)

The airship's shadow flashed with gunfire, and before he got there, the sudden sound of metal being torn away and the dull tremor of the collision tore through his entire body.

It was hit and the airship was crushed by the shell.

He immediately burned and died.

"Sorry, fuck off."

The words may have been felt and not expressed.

However, there was only the feeling of falling while a machine spinning out of control.

And so, their war ended.

++++++++++

Unno Yutaka woke up under the sun that he should have said goodbye to.

He woke up in a clean bed.

He could tell at a glance that he was inside a ship.

"I'm alive... what a shame."

Also, the ship was not Japanese, it was an American warship.

As soon as he thought he had been taken prisoner, he put his hand to his waist, but of course the self-determination pistol was taken from him. Of course, he had no intention of committing suicide.

He didn't know the spirit of living and not being humiliated as a prisoner of war printed by stupid air force personnel. He just thought of grabbing a gun and going on a rampage to the end and dying.

But at that time he had no weapons.

Most of all, he realized that a significant part of his heart had been discouraged by the fact that the suicide attack, which he had faced with such despair, had failed. Maybe he was disappointed in himself for not getting to the place where he was supposed to die.

"There is a gun, at a time like this... either to kill yourself or to go on a rampage and die, was it a talisman to keep you alive?"

It was as if the heat that filled his entire body had disappeared.

Then, in a daze, an officer in a starched military uniform approached him, who did not have any stains on his body. Perhaps they planned to interrogate him or even execute him. The officer spoke to him in fluent Japanese. Somehow, he seemed to think of him as a boy who had been recruited.

"Don't be silly, I'm far from 20 years old, but I'm a full-fledged person."

Even when he yelled back, the officer laughed and excused himself, saying that the Japanese look young.

During the conversation, he learned that the officer had stayed in Japan for a long time as a military attaché, that he had many Japanese acquaintances in the quarters, and that he had learned Japanese at that time.

"Before the war, you mean?"

When he was young, he had no idea that he had just spent time before him where he could get along with the Americans. More than that, he hastened to ask him if he would be executed, but he replied that the war was already over, there was no need to listen to him, and he didn't want to kill him now.

"Now..."

A single word with precise pronunciation, just now... marked the end of the war in his mind.

After that, he spent more than two weeks with the soldiers until the warship docked in Yokosuka. The soldiers loathed kamikaze like madness, and indeed, kamikaze had caused great damage to the fleet in the past, but even so, as a kamikaze pilot, he was nonchalantly treated as a "cheeky kid who slipped into the ship".

"Heh, that one wins, this one loses, so there's plenty of room."

At first, he thought that the reason they treated him that way was because they were happy that they had won the war. To some extent, his assumption was correct, but after a while he realized something else, completely normal.

Any soldier. They weren't brutes who were indoctrinated by their superiors, they were the older brothers. Reluctantly dragged onto the battlefield, the rude and impatient soldiers, or the timid and clumsy, or the hostile and kind-hearted...were not meant to be killed.

He couldn't help but feel that the image of the enemy within him was terribly distorted.

He also learned from an officer (perhaps thinking that the "little warriors" wanted to know the outcome of their battle) that a ruthless reality was one of the main reasons for the soldiers' attitude.

In other words, the final suicide attack from him did not cause any damage to the fleet.

It was because they had no criminal record that he felt at ease.

Even though his pride was greatly hurt, he still acted tough on the spot.

"I don't like being treated like a child, but whether it's an arm wrestling or a fist fight, the odds are 50/50."

After that, for a while, he worked in the kitchen for food, singing nostalgia songs with which he didn't understand the language. In the fist fight at the drinking party, he was "fighting amongst themselves", and he learned broken English. On the contrary, he taught Japanese, and as he dealt with various faces, confusion began to arise in him.

"Hey, did I go out of my way to kill these guys?"

When he received a letter from an officer at his residence in Tokyo, he thought.

"These guys aren't the ones I have to hit with everything I've got."

Seeing the ravages of Yokosuka approaching, he reflected.

"Well then... who are those guys? What is that? Who was that? What was that?"

Unable to give an answer, he got off the warship and asked the officers and soldiers to see him off.

"Thank you."

He said that and said goodbye.

Unno Yutaka returned to Tokyo, alternating between the burned fields and the remains of the fire.

The hustle and bustle of the black market, the hustle and bustle of people, saw a boy clinging to an Occupation Army jeep, heard a happy song on the radio, walked past an ex-military policeman being lynched, and headed for a temporary destination .

There was nothing in the pension in Japan requested by the officer.

To be more precise, only the pillars that had not been reduced to ashes greeted him. Still, he did not give up, asking roaming scavengers and people living in the barracks about the whereabouts of the inhabitants.

"I am alone and have nothing else to do. It is a debt of gratitude for a night's stay and a meal."

He heard many stories as he searched for things that he didn't know if they were dead or alive.

The commander who led them on a suicide attack was criticized here and there.

Most of those who spoke badly were the comrades of the commanders, that is, the leadership of the old army. They unilaterally declared to the dead that if they decided to commit suicide, they would do it alone, that it would be nothing more than a suicide attack by a private army that ignored orders, taking with it young people with a promising future.

"Don't be silly to say something against the man who constantly puts a line on what he has done."

He was angered from the bottom of his heart by that ruckus.

"What, next time you should use that life for the restoration of your homeland. It must have been until yesterday that you took it from a young man with a promising future and ordered him to die."

From the bottom of his stomach, a kind of fever revived.

"Are you ordering me to turn my palms back, value my life, and work hard to rebuild? Don't you think of people's lives as nothing more than a tool that can be used for your benefit? Fuck you."

The heat hadn't gone away.

"The kamikazes did it because it was an order after all, whether they wanted to die or not. The bigger you get, the duller it gets, and you can roar to whatever you want."

Like a buried fire, he kept burning deep inside.

"How long will they continue to give orders to my life and our lives?"

A rumor reached his ears while he was dying with a pain that he could not scratch, even if he wanted to.

It was rumored that the occupying forces would collectively incinerate the Japanese army planes.

His feet turned towards Chofu, the elimination site.

Unno Yutaka grimly muttered.

"Even the execution ground is not that far away."

Under the autumn sky, the darkness increased with each step.

It was all a sad spectacle.

When he arrived at the Chofu airbase, mountains of various sizes had been built here and there.

The wings that once flew through the sky were now mountains of scrap that had been mercilessly crushed.

He knew well which ones were thrown away without even being burned.

A twin-engine trainer with a broken leg, a Type 0 transport plane with its cockpit torn off, a Shiden with its wings torn off… the marks of having been destroyed by human hands, not in combat, were clearly visible. Tires had been removed from many aircraft. According to a nearby resident, it was taken away to be used as farm equipment. There was no need for those things anymore, so what was wrong with using them for something else?

"Ha, I'm losing... it's disgusting."

And then, with a heavy heart, he arrived at the base's large airstrip, where the end was about to begin.

The bulldozer rushed forward and pushed the Type 100 reconnaissance aircraft upside down onto the aircraft next to it. Also, the planes they had brought back had probably been pushed into space, and the twin-engined Type 1 and Type 97 had their muzzles sunk into each other. Front, back, left, and right, Gale and Hien were crammed into a small space.

A Japanese worker scattered fuel between them, which there was no point in taking care of anymore. In addition to the roughly patrolling guards, many other onlookers gathered to watch the victory for them.

Before long, a harsh whistling sounded and a fire started.

He was watching his fate closely.

"......"

Thick black smoke rose up, followed by a dazzling flame.

The planes are slowly roasting.

"Something like this..."

He finally squeezed out a single word of emotion that seemed to make sense.

Suddenly, one of the wings burst open in the flames.

"......!"

The remaining fuel in the fuel tank caused the explosion.

Small explosions occurred one after another, tearing the plane apart.

"Uh..."

The smoke and flames expanded even further, swallowing the form of what had once been.

Before the invisible and disappearing things,

"Hey, please wait."

Unintentionally... he hid his voice, spilling out his real voice.

Like the planes, everything on it was burned, blown up, and smashed.

Forgetting to even blink, his voice continued to spill out as he covered himself in the smell of oil and the soot of smoke.

"Iron Wings, are you going to leave me behind?"

The wings that looked up in admiration mercilessly disappeared into the flames.

Being left behind, he didn't even know where to throw everything he had.

He didn't even want to obey an order that told him to go for a selfish prospect.

Wings, enemies, life, everything that should have existed for him to live was completely lost.

Anger, frustration, and sadness swirled inside him like a storm, burning with flames.

The tears that could have flowed were dried by the flames that burned irreplaceable things.

"All of me, all shining, should have been there."

Dokun... Something pulsed in the distance.

"But everything, I can't help it, I made it somehow."

Dokun… his heart was pounding, and something about it reached him.

"I'm..."

To the other side of the flames, to there...

"As I did?"

He let out an angry roar that welled up from the depths of his heart.

"Turn it off, alright, ooooooh!"

At the top, his senses suddenly expanded.

"......?!"

From the end of the darkness that he went through, the "Slate", the "King, Red", destruction.

Various fragments of theory flowed into his mind, but he knew nothing at all... With only his senses, he knew that the heat that burned him was accompanied by flames. He knew that the flames were overflowing without stopping.

"Why, this guy...?"

The words he addressed to those who interrupted his shouting were voices, not voices, but in a different form. Instead of exhalation, masses of flames dispersed. The open palm in front of him, and the entire body that was looking down, were engulfed in fiery red flames.

It was very hot, but it did not burn a layer of clothing or a single layer of skin.

He was irritated by the hellish disgust of not being able to die

"......?"

Capturing the sensation of being a part of him, he looked up.

He looked up at the sky for the first time that day, and it was floating in the black smoke that was rising towards the gloomy cloud.

It was a gigantic sword that gave off a dazzling red glow.

He muttered as he breathed in flames.

"I don't even care about the wings..."

He didn't like the fact that it was something that connected him.

A startled cry broke out behind him.

It's not a Japanese voice, it was a familiar American voice.

When he turned around wondering what was going on, several US soldiers on guard were staring at him with pale faces.

He vomited from the disgust of being burned alive.

"Fuck it. I'm in a good mood now."

Something hit him in the stomach.

If he only looked at it, he could see one of the American soldiers pointing his cannon at him, which was leaking gunpowder. He thought that he was going to clean it with a gun before. There wasn't a single scratch on his belly, let alone on the clothes he wore.

He felt that the flames had fanned.

"How nice."

He was stirred up, and his spirit was also on board. There were times when he wanted to freak out, even though he knew freaking out wouldn't help anything... Now was the time.

With hellfire burning his wings behind him, he stepped forward.

Although his shoes didn't burn, the ground he stood on did burn.

He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that.

His smiling voice turned into flames and scattered into the sky.

He cried out loud to his heart's content.

Feeling like a nightmare, he jumped on those who would shoot him.

The bullets that hit him did not hold as long as the raindrops.

He learned that, with the power of his fists, he could turn anyone to ash.

However, after waiting for a second, he yelled.

"Hey, you guys!"

After the US soldiers fled, they vandalized the jeep.

As he was convinced, the iron melted, expanded, and exploded.

The surroundings became noisy and US soldiers, in addition to security, rushed to the scene.

Even with hundreds of thousands of machine guns and rifles firing all over his body, he kept going.

At that moment, he advanced as if he was flying a distance that he couldn't reach from far.

He broke the armored car like candy, he saw further, he went further.

"Hahaha! Hey, isn't there a tank?! A warship is fine!"

With his own cry, the faces of the officers and soldiers suddenly came to life.

"Eh?!"

He looked around to see if there was anyone inside the armored vehicle that had been smashed to pieces.

He then he let out a fiery breath in the middle of nowhere, and turned white.

"Oh... what the hell is this fucking dream... I can't wake up."

He turned on his heel and walked slowly amid countless frightened stares.

In the fire that still burned the wings and the rest.

Finally, black smoke swirled in the wind, the flames rose, and the nightmare for the American soldiers ended.

He stepped on the rubble, and when he got to the middle, he exploded under a step and flew into the sky. Leaving behind the flames, he stepped through the black smoke and looked closely at the huge gigantic sword.

It was strangely shaped, neither a machine nor a creature.

"What are you going to do?"

He asked before the levitation of the explosion finished, but there was no answer.

With a snort, he made another explosion in the transition from floating to falling and flew away. He did not set any particular address. He left it to chance and flew as far as he could, but with all his might.

Those who made a fuss on the ground did not notice the star that had fallen from high above their heads.

"This kind of thing... what should I do?"

Unno Yutaka whispered into the empty sky and closed his heavy eyelids.

From somewhere in the past, he prayed for the dream to start again.

Although he knew it would not come true, he kept praying.

December 1948.

The Shizume area, which had been burned down during the air raids, has now formed a decent urban landscape. Of course, a splendid building (even if it burned down) was not enough for the fingers of one hand. All the wooden houses are smaller than the barracks, and the only advantage is the animation.

In the city center, the street stall-style black markets had all but disappeared, except in a few places. Instead, "markets", which are permanent shops lined up in rows of densely packed terraced houses, were common. Most of the shops were crowded restaurants and bars, pachinko parlors, sundry shops, and a slightly quirky dance hall.

Three years after the war, domestic distribution had been revived and shopping was no longer the job of an individual carrying a large backpack between the country and the city. The normal economic activity of middlemen buying ingredients and merchandise in bulk and selling them wholesale to each store was returning to normal.

An organization called "Kumi" was in charge of the operation of the entire market, management of trading rights, transactions with brokers, surveillance patrols, arbitration of disputes, and even negotiations with the government.

His predecessor was a group called Kagushiyashi, who had been in charge of land division (store locations) and entertainment at many local festivals. In the crowded market, there was a group that divided up each section, and while supporting the vitality of reconstruction, sharpening its rival's day by day with the goal of prosperity.

One of them was a group called "Kagirohigumi".

It is an emerging group born after the war, and the tightening of the market was relatively weak. Both the payment collected at the store and the brokerage fee were cheaper than the market price. Of course, kindness was not the reason. On the contrary, the members' arms were ridiculously strong and the controlled area was several times wider than the other groups, making it cheaper for that amount.

The Shizume area was originally a lawless area where many groups created a black market right after the war and fought over territory just like in the Warring States period. There was no patience to look at each other, no reason to compromise, and from bullying like obstruction of business to outright violent incidents, the chain of vices was the daily life of that town.

At the beginning of 1946, the disastrous situation changed completely with the sudden appearance of Furaibo. A wandering man... or, rather, a boy who ate everything on his strength alone.

Starting out as a free food eater at a street stall, sounding like a street fighter, being hired as a bodyguard at a market, and finally starting out as "Kagirohi-gumi" at the end of his fierce to-and-fro with multiple groups, even barefoot he was a fierce upstart in the career. Even after establishing the group, it took him more than two years to deal with other interventions and conflicts, and the former Furaibo was now in the position of a big boss who controlled most of the market in the Shizume area.

The big boss, who returned from a kamikaze attack, was exactly like a kamikaze attack, he was not afraid of death and even wanted to die.

In other words, he was "Unno who was slow to pass away".

[giulzart]

Thought I'd share some of the stuff I wrote about Violet, art stuff will come soon but I've been busy irl 😖

For context these were Violet's thought after chosing to ride the bus together with Soft Violence.

Also for bonus Violet has a secret crush for Orion AND still is in love with Seven, no matter either route she's on

I'll put it under the cut so I can spare those not interested!

Violet munches down on Devyn's words while she hangs back, outside the bus they are now going to share with Soft Violence because she chose to. The choice should've been a hard one but in the end it really wasn't. Not even in the slightest. At least not for Velvet Solstice's lead singer. Violet had already made up her mind the moment the words started to leave the mouth of Viktor White.

Soft Violence.

No doubt. No further questions needed. Violet honestly thought it wasn't even something they had to ask. In her head it was the only option. She didn't even turn it into a vote as she would usually. Especially since it's a decision that will affect all of them. That will affect Velvet Solstice and their future as a band in this competition.

In the end Violet is selfish and she knows. She could pretend that she's doing it because she feels guilty for skipping the fight at the party - she does feel guilty - or because she knows Rowan is still visibly worked up about the whole situation. Without counting out all the allegations that came after, that hang over their heads like a guillotine. She's fucking pissed that someone would even think they don't deserve their spot. Violet is a liar but not a cheater.

Aren't they one and the same? Aren't you?

She casts away the thought quickly. Violet is no martyr, nor she has any wishes to be one. If she thought logically, choosing Soft Violence - Seven - in the long run is actually the worst decision ever. Yes, it's been years but the implications, the not-said linger in the air like a ticking bomb just waiting for a spark to go off. A kamikaze move that could jeopardize both their bands - Seven and hers - into the competion. She doesn't want that, no matter how much she pretends otherwise.

But again, Violet is a selfish creature at its core, so she chose like any of those pesky things do. The opportunity too delicious, too inviting to pass up. Not when it's been three years and four - maybe five - months since she last saw Seven Lawless in person. Or so she thinks. She stopped keeping the exact count after the first year and a half.

Violet can't dismiss that Seven's presence still haunts her today. In the faces of strangers that don't quite look like him at all, but her mind recognizes something of his to latch onto. Never quite right but similar enough. A shadow of him forever lives in between the walls of her second-floor apartment. In the old sheets that she washed and changed a thousand time, but still manage to startle her awake at night every now and then. Minty scent brushing against the nape of her neck. Thoughts of him are scattered in between the pages of her notebook. Angry and jagged sentences and regret and hurt marking the white paper. In the hollow space behind her ribcage that she still deals with to this day. A piece of her gone forever that he took for himself when he left her and the band behind.

She shudders at the thought. Right now she would just like to spend a couple of hours cooped up inside her bathtub, smoking and trying to untangle the mass that are her feelings. Her skin itches and she represses the urge of scratching it. Instead she presses her nails in her biceps, the sensation of the pressure taking her attention away. She kicks a lone peeble by her feet and watches as it scurries on the concreate. Violet hopes that it'll take away all the nasty mudding her head. It doesn't. Of course it doesn't.

She looks up at her reflection in the bus' windows. The blue of her eyes clouded, nervous. She's scared. Vulnerable. She hates beign this way and she looks away. Teeth worring on her bottom lip.

She can hear voices coming from inside so she looks back again. Violet barely makes out Orion's silhouette while Rowan is trying to fist-bump his shoulder. Iris snikers and Devyn and August politely try to stiffle their laughters. She lets out a sigh of relief. The tension in her shoulder lessening as she lowers her arms by her side. She'll never admit it out loud but thank god Orion came when he did. He's been a constant for the band - for her - ever since. She's quite sure that her manager will never understand the extent of the gratefullness she feels towards him. Just as much the same she feels for her friends. Her true family.

She looks down at her feet, her new vinyl boots shining in her face. Her mouth twists as thoughts run around like a carousel in her mind. The beginning of a headache already building in the back of her head. The unpleasant pulsing behind her eyes a familiar sign.

You better not fuck this one up, Violet.

She takes one more breath, rolls her shoulder and straightnes her back. She's finally gaining back her control. Violet slips her practised mask back one as she starts to make her way into the bus. A stray thought crossing her mind when she catches the familiar sight of a red bandana further back.

This tour is such a bad idea.

[infinitesoldier3000]

The week of 3/20 proves to be a game changer. There’s moments we feel ur seconds from the promised land only to have the goal past moved. This time, a new realization has the goal post ubering its way towards us. It’s ok to not fit in sometimes. Be glad you don’t fit in certain cliques as you become one with your environment. Hurt gave way to the realization that being true to yourself is more rewarding. We all need an escape sometime. Good intentions turned cruel. No longer in tune with kamikaze ways, though we all have our moments. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Combined with the notion that everything is possible, we focus our energy on following through with the sweet sensation our imagination created. Mama said there will be days like this, they’re will be days like this my mother said. Just like Lenny Kravitz masters his guitar levels as he goes, we do things in a way that allows us to take off flying. Keep smiling. Humbled with what’s left to learn. Everything is possible when you believe in yourself. Create a state that leaves no debate. A compensate pick in a draft with infinite rounds ♾ #infinitesoldier #affirmations #mondayaffirmations #einstein #alberteinstein #ai #digitalart https://www.instagram.com/p/CqBZB7ZA0gJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[writer59january13]

CIPROFLOXACIN HCL 500 MG remedied urinary tract infection

No aversion nor embarrassment admitting, divulging, and jumpstarting poetic endeavor regarding yours truly afflicted, blighted, and contracted with urinary tract infection, (though condition finds me

feeling pissed off), whereby urination fraught with painful burning, gouging, and stinging sensation. Aside from the aforementioned ailment practically, nearly, nay already cured, after taking bad medicine, I feel great, but recognize necessity to take full course

of poetically issued, incorporated,

and identified antibiotic despite feeling more drowsy than usual. Impossible mission scrambling,

rummaging, and traversing

complex edifice housing

nooks and crannies pinpointing how I, albeit married (libido

long since took kamikaze nosedive - most likely adverse side effect courtesy countless medications prescribed to alleviate the bane of social anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, palmar hyperhidrosis, et alia) though celibate

became subjected to micturate experienced problematic discharge

to take a wizz with difficulty and discomfort.

The miracle of modern medicine (actually corroboration of many intelligent people such as biochemists, biomedical engineer, pharmaceutical scientists, et cetera) nips in figurative bud ailments of body, mind and spirit without which yours truly among untold other individuals would be unable to function close to their optimal level as possible. Though long since averse to the crass commercialization of most holidays in general, and Christmas in particular; eons ago boyhood found me unbounded, unrestrained, untethered, et cetera with bounteous excitement when December twenty fifth approached then finally arrived whereat I knew full well bearer of various and sundry gifts linkedin with mother reminding father in quasi cryptic words scotch tape and newspaper in such and such place. At ripe old age of three score plus three orbitz around the nearest star considerably less enthusiasm gushes forth at clamoring to purchase and/or receive presents, but rather anonymous zoological primate here within apartment b44 simply wanted a hippopotamus to appease the hidebound grinch.

[awutar]

Lanius: the new Israeli kamikaze drone that uses artificial intelligence before attacking its target

Lanius: the new Israeli kamikaze drone that uses artificial intelligence before attacking its target

Drones have become one of the focuses when it comes to next-generation weapons thanks to their great deployment capacity and the fact that they are extremely economical. One type of drone that has drawn particular attention, partly thanks to the war in Ukraine, are the kamikaze type. That is why Lanius the new drone recently presented by Israel has caused a sensation in the world of combat…

[liminal-librarian]

It's been at least a decade since I read any of this material, so take this with a grain of salt, but my memory of the plot (ST:TOS / ST:books) is:

Kirk hears the scenario is unwinnable, cracks in early and downloads the scenario so he can spend weeks playing it to figure out how to beat it.

School faculty figure this out and got to assess several of his performances instead of just one, they didn't really mind this.

He figured out which ways it was rigged, rigged them differently -re-cracked in and uploaded his changes.

He wins.

There's an academic hearing about this. They already know they want him for a captain, but they're trying to figure out whether to call him out on his cheating merely for academic honesty reasons.

He wins this hearing like an English major: by being fully convinced of his own bullshit. That's good enough, they already wanted him for captain.

Life goes on.

My interpretation is that the point of the test, is the same as the point of taking your candidate hire / daughter's boyfriend golfing.

You want to see how they handle stress / failure. Especially while under social pressure to succeed, and in a context where resulting to verbal or physical violence is not unheard of.

You don't want your new hires harassing your customers or their fellow employees.

You don't want your daughter to keep seeing a boyfriend who might turn violent and beat her/your grand children if he ever loses his job or whatever.

Regardless of what his best happens to be, you don't want a captain that shuts down or doesn't remain calm enough to keep doing his best in the face of surprise or the dawning realization of likely failure.

This isn't hazing, this is a very normal assessment one would want to know about future officers. Not that different than a lot of exercises / activities that soldiers undergo in boot camp.

As much as officers who have never lost, financiers who have never made a sour trade, look impossibly good on paper / in statistics, you don't want them getting in over their head with lives on the line and not having any experience dealing with the sensation. Financiers committing suicide or losing their touch after a single sour trade (that might be recoverable, or indistinguishable from market average if they could gain enough perspective) only costs their organisation the cost of hiring/training their replacement (also the cost of that inevitable sour trade, but that's already in the past by that point) but a ship captain shutting down or turning kamikaze can destroy a planet biosphere if not a star system. If not spark a sector wide war. You REALLY REALLY REALLY need to know how they will react before you entrust them with power over that many lives.

If I was rigging this actually, there would be two key points:

Did you call for backup / alert your superiors that there was a plausible provocation of war going down, even though (technically) you started it?

Did you shut down / go into hysterics?

(Everything else would be points for rescues, kills/diplomacy, and escape pods.)

Granted that a sufficiently advanced institution could perhaps gather this assessment from spying on cadets all through their school career, (Ender's Game::Battle School anyone?) in case they ever lose and you get to watch, rather than observing at a single rigged scenario. (Do you really want an institution with this much surveillance overreach?)

Granted that a trajectory of progress might be more helpful / hopeful than a single data point.

tl;dr: Its not hazing. Teaching them that some scenarios are unwinnable is nothing less than the truth, and an important part of how you convince them to not pick fights they can't win.

The funny thing is, I think the Kobayashi Maru is a very odd test, psychologically, depending on what it’s actually trying to determine. It changes over time.

Particularly after it’s been around for a while, you know it’s unwinnable going into it. Not only does that promote a sense of fatalism, but it paradoxically absolves the participant of any responsibility. If you can’t win, then you can rest secure that it wasn’t your fault, your choices didn’t matter, and the system was rigged against you. It’s not an especially good lesson to teach, though I suppose it does get you ready for evil Starfleet admirals and bureaucracy.

In a way, what Kirk did was more than change the conditions of the test for himself; by opening up the possibility of winning, he changed the psychological value of the test for everyone who came after him.

This raises the question: what is the Kobayashi Maru test really trying to measure, and what kind of captain is Starfleet really looking for? Someone who will accept an unwinnable situation with grace, or someone who knows the situation can’t be won, but fights anyway?

…or, possibly, someone who can change the parameters of a situation before it even happens?

[homicidols]

Kamikaze SENSATION: New MV to Vote For

Kamikaze SENSATION: New MV to Vote For @kamikaze_office #homicidols

When last we saw Kamikaze SENSATION, “they” had just released a new MV and everything was good and all, except that “they” was actually just one and the only other member was so new that filming hadn’t been done with her. These are the little bits that make chika idol fun, people. But yes, now two months on and apparently all well-set again in membership, Kamikaze SENSATION released another new…

[chadozombie]

🇯🇵TENDON

[xswestallenfanfiction]

Hope it Wasn’t a Mistake

Smut! Missing scenes from 3x01, what happens in between four Kamikaze shots and "title of our sex tape"

Archive of Our Own

Mesmerized by her laugh, it catches Jake by surprise when he feels Amy’s hand on top of his own. She doesn’t stop there. Amy slides her hand up Jake’s forearm and squeezes his bicep. The look in her eyes is so tantalizing it makes the rest of the room blurry.

The air feels thick with thoughts left unspoken, it makes Jake feel vulnerable. He’s just about to make a joke, kill the mood, bring them back to familiar territory, when Amy leans in towards him and whispers,

“Dance with me.”

Jake’s laughing now. “There’s no music.”

“Yes there is.” Amy insists. “Listen”

She sways in her seat to the rhythm of the music playing on the overhead speakers. The volume is low, like it always is in a fancy restaurant, so the diners can talk. But, it’s playing.

“Come on!” Amy pouts. “Dance with me!”

It’s a good thing Jake’s never been afraid of embarrassing himself, because that’s what he’s about to do as he stands up and takes her hands. Most of their meal and each of their last kamikaze shots is left abandoned on the table.

Amy pulls herself closer to Jake. He takes her in, unsure if he’s ever been this close to her before, almost chest to chest. They’re both tipsy, so their movements are a little off beat. Amy still manages to set on his toes twice in the first two steps.

There isn’t a dance floor, so Jake twirls Amy under his arm in between their table and the neighboring one. Other people in the restaurant have started starting, but neither Jake or Amy notice. They’re too busy letting their hands roam.

Jake feels her let out a deep breath as his hands slide down her waist. Her fingers skim the lapel of his jacket before settling on his shoulders.

“I’ve gotten good at this.” Amy says with pride.

“Well, considering how horrible of a dancer you were, it would be more impressive if you’d found a way to get worse.” He teases.

“I could trip you.”

The smirk on her face just begging him to retaliate.

Jake takes advantage of Amy’s tipsiness and gently pushes her backwards, making her think for a second she’s going to fall. But then, his arm catches her. He’s holding her in a dip, looking down into her eyes.

Amy can’t hear the music anymore over the pound of her heart. The shining light she sees around Jake could be the chandelier or it could just be his glow. She thinks she sees him bending down to her and she closes her eyes in anticipation.

“ Excuse me, ”

The shrill voice makes Amy’s eyes snap open, Jake steadies her back to her feet.

Their waitress is tapping Jake on his shoulder, looking perturbed.

“Can you please sit down? You’re disturbing our other guests.”

“Oh sorr-”

Jake’s slurred apology is cut off by Amy.

“We’re just dancing.” She tells the waitress.

“Ma’am, this is a restaurant, not a ballroom.”

“So? Does that make dancing illegal here? What is this Footloose?”

Amy looks to Jake for support. He’s not sure what’s going on, so he just nods and hopes the situation will deescalate itself soon.

The waitress takes a deep breath before saying, “Well, if you can’t sit down at your table, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, you’re not asking us to do anything. We’re leaving because we want to. Come on, Jake.”

Amy snatched her coat off the back of the chair before downing the last of her Kamikaze shots.

Jake follows suit, slamming his shot glass back onto the table. “Check please.”

They walk out of the restaurant hand in hand, a little unsteady, but with their heads held high. The rush of the cool night air is slightly sobering.

Jake starts laughing uncontrollably.

“What?” Amy asks.

“I can’t believe we just did that.”

“Well, I can’t believe how that woman killed the mood.”

That puts a glimmer in Jake’s eye. He looks at her with mischievous delight. “The mood. ”

Amy doesn’t say anything, she just smiles and looks down at her feet. She’s shifting back and forth on the spot, hips swaying just a little.

“You’re doing your chilly dance.” Jake informs her.

“I call it the warming dance.”

“Is it working?”

Amy sighs, “Not yet.”

“Here”

Jake wraps her tight in his arms and pulls her in close. He positions her hands on either side of his neck, so his bare skin can warm her.

Amy smirks.

“You could’ve just given me your jacket.”

“But then I would be cold.”

She giggles and feels her body move against him.

Their eyes are locked again. The shining light Jake sees around Amy is just her glow, not the streetlights, he’s sure of it.

“I like this better than your jacket anyway.” Amy admits.

“You do?”

“Yeah, it sets the mood. ”

They’re both smiling as they draw closer, eventually closing the gap between their lips. Jake feels Amy’s eyelash tickle his cheek and she feels his hands grip her tighter. Neither of them is cold anymore. What started as sweet grows more passionate as they deepen the kiss. Jake’s hands massage Amy’s waist and the small of her back, while one of her travels down his chest.

Jake’s breathless when he pulls his lips away.

“Uh, we should um, get a cab.”

It’s the last thing he wants to do, but they made rules and it was important to Amy. He knows the feel of her lips on his for one more second would make it too difficult to stop there.

“Okay.” At first, Amy is disappointed. But a moment later, she’s biting her lip and whispering to Jake, “Can we go to your apartment?”

They don’t talk much in the cab. Amy’s head rests on Jake’s shoulder. Their hands intertwined on top of Jake’s thigh.

When they get out in front of Jakes building, Amy feels like she’s walking on air. The rules she’d created that afternoon were completely out of her mind, which was now entirely comprised of Jake.

He had never felt more nervous in his life. With shaking hands he opened his apartment door and gestured for Amy to go in. He helped her out of her coat and moved to hang it up, but he didn’t get the chance.

The coat fell to the floor as Amy grabbed Jake and pushed him up against the wall, kissing him with the determined force of the overachiever she is. Though caught off guard, Jake quickly recovered and matched her fervor. He swelled with pride when he pulled a soft whimper from her.

Amy’s hands brushed over his shoulders to rid him of his jacket. Next, she moved on to the buttons of his shirt. While she was distracted, Jake seized the opportunity to kiss her neck.

Those pesky little buttons slipped through Amy’s hands when she shook under the sensation of Jake licking and sucking his way down to the neckline of her dress. His hands reached around and unzipped her dress. It started to fall and Amy stepped back to slip it off completely.

Jake swallowed. His eyes wide, taking her in. Amy usually felt a little self-conscious undressing in front of someone for the first time. But, standing in front of Jake, in her lacy pink bra and panties, she felt incredibly sexy. She was starting to smile, amused by how long he stood and stared, when she felt his arms around her again.

Jake lifted Amy off her feet, holding her around her back and under her knees. She instinctively put her arms around his neck. He carried her like that, bridal style, into his room and put her down on the bed.

He was starting again. Looking down at her with desire and admiration.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Amy smiled. The affection in his eyes was too powerful. He was sincere. Amy thought to herself how he hadn’t seen anything yet. She sat up and unhooked her bra.

Jake came over her. His lips joining her, his hand cradling her head as he leaned her back onto the mattress. She twisted her hands in his brown curls.

Slowly, Jake made his way down to Amy’s chest. He cupped both her breasts and ran the pad of his thumbs over her nipples. He kissed a trail from her collar bone till he could take one of her nipples in his mouth. She arched her back under him, gasping when she felt his erection press into her thigh.

Pulling him by the hair, Amy made him look up at her.

“Take your clothes off, Peralta.”

Jake started undressing, starting with his half-unbuttoned shirt. Amy couldn’t wait for him to get there, so she went for his belt herself. She pulled it from his pants loops and threw it across the room. Jake slid his hand under her panties and squeezed her ass with one hand before pulling damp lace off with the other. He pushed Amy back down on the bed and positioned his face between her legs.

As Amy spread herself open for him, Jake kissed her inner thigh. He’d never understood the comparison of vulvas to roses until now. He gently moved his finger over Amy’s petals. She was quivering at the touch, breathing too fast to beg his fingers to find where she needed him. Better yet, his tongue did. Amy moaned and bucked her hips. She closed her eyes and was taken captive by the electric sensation.

Pleasuring someone else had never felt so good for Jake. He’d do anything to keep hearing Amy make those moans, gasps, and breathy whines that almost formed a word. He tentatively swirled his finger around her entrance, groaning himself at the feel of how wet she was.

“Ah- please…” Amy cried. “Oh god, Jake…”

Without lessening his attention on her clit, Jake pressed a finger inside her. Amy writhed as he moved it in and out. She’s tight and so slick. Jake added a second finger and curled them in ‘come hither’ motion inside her.

“JAKE!” Amy screamed out.

It was like a tidal wave crashing over her. Jake feels her clit pulse against his lips. He keeps working his fingers in her, a shore to meet her every wave of bliss.

When he felt Amy relax, Jake pulled his fingers out. He admired how she’d left his fingers glistening. He licked his lips, prepared to make a show of cleaning his fingers off, but Amy pulled him up towards her. Face to face in the darkness of the room, nothing but the sound of each other’s breath in their ears, and the feel of each other’s skin on their own. Jake pressed his forehead to Amy’s. She lifted her chin to kiss him. Somehow, this felt more intimate than their previous activity.

The total satisfaction Amy felt moments ago was replaced by an even greater desire when she felt Jake’s erection once again rub against her leg. She reached down to stroke him.

“Fuckkkkk Amy.” He purred.

“Do you keep condoms in your bedside table or your wallet?”

“Uh-” It was hard to remember when she was touching him like that. “Um, both.”

Amy smiled brightly. No bigger turn on than someone who’s prepared.

Slippery fingers and low light caused him to fumble with the wrapper in his hate, but Jake finally got the condom on and turned Amy’s giggle into a moan as he moved his hand up her thigh to her hip. He held her steady and she arched towards him. Slowly, he pushed in.

Amy hummed as she felt stretched by him. It hurt just a little, which made it feel so good.

“Oh Jake, oh my god.”

“Good?” He asked, ready to retreat.

Amy nodded, “Really good.” and circled her hips.

She felt unbelievable around him. So wet and warm, and she gripped him so tight. It was better than he imagined, and he was a little ashamed of how much he’d imagined it. She curled her leg around him, pulling him closer.

Jake moaned “Holy fuck, you’re so hot.”

Amy’s content hums turned to moans she couldn’t hold back as she moved with his ever quickening rhythm.

“Jake…. Jake–oh fuck-ahh…”

“Oh Ames, cum for me.” He breathed into her neck.

She pulled his hair and clenched around him, crying out his name. It sent Jake over the edge, he released into his own free fall, holding her for dear life.

They both laid still, looking up at the ceiling above them. With sex, everything had felt natural and fluid. Now, they each felt stiff and unsure how to return to normal interaction. Jake decided to try.

“So…. we broke a rule.”

[holykillercake]

Emergency Light

ᴋᴏʙʏ x ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

word count: 2.6k

summary: 

Female reader developed a crush on Koby since he stood up against Akainu in Marineford. Someday at a party at the marine´s, you get drunk, too drunk. Koby takes you to your room before a disaster happens. You two get stuck in the elevator while everyone is busy partying.

highlight:  You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now.

warning: 1. ¨Do not press random buttons.¨ - LAW, Trafalgar; 2. Trafalgar Law is not part of this story, but his wise words are worth of quotation. 

notes: *knock knock* Hi, guys! After a terrible writing block, I finally finished @pure-kirarin​´s lovely lovely request, which I used as summary since it was really good! I really hope you like it! <3 A little disclaimer! At some point, the ¨too drunk¨ part vanished from my brain, so our reader is just... drunk, hahaha. 

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖!

¨Y/N-san!¨ 

You were wiping a sweat drop from your forehead when the pink-haired boy appeared beside you, offering an isotonic drink and a warm smile. 

You did your best to hide the tiny heart attack you had.

¨Koby-san!¨ you shouted, smiling awkwardly. ¨Oh... is it for me?¨

¨Of course! You have been working really hard these days.¨

¨Thanks.¨ you took the drink from his hands. The heat and condensation caused a layer of cold sweat to wrap the bottle. ¨I just don´t know why they are making us help prepare this party. They have a team for this, Koby-san! Besides, we´re Captains now.¨ you pouted the last bit. 

¨Yeah...¨ he scratched the back of his neck. ¨well, at least we get to spend some time together!¨

¨I know, I just-¨ you stopped talking as his words processed in your brain. 

You felt your blood vessels dilating on your cheeks, leaving a hot sensation on your face. 

Perhaps he was just being polite, or maybe you were making a big deal out of this, but you couldn´t help. You have been fond of him for a while now, and you couldn't stop that involuntary reaction of your body when he said such lovely things. 

Koby realized the words that came out of his mouth, and the scene that followed made even your spirit giggle. His eyes opened wide, and you could almost feel his throat running dry with all his stuttering.

 If that was a blushing competition, you would be down to the second place. 

¨W-We´ve been on separate missions for ten months, right? I m-mean... and it´s not dangerous or anything, and-¨ 

¨Yeah, you´re right, Koby-san.¨ a smitten smile blossomed on your lips, and you tried to hide it by sipping the refreshing drink. 

As stated by the boy, you had spent almost a year in different locations of the Grand Line, leading missions of your own. That was the kind of thing you had to do as promoted Captains.

You had no idea where Koby ended up going. These subjects could not be discussed over snail transponders, just for precaution. In fact, you barely spoke to him during this time. There were only a few nights when you would exchange coded messages. 

Since you became Captains, your tasks have kept you apart for much longer than before. You couldn't help but miss him and wonder how he must be doing during those times. 

You have already met thousands of Marines. Some even stronger and more agile than him, but no one had his willpower. You would put your hands on the fire for that. 

Whenever you felt unmotivated or helpless, the memory of the boy standing up against Sakazuki, putting his life on the line to honor his fallen comrades made your blood burn hotter. 

He did what no one else had the guts to do. 

Too blinded by the bloodshed, in the end, the number of casualties made it clear that accomplishing the task was no reason to celebrate.

When the sole of your shoes stained with blood and the blade of your sword sliced through anyone who didn´t wear the justice symbol on their back, you questioned if the Marines had finally lost their purpose. 

You should be civilized and do justice, but not at the expense of soldiers who had families to return to. If the target had already been eliminated, why were you still fighting? 

A chill ran down your spine when, for the first time, you looked up and faced the massacre. It was as if before, you could look at everything and, at the same time, see nothing. 

If Koby hadn´t stood up at that moment, you wouldn´t be here today. Maybe for leaving, maybe for dying. But his act of braveness and courage returned a bit of your hope. 

You wanted to see how far he could go, and hopefully, you would be by his side. 

Before, you used to watch him, along with his colleague Helmeppo, getting beat up and beat up by Garp and always put himself back on his feet. 

You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now. 

From your room, you had a perfect view of the training circuit, so you could see the cycle repeating itself over and over again. Boys, seduced by the idea of absolute justice, strength, and power to fight bad guys, came to Marineford willing to prove their worth. They would fall a few times before the sparkle in their eyes started to fade. 

Eventually, they would fade too. 

Those boys, however, fell and fell, being punched to a pulp, then patched back together only to suffer on Garp´s hands again. Watching them became your late-night entertainment, and seeing their improvements and growth turned out to warm your heart. 

At some point, you were assigned to be their opponent, and from that moment on, your days became brighter. They would share the craziest stories and tell the funniest jokes. Or not so much tell jokes. They were naturally clumsy and fun. 

Although, if you could choose, you would prefer to spend more time with Koby. Nothing against Helmeppo, he was just too much sometimes. But apparently, they came in a two-for-one pack. 

                                                             ***

It has been only a few hours since the party started and you reached the jackpot. You had taken all your frustrations on alcohol and rice cakes, and it showed. 

Every ten seconds, the memory of what you wanted to do disappeared, and that was somehow hilarious, making you explode in laughter and cause commotions. So for every ten seconds during the first hours, one of the last remaining sober in the enclosure had tiny cardiac arrests. 

Everyone was drunk enough to have a good time without causing any trouble. But the detail worth mentioning was that your party had started a little earlier, under the statement that you needed a little incentive to help you through the night. 

It meant that your energetically loud phase was close to reaching its end, giving place for your sleepy and distracted persona. Your eyes felt heavier by the second, light dizziness fogging your brain, but it felt relaxing. 

¨You know Koby is a type of meat?¨ you said, resting your chin on the table and giggling to yourself.

¨Y/N-san, I-I don´t think that´s the name of it.¨ his face turned red as he shifted on the cushion, adjusting his posture. 

¨Ugh, you´re so nervous Koby, you should relax.¨ you sang the last syllable. ¨Look at Meppo, he´s relaxing.¨

Your lips bent in a goofy smile as you watched your comrades building an okaki tower on Helmeppo´s head. The blonde had passed out on the table a few minutes earlier, too exhausted and drunk. He looked so peaceful in his sleep that a yawn escaped your mouth, catching Koby´s attention. 

¨Y/N-san, you should go to bed already. Y-You look tired.¨ his voice trembled when he took sight of your sparkling but sleepy eyes, rosy face, and messy hair. 

¨Hmm, no... I´m still good.¨

Another yawn. 

¨Come, I can walk you to your room before you relax like Helmeppo.¨ 

Your brain was working in slow motion, so by the time you thought of answering him, your grip was already tight in his. A little tighter than necessary, but you were afraid your wobbly legs would cease, and honestly, he didn't object at all.

The air outside the salon made your nostrils hurt within every breath, not because it was freezing cold but because the alcohol made your body run hotter than usual. Your ears felt like they were clogged, but that was merely the tingling silence on the empty hall. 

When he guided you inside of the elevator and pressed the corresponding button to your floor, your gasp, which echoed through the narrow walls, made Koby jump back, scanning for any sign of danger. 

¨Oh my God, look at this, Koby!¨ 

He watched you walk closer to the panel, completely mesmerized. ¨Uh... what, Y/N-san?¨ 

¨Wow! They never did this before!¨ you shouted, falling on your knees and leaning in like a child on an ice cream shop showcase. 

The boy kept staring at you, who pressed the buttons in a row with shimmering eyes. What was in that saké?

¨They never did...?¨

¨Look!¨ you clicked some more. ¨When I press the buttons... they light up!¨

A moment of silence fell upon the two of you, and although Koby always felt comfortable in your presence, he wasn´t sure what to do now.  

You, on the other hand, didn´t seem to mind, too focused on your groundbreaking discovery. 

¨Y/N-san, they have always...¨

¨This is so cool!¨

¨Y/N-san... I don´t think you should...¨

¨What does this one do-¨

A loud shriek escaped your mouth when the shaking of the elevator took you off balance, making your butt meet the floor in a thump. The lights flashed a few times before everything in your sight was pitch black. 

You heard Koby call your name, asking if you were hurt, but all you could do was hold still, fearing for your life. The alcohol made the bouncing feel like a devastating earthquake. 

¨Y/N-san!¨ you felt light pats on your shoes. ¨Are you ok? I can´t see anything!¨ 

Koby crawled on the floor, using your foot as a way to locate you. 

¨Koby, stop moving.¨ you whispered, but he seemed not to hear, lost in his rumbles. ¨Koby, stop moving!. We´re going to fall.¨

¨Wh-no! Y/N-san, are you hurt?¨

¨No, I don´t think so.¨ you answered, head swirling and heart racing in your chest. 

¨Y/N-san, did you press the emergency button?¨ 

¨No!¨ you stopped for a second, failing to hold your drunken giggles for yourself. ¨But that´d be a great idea right now. I think I remember where it is!¨ 

You twisted your body towards the panel, ignoring Koby´s attempts to stop you, and started to touch the many buttons, searching for the emergency one. 

Click. 

Click. 

Click, click, click. 

¨It´s not worki-¨ you squealed when the elevator struck again, piercing sound of creaking metal cooling every disc in your spine.

¨Y/N-san, please stop pressing the buttons!¨ Koby cried. 

The feeling was too strange. You felt everything rocking slightly, no light was coming in, and the adrenaline made it difficult for you to calm down and adapt to the darkness. 

Your breathing had already become irregular and heavier when the emergency light turned on. It was dim and greenish but better than nothing. 

¨Oh, no.¨ he said.

¨No, no. Don´t say oh, no.¨ You shook your head. 

¨Y/N-san, that´s the emergency light.¨

¨Yeah, so...?¨

¨So the elevators are not a priority now.¨

¨And that´s bad...?¨

¨Well, yes, because the energy is being used somewhere else.¨

You stared at him for a few seconds. All of his words made total sense, and in a normal situation, you would be able to handle it without further complications. 

¨Koby, I don´t know if you´re getting somewhere...¨

¨Y/N-san, there was probably a problem with the generators, and they had to redirect the energy consumption.¨ you nodded, starting to connect some dots in your head. ¨I think they are sending everything to the kitchen beca-¨

¨Wait.¨ you said with a terrified expression painted all over your face. ¨We´re stuck?¨

He saw the panic grow in your eyes. 

¨Y-Yes. B-But it should be back soon, don´t worry. Someone will come.¨ 

You remained in silence for the first hour, mainly because you kept falling asleep.

Little by little, the effects of the alcohol on your body began to cease and your temperature to cool down. Added to that, the darker the night fell, the chillier it got. So at some point, you couldn´t sleep anymore because your bones wouldn´t stop shivering. 

Koby handed you his coat as soon as he took notice of your discomfort. 

¨No, you don´t have to-¨

¨Y/N-san, you´ll end up getting sick.¨ he spoke, leaning a bit forward so you could take the piece of clothing. 

¨Thanks.¨

A huge smile rose on your lips when the coat fell on your shoulders. It was incredibly warm and had his soothing laundry fresh smell. 

Maybe with a hint of meat from the party. 

It served you like a cape, so you pulled the collars closer to your body and curled up to retain the warmth. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel like it was him. 

That granted you another nap. 

Still, after about twenty minutes, something woke you up. This time it was a sneeze from Koby, who leaned against the wall, hugging his legs close to his body. 

Guilt hit you right in the guts. 

You crawled towards him, gently poking his leg. 

¨Koby-san...¨

He raised his head and mumbled something you didn't understand. Maybe he asked if you were ok. 

¨I... I´m still a little cold... c-can I sit by your side?¨

¨Uh? Yes, of course.¨ he shifted on the same spot, only to return to the previous position. 

His voice was a little nasal and rasped, probably from the cold. You hoped he wouldn´t get a sore throat. 

The coat became a blanket that you used to cover both of your legs, although he made sure you had gotten the bottom end since it had more fabric.

¨Are you feeling better, Y/N-san?¨

¨I am, thank you.¨ you whispered.

¨Y-You can lay on my shoulder... if you want.¨

You smiled and did as he suggested, curling up closer to him. It took you very little to fall asleep once you rested your head on his shoulder. His body began to feel warmer, and he even asked if you wanted to hook your arm with his to maintain warmth. 

Using the last bit of boldness provided by the saké, you reached for his hand. You had this sensation, deep down, that the feelings you carried for him were reciprocated. But you could deal with this some other time. For now, you focused on calming down the fireworks inside of your chest. 

[EXTRA SCENE]

A roaring noise followed by a ray of light fished you out of whatever dreams you were having. You pulled the blanket up to cover your eyes and snuggled deeper into the warm body in front of you.

Nothing crossed his mind at that moment. All you wanted to do was get rid of the light and have a few more hours to sleep. However, a sound like a throat clearing caught your attention.

You blinked a few times, images of last night taking form in your memory. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was you leaning against Koby.

I must have slipped to the floor at some point. 

Your hands were wrapped in a turquoise fabric, and it didn't take long for you to realize that the fabric was wrapped around someone.

Koby's scarf.

Koby!

You ended up lying in front of each other, sharing his uniform. Your face a few centimeters from his chest.

After yawning a couple of times, you opened a distance to look at him. 

His face was wrinkled, brows furrowed, and lips turned into a pout. The round glasses were no longer on his head, and the bandana, like his hair, was frowzy. 

So adorable.

A louder throat clearing made you turn your head. The groggy smile on your lips disappeared instantly with the image of the elevator repairer, Garp, and dozens of other marines staring at the two of you.