"I'm home!" Alaska Young managed to not only traverse the threshold to her humble little house...
Kancolle: The Iron Dynasty
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Daily Life with Shipgirls
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"I'm home!" Alaska Young managed to not only traverse the threshold to her humble little house but actually take a full three steps into the living room before sub-miniature rocket slammed into her gut at mach infinity. It was a record for the month and something a yeoman faerie made sure to note in her log. Which was easier said than done, as the large cruiser's bridge was currently experiencing zero-gravity as Alaska fell back against the carpet.
A slender but very tall for her age girl squeezed tightly at Alaska's middle. She was barely ten years old, but her long fluffy hair was the same iridescent as Alaska's. "Mom," she cheered, handily explaining the commonality of hair color.
"Samantha," Alaska pried her ten year old daughter off her middle with a vicious tickle attack to the ribs. Samantha, like her mother, was insanely ticklish at a specific spot right above the start of her ribs and peeled off without incident. Alaska didn't hesitate to wrap the girl in a warm hug and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. "Oh, it's soon good to see you."
"Mom!" Samantha had reached the point in her life where receiving overt affection from anyone—let along her mother—was the height of embarrassment regardless of the non-existence of observers. Unfortunately for her, Alaska loved her daughter and wasn't above showing it. Also, Alaska was much bigger so the situation ended up more dictatorial than not.
"Okay, Okay," Alaska let her daughter go and hauled herself back to her feet. It took her a moment to find her balance again. Partly because a week-long patrol up and down the west coast had gotten her firmly in nautical mode, and partly because her sense of balance was famously poor to begin with. Having kids had not helped the situation. "Where's your sister?"
"With dad," said Samantha, darting a few steps ahead then pausing to wait for Alaska to catch up. "In the kitchen."
"Helping?" Alaska idly pawed at her stomach. She was hungry, sure. But nothing she couldn't suppress for a few more minutes. Pregnancy cravings had a way of putting things into perspective, especially when her internal bureaucracy got involved.
"Yeaaaah," Samantha drew out the affirmative to turn it into a negative. It was a skill Alaska had yet to fully master, but one she could imagine any number of uses for. Sadly, further practice would have to wait, since Alaska was already rounding into the kitchen. It was a big room, disproportionally big for the size of the house, but Alaska's appetite demanded certain concessions to raw volume.
"Hi, mom!" Mariana, Alaska's other daughter sat on the counter helpfully cleaning a bowl of brownie batter with a spoon. A bowl that, by the looks of it, had yet to be emptied into a pan. Alaska really couldn't be mad, she'd been the one to teach her daughters that brownie batter right out of the pan was the purest joy anyone could experience.
She stood by that, by the way.
"Hi, sweetie." Alaska ruffled her daughter's fluffy white hair. Like her sister, she was slender but very tall for her age. Which was reasonable as the girls were twins. Identical twins. They leaned into it too, insisting on matching outfits whenever possible. Alaska was one of few people who could always tell them apart at a glance.
Which, given her famously derpy nature, confused everyone. Most of all Alaska herself.
"'Laska," right by the sink stood Alaska's husband Cameron. He was wearing an apron, which in Alaska's opinion was one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen him in. It was so sexy she almost didn't want to rip it off him.
"Hey," Alaska said with a gooey smile. Her whole body turned to pudding when he smiled, and it was all she could do to sort of fall into his arms and let him wrap himself around her like a warm blanket. "I missed you."
"Me too, love," Cameron stood on tip-toes to kiss his large cruiser wife on the lips.
"Ewwww." Samantha and Mariana giggled with feigned disgust.
Alaska ignored them and kissed her husband. "I'm so lucky to have you."
"You say that every day," Cameron squeezed her waist. If the girls hadn't been there he would've squeezed much lower and much firmer.
"And I need to say it more." Alaska's giggled told him that she knew where he wanted to squeeze. She gave him one last kiss and slid out of his grasp, her body still weak and gooey from their embrace. "So," She said, "What's for dinner?"
"Your favorite," said Cameron with a sly smile.
Alaska beamed before realizing that only narrowed it down to something cooked by her husband. "Wait."
Cameron stifled a giggle.
"Hey!" Alaska tried to pout, but she just couldn't pull it off. "Fine."
"Corn on the cob," said Cameron, "Steak, and baked 'taters."
"And brownies?" asked Alaska hopefully. She tried to set a good example for her daughters, they didn't have the benefit of her all-consuming appetite and magically unchanging waistline… But still… she could eat nothing but Cameron's brownies for… well, ever without getting tired of them.
"Depends on if Mary leaves us any," teased Cameron.
"Daaaad!" Mariana blushed.
Alaska laughed. "C'mon," she shooed her daughters out. "Let's set the table."
—|—|—
Large Cruiser Guam liked her room in the dorms. It was cozy, her friends were just a few feet down the hall, and on a good day she could see clear to the horizon and just watch the breakers crash against the beach. More importantly, it was one of very few places were she could go without pants and not get judged for it.
She understood their utility, but when she wasn't on duty utility was the last thing on her mind. She liked airy sundresses, baggy pajamas that hung low around her hips, or just a bikini to soak in the California sun. Admittedly, she was as naturally tan as her big sister was naturally pale, so sunbathing wasn't really important for her.
But still, there was just something about basking on the sand in a bikini that helped Guam relax. Of course, it didn't hurt that she had the hips to rock anything in her closet.
"Hello, fishies," Guam smiled at the big fish tank that took up most of her wall and shook her hips until her skirt dropped to the floor and peeled her spats off. She was wearing her fun panties today, the nice blue ones that really made her tan glow. It would be a shame to keep them covered up.
Her fish, predictably, said nothing in response. They just stared at her, waiting for their benevolent boat-god to grace them with little flakes of an indeterminable substance that wasn't as tasty as Guam had thought it would be.
Still, they were pretty and watching them swim around their tank never failed to put Guam in a good mood. Or asleep, she'd fallen asleep watching her fish more often than she could count.
"Guam, you decent?" Guam knew that voice. Saint Louis, a light cruiser who'd spent enough time with the Brazilian navy after the war to make her even more comfortable than Guam with not wearing pants.
"By our standards, yeah." Guam shrugged and tapped a few flakes into her tank, idly watching her fish swim as she fed them.
"Cool." Saint Louis—Lou to her friends—was shorter than Guam. Shorter and, like most American treaty cruisers, just barely this side of underfed. But that did at least mean she could comfortably wear a T-shirt as pajamas without needing any support.
Guam couldn't tell if her friend was wearing shorts, and Guam didn't care. After eighteen-hundred the cruiser dorms were barred from any non-warships not specifically invited, except in emergencies of course. This had led to a certain relaxation of uniform standards.
"You wanna watch a movie or something?" Lou hopped up on Guam's bed, her lithe treaty-compliant figure barely denting the extra-firm mattress.
"Sure," said Guam. She was lead to believe the television set in the corner of her room was small by pre-war standards. But it was better than anything she'd had in her steel-hull days, so she was still grateful. "We could order pizza?"
Lou patted her stomach. The girl was almost skinny, but she could pack away the pie with the best of them. Only not, Guam was so much bigger she could win hands-down in an eating contest. And that's not even factoring how much admiral Jersey ate on a good day. "I could go for some pie."
Guam nodded. "Toppings?"
"Neh," grunted Lou. "Hey," she giggled. "Maybe the delivery boy'll be hot."
"Lou!" Guam threw a pillow at her friend's gut. "I'm not that desperate!"
—|—|—
Dinner had been had. Dishes had been washed. Bedtime stories had been read. Now it was time for Alaska's favorite part of the day. Laying in bed with her husband in her arms and pretending to sleep while sneaking a kiss every few minutes. She could feel his warm breath against her face even in the dark, even with her radar turned off. His nose nuzzled hers and she had to stifle a giggle. "I love you," she said with sigh.
"I know," Cameron laughed. "You say that all the time."
"Well it's true!" Alaska smiled. "Cameron?"
"Hmm?"
The large cruiser scooted a little closer to the love of her life. Which sounded corny out loud, but she was technically only either fourteen or eighty years old depending on how you counted. Either way, she was allowed to be a little gooey.
"I was thinking," she said. A dangerous way for her to begin a sentence. She'd almost thought her way out of her relationship with Cameron more times than she could count before he finally wifed her. "Well, we lost contact on… it's the anniversary and I think we should have Atago over for dinner tomorrow."
The Japanese cruiser was one of a few who'd hopped the Pacific to help before America got its summoning process nailed down. Before… before the miasma set in. She'd been a stalwart sailor, even after her home was lost. And… and she'd been instrumental in pushing Alaska and Cameron together. She was the closest thing the large cruiser had to a best friend.
"Of course," said Cameron. "And the kids?"
"I'll…" Alaska thought. "I'll ask Sara, she loves spending time with them. But for this I think it should be just us."
Cameron squeezed his wife tight. "Okay," he said, running a hand through her snowy white hair. "I'll take care of it all."
—|—|—
"Hey, Guam?" Lou shifted under the warm blanket and tried to work a bit of sausage out from between her teeth with her fingernail. "Are we gay?"
Guam blinked and gave her best friend a sideways glance. "Why do you say that?"
"Well…" Lou burrowed back down under the blanket. "We're cuddling in your bed watching Battle 360 while eating pizza. And you're not wearing pants."
Guam blinked again and adjusted her shirt. She was flat enough that she didn't need a bra, like her sister was before she started having kids. And so she rarely wore one except on duty. Her bra, like pants, was a purely utility item. Going without made post-mission cuddling so much more comfortable. "Does that make us gay?"
"I think so."
"But…" Guam paused the show temporarily to deal with far more important matters. "You see me without pants all the time. We even dock together in bikinis."
"Look," Lou held up her hands, "I don't make the rules."
"But…" Guam trailed off. "I… I want a husband."
Lou shrugged. "Maybe you can be bi?"
"Like admiral Jersey?"
Lou shook her head. "Nah, she's just anger-sexual."
—|—|—
Pawning Samantha and Mariana off on Sara had been childishly easy. From the moment she'd been summoned, the big carrier was a mom at heart. She just oozed that indefinable 'mom-ness'. Her kind, gentle smile. Her big, soft stacks. Her warm, soothing lap. She was the kind of mom Alaska always hoped she would be. Getting married to a kind historian who eventually got the memo to start laying keels in her slipway had only intensified her innate momness.
The twins seemed to think so too, they always looked forwards to spending time with her. Although it did help that Sara usually spoiled them rotten whenever she watched them. Baking cookies with sister Sara was second only to eating cookies with sister Sara when it came to babysitting activities.
"Thanks so much for this," said Alaska, trying to stifle a giggle while her twins took turns listening to Sara's fifth and sixth kids still working up on her slipway.
"Oh, my pleasure." Sara's voice was musical as ever, and she didn't bother to hide the giggle as Mariana pushed her sister out of the way to listen to the sounds of internal boat construction. She looked at Alaska and for just a moment the warmth ebbed from her mile. "If there's anything you need…"
"No," said Alaska, wringing her hands and worrying the hem of her skirt. "I'll take care of it."
Sara nodded, a knowing glint in her eye. "Good luck," she said, motioning for the two littlest Youngs to follow her home. Alaska waited for the door to close before exploding into action. Hosting a kanmusu for dinner was an event at the best of times, but Alaska made her task doubly difficult by trying to reproduce Japanese cuisine under the restrictions of a post-war economy.
Without a second to lose she picked her favorite apron—a plain white one with the hand-prints of her twins stamped all over it, a gift for her commissioning day a few years back—and swung into Action.
Cameron, bless his heart, tried to help out. But "Alaska in an apron" was very high on his list of favorite outfits. "Alaska in her swimsuit" and "Alaska in nothing" were some of the very few that beat it. And it just wasn't practical to cook while naked. Eventually she demoted him to reading the cookbook from across the island so he couldn't see her aft.
Normally, she wouldn't have minded getting a little frisky between dishes—or anywhere else, really. When it came to Cameron she was an equal-opportunity friskier. But Atago had been her friend a good few years longer than Cameron had been her husband. And today was a day for Atago, so her aft would have to go un-leered-at, at least until the evening.
Finally, after what felt like seconds but was closer to all day the door bell chimed. "It's open!" she said, pulling at the knot of her apron and handing it to Cameron to hang up. She waited until she heard the door open, and exploded out of the kitchen to slam into her best friend's big, blonde, and not at all treaty-compliant frame. "Taaaaaaaaago!"
As expected, Atago went down like a very busty sack of pancakes. "'Laska!" She said with a giggle inspite of herself. "Thanks for the invite."
"You're my best friend," Alaska rolled off Atago and offered a hand to help her to her feet. "You're always welcome."
"I know," Atago folded Alaska into a hug. "You don't have to do this every year though."
"Yeah, I do." Alaska closed the door and motioned her friend deeper inside. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost my home."
"I didn't lose my home," said Atago, smoothing her long blue coat and admiring the paintings Alaska had on display. They were universally awful, the twins were terrible artists. But Alaska was so proud of them. "I lost the islands. I have a home here."
"Still," Alaska motioned to the spread she'd prepared.
"Oh my god, 'Laska!" Atago gasped. "You didn't…"
Alaska smiled. "Cameron helped."
"No I didn't."
"You're the best friend a ship could ask for."
Alaska blushed. "Do you want some wine or something?"
Atago blinked. "You hate wine."
"I know," said Alaska. "But I'm a mom now and I'm hanging out with my girlfriend. I think it's in the rules that I have to drink wine."
"Oh yeah, that makes sense."
"Cameron," Alaska nibbled at a bit of sushi. It wasn't great, but better than her last few attempts. "Can I have a glass of wine please?"
Cameron chuckled to himself. "Will that be the zinfandel or the Merlot, madam?" he asked, draping a washcloth over his arm.
Alaska blinked. "Uh… red?"
"They're both… never-mind."
"I have the best husband in the world," Alaska preened. "All thanks to you."
"I like to think I had a little say," Cameron yanked the cork from a bottle. No use keeping it, he knew how shipgirls drank.
"Nah," said Alaska.
"Nah," agreed Atago. "She would never have gone through with it if I hadn't pushed her."
"Then," Cameron poured the ex-pat a glass, "I owe you everything."
Alaska was about to say something when the phone rang. "Huh," she said, squinting at the caller ID screen. "Admiral Jersey?" She turned to Atago.
"Take it," said Atago, "It's probably important."
"Thanks," mouthed Alaska. "Young household, Alaska speaking." A moment later the large cruiser's eyes went wide. "I'm sorry, what? You're sure." There was a pause. "Understood, I'm on my way."
The room was silent as she set the phone back in its cradle. "We just got a message from Japan."
------------------
A/N: Bonus points if you figure out why 'Laska's twins are named that.
A slender but very tall for her age girl squeezed tightly at Alaska's middle. She was barely ten years old, but her long fluffy hair was the same iridescent as Alaska's. "Mom," she cheered, handily explaining the commonality of hair color.
"Samantha," Alaska pried her ten year old daughter off her middle with a vicious tickle attack to the ribs. Samantha, like her mother, was insanely ticklish at a specific spot right above the start of her ribs and peeled off without incident. Alaska didn't hesitate to wrap the girl in a warm hug and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. "Oh, it's soon good to see you."
"Mom!" Samantha had reached the point in her life where receiving overt affection from anyone—let along her mother—was the height of embarrassment regardless of the non-existence of observers. Unfortunately for her, Alaska loved her daughter and wasn't above showing it. Also, Alaska was much bigger so the situation ended up more dictatorial than not.
"Okay, Okay," Alaska let her daughter go and hauled herself back to her feet. It took her a moment to find her balance again. Partly because a week-long patrol up and down the west coast had gotten her firmly in nautical mode, and partly because her sense of balance was famously poor to begin with. Having kids had not helped the situation. "Where's your sister?"
"With dad," said Samantha, darting a few steps ahead then pausing to wait for Alaska to catch up. "In the kitchen."
"Helping?" Alaska idly pawed at her stomach. She was hungry, sure. But nothing she couldn't suppress for a few more minutes. Pregnancy cravings had a way of putting things into perspective, especially when her internal bureaucracy got involved.
"Yeaaaah," Samantha drew out the affirmative to turn it into a negative. It was a skill Alaska had yet to fully master, but one she could imagine any number of uses for. Sadly, further practice would have to wait, since Alaska was already rounding into the kitchen. It was a big room, disproportionally big for the size of the house, but Alaska's appetite demanded certain concessions to raw volume.
"Hi, mom!" Mariana, Alaska's other daughter sat on the counter helpfully cleaning a bowl of brownie batter with a spoon. A bowl that, by the looks of it, had yet to be emptied into a pan. Alaska really couldn't be mad, she'd been the one to teach her daughters that brownie batter right out of the pan was the purest joy anyone could experience.
She stood by that, by the way.
"Hi, sweetie." Alaska ruffled her daughter's fluffy white hair. Like her sister, she was slender but very tall for her age. Which was reasonable as the girls were twins. Identical twins. They leaned into it too, insisting on matching outfits whenever possible. Alaska was one of few people who could always tell them apart at a glance.
Which, given her famously derpy nature, confused everyone. Most of all Alaska herself.
"'Laska," right by the sink stood Alaska's husband Cameron. He was wearing an apron, which in Alaska's opinion was one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen him in. It was so sexy she almost didn't want to rip it off him.
"Hey," Alaska said with a gooey smile. Her whole body turned to pudding when he smiled, and it was all she could do to sort of fall into his arms and let him wrap himself around her like a warm blanket. "I missed you."
"Me too, love," Cameron stood on tip-toes to kiss his large cruiser wife on the lips.
"Ewwww." Samantha and Mariana giggled with feigned disgust.
Alaska ignored them and kissed her husband. "I'm so lucky to have you."
"You say that every day," Cameron squeezed her waist. If the girls hadn't been there he would've squeezed much lower and much firmer.
"And I need to say it more." Alaska's giggled told him that she knew where he wanted to squeeze. She gave him one last kiss and slid out of his grasp, her body still weak and gooey from their embrace. "So," She said, "What's for dinner?"
"Your favorite," said Cameron with a sly smile.
Alaska beamed before realizing that only narrowed it down to something cooked by her husband. "Wait."
Cameron stifled a giggle.
"Hey!" Alaska tried to pout, but she just couldn't pull it off. "Fine."
"Corn on the cob," said Cameron, "Steak, and baked 'taters."
"And brownies?" asked Alaska hopefully. She tried to set a good example for her daughters, they didn't have the benefit of her all-consuming appetite and magically unchanging waistline… But still… she could eat nothing but Cameron's brownies for… well, ever without getting tired of them.
"Depends on if Mary leaves us any," teased Cameron.
"Daaaad!" Mariana blushed.
Alaska laughed. "C'mon," she shooed her daughters out. "Let's set the table."
—|—|—
Large Cruiser Guam liked her room in the dorms. It was cozy, her friends were just a few feet down the hall, and on a good day she could see clear to the horizon and just watch the breakers crash against the beach. More importantly, it was one of very few places were she could go without pants and not get judged for it.
She understood their utility, but when she wasn't on duty utility was the last thing on her mind. She liked airy sundresses, baggy pajamas that hung low around her hips, or just a bikini to soak in the California sun. Admittedly, she was as naturally tan as her big sister was naturally pale, so sunbathing wasn't really important for her.
But still, there was just something about basking on the sand in a bikini that helped Guam relax. Of course, it didn't hurt that she had the hips to rock anything in her closet.
"Hello, fishies," Guam smiled at the big fish tank that took up most of her wall and shook her hips until her skirt dropped to the floor and peeled her spats off. She was wearing her fun panties today, the nice blue ones that really made her tan glow. It would be a shame to keep them covered up.
Her fish, predictably, said nothing in response. They just stared at her, waiting for their benevolent boat-god to grace them with little flakes of an indeterminable substance that wasn't as tasty as Guam had thought it would be.
Still, they were pretty and watching them swim around their tank never failed to put Guam in a good mood. Or asleep, she'd fallen asleep watching her fish more often than she could count.
"Guam, you decent?" Guam knew that voice. Saint Louis, a light cruiser who'd spent enough time with the Brazilian navy after the war to make her even more comfortable than Guam with not wearing pants.
"By our standards, yeah." Guam shrugged and tapped a few flakes into her tank, idly watching her fish swim as she fed them.
"Cool." Saint Louis—Lou to her friends—was shorter than Guam. Shorter and, like most American treaty cruisers, just barely this side of underfed. But that did at least mean she could comfortably wear a T-shirt as pajamas without needing any support.
Guam couldn't tell if her friend was wearing shorts, and Guam didn't care. After eighteen-hundred the cruiser dorms were barred from any non-warships not specifically invited, except in emergencies of course. This had led to a certain relaxation of uniform standards.
"You wanna watch a movie or something?" Lou hopped up on Guam's bed, her lithe treaty-compliant figure barely denting the extra-firm mattress.
"Sure," said Guam. She was lead to believe the television set in the corner of her room was small by pre-war standards. But it was better than anything she'd had in her steel-hull days, so she was still grateful. "We could order pizza?"
Lou patted her stomach. The girl was almost skinny, but she could pack away the pie with the best of them. Only not, Guam was so much bigger she could win hands-down in an eating contest. And that's not even factoring how much admiral Jersey ate on a good day. "I could go for some pie."
Guam nodded. "Toppings?"
"Neh," grunted Lou. "Hey," she giggled. "Maybe the delivery boy'll be hot."
"Lou!" Guam threw a pillow at her friend's gut. "I'm not that desperate!"
—|—|—
Dinner had been had. Dishes had been washed. Bedtime stories had been read. Now it was time for Alaska's favorite part of the day. Laying in bed with her husband in her arms and pretending to sleep while sneaking a kiss every few minutes. She could feel his warm breath against her face even in the dark, even with her radar turned off. His nose nuzzled hers and she had to stifle a giggle. "I love you," she said with sigh.
"I know," Cameron laughed. "You say that all the time."
"Well it's true!" Alaska smiled. "Cameron?"
"Hmm?"
The large cruiser scooted a little closer to the love of her life. Which sounded corny out loud, but she was technically only either fourteen or eighty years old depending on how you counted. Either way, she was allowed to be a little gooey.
"I was thinking," she said. A dangerous way for her to begin a sentence. She'd almost thought her way out of her relationship with Cameron more times than she could count before he finally wifed her. "Well, we lost contact on… it's the anniversary and I think we should have Atago over for dinner tomorrow."
The Japanese cruiser was one of a few who'd hopped the Pacific to help before America got its summoning process nailed down. Before… before the miasma set in. She'd been a stalwart sailor, even after her home was lost. And… and she'd been instrumental in pushing Alaska and Cameron together. She was the closest thing the large cruiser had to a best friend.
"Of course," said Cameron. "And the kids?"
"I'll…" Alaska thought. "I'll ask Sara, she loves spending time with them. But for this I think it should be just us."
Cameron squeezed his wife tight. "Okay," he said, running a hand through her snowy white hair. "I'll take care of it all."
—|—|—
"Hey, Guam?" Lou shifted under the warm blanket and tried to work a bit of sausage out from between her teeth with her fingernail. "Are we gay?"
Guam blinked and gave her best friend a sideways glance. "Why do you say that?"
"Well…" Lou burrowed back down under the blanket. "We're cuddling in your bed watching Battle 360 while eating pizza. And you're not wearing pants."
Guam blinked again and adjusted her shirt. She was flat enough that she didn't need a bra, like her sister was before she started having kids. And so she rarely wore one except on duty. Her bra, like pants, was a purely utility item. Going without made post-mission cuddling so much more comfortable. "Does that make us gay?"
"I think so."
"But…" Guam paused the show temporarily to deal with far more important matters. "You see me without pants all the time. We even dock together in bikinis."
"Look," Lou held up her hands, "I don't make the rules."
"But…" Guam trailed off. "I… I want a husband."
Lou shrugged. "Maybe you can be bi?"
"Like admiral Jersey?"
Lou shook her head. "Nah, she's just anger-sexual."
—|—|—
Pawning Samantha and Mariana off on Sara had been childishly easy. From the moment she'd been summoned, the big carrier was a mom at heart. She just oozed that indefinable 'mom-ness'. Her kind, gentle smile. Her big, soft stacks. Her warm, soothing lap. She was the kind of mom Alaska always hoped she would be. Getting married to a kind historian who eventually got the memo to start laying keels in her slipway had only intensified her innate momness.
The twins seemed to think so too, they always looked forwards to spending time with her. Although it did help that Sara usually spoiled them rotten whenever she watched them. Baking cookies with sister Sara was second only to eating cookies with sister Sara when it came to babysitting activities.
"Thanks so much for this," said Alaska, trying to stifle a giggle while her twins took turns listening to Sara's fifth and sixth kids still working up on her slipway.
"Oh, my pleasure." Sara's voice was musical as ever, and she didn't bother to hide the giggle as Mariana pushed her sister out of the way to listen to the sounds of internal boat construction. She looked at Alaska and for just a moment the warmth ebbed from her mile. "If there's anything you need…"
"No," said Alaska, wringing her hands and worrying the hem of her skirt. "I'll take care of it."
Sara nodded, a knowing glint in her eye. "Good luck," she said, motioning for the two littlest Youngs to follow her home. Alaska waited for the door to close before exploding into action. Hosting a kanmusu for dinner was an event at the best of times, but Alaska made her task doubly difficult by trying to reproduce Japanese cuisine under the restrictions of a post-war economy.
Without a second to lose she picked her favorite apron—a plain white one with the hand-prints of her twins stamped all over it, a gift for her commissioning day a few years back—and swung into Action.
Cameron, bless his heart, tried to help out. But "Alaska in an apron" was very high on his list of favorite outfits. "Alaska in her swimsuit" and "Alaska in nothing" were some of the very few that beat it. And it just wasn't practical to cook while naked. Eventually she demoted him to reading the cookbook from across the island so he couldn't see her aft.
Normally, she wouldn't have minded getting a little frisky between dishes—or anywhere else, really. When it came to Cameron she was an equal-opportunity friskier. But Atago had been her friend a good few years longer than Cameron had been her husband. And today was a day for Atago, so her aft would have to go un-leered-at, at least until the evening.
Finally, after what felt like seconds but was closer to all day the door bell chimed. "It's open!" she said, pulling at the knot of her apron and handing it to Cameron to hang up. She waited until she heard the door open, and exploded out of the kitchen to slam into her best friend's big, blonde, and not at all treaty-compliant frame. "Taaaaaaaaago!"
As expected, Atago went down like a very busty sack of pancakes. "'Laska!" She said with a giggle inspite of herself. "Thanks for the invite."
"You're my best friend," Alaska rolled off Atago and offered a hand to help her to her feet. "You're always welcome."
"I know," Atago folded Alaska into a hug. "You don't have to do this every year though."
"Yeah, I do." Alaska closed the door and motioned her friend deeper inside. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost my home."
"I didn't lose my home," said Atago, smoothing her long blue coat and admiring the paintings Alaska had on display. They were universally awful, the twins were terrible artists. But Alaska was so proud of them. "I lost the islands. I have a home here."
"Still," Alaska motioned to the spread she'd prepared.
"Oh my god, 'Laska!" Atago gasped. "You didn't…"
Alaska smiled. "Cameron helped."
"No I didn't."
"You're the best friend a ship could ask for."
Alaska blushed. "Do you want some wine or something?"
Atago blinked. "You hate wine."
"I know," said Alaska. "But I'm a mom now and I'm hanging out with my girlfriend. I think it's in the rules that I have to drink wine."
"Oh yeah, that makes sense."
"Cameron," Alaska nibbled at a bit of sushi. It wasn't great, but better than her last few attempts. "Can I have a glass of wine please?"
Cameron chuckled to himself. "Will that be the zinfandel or the Merlot, madam?" he asked, draping a washcloth over his arm.
Alaska blinked. "Uh… red?"
"They're both… never-mind."
"I have the best husband in the world," Alaska preened. "All thanks to you."
"I like to think I had a little say," Cameron yanked the cork from a bottle. No use keeping it, he knew how shipgirls drank.
"Nah," said Alaska.
"Nah," agreed Atago. "She would never have gone through with it if I hadn't pushed her."
"Then," Cameron poured the ex-pat a glass, "I owe you everything."
Alaska was about to say something when the phone rang. "Huh," she said, squinting at the caller ID screen. "Admiral Jersey?" She turned to Atago.
"Take it," said Atago, "It's probably important."
"Thanks," mouthed Alaska. "Young household, Alaska speaking." A moment later the large cruiser's eyes went wide. "I'm sorry, what? You're sure." There was a pause. "Understood, I'm on my way."
The room was silent as she set the phone back in its cradle. "We just got a message from Japan."
------------------
A/N: Bonus points if you figure out why 'Laska's twins are named that.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
This whole thing was inspired by a bizarre Discord conversation in which Jane does nothing wrong and sees to it that she gets lots and lots of siblings. Also, Wolf Pups.
Axslashel
I am a pessimist not a realist.
- Location
- Land of the Midnight Sun
So no influence from German shipgirls then?
US territories. Got to keep up the theme naming for the not quite capital ships.
ijnfleetadmiral
CinC Rengo Kanmusutai
- Location
- Admiral's Bridge, HIJMS Kongo
Yeah, I can see Saratoga having six kids. This was adorable, JMPer. 
- Location
- Central Standard Time
Best line.
Anyway, for everyone who hasn't been laughing at the Bully on Discord, or too busy laughing to theory-craft like a mad Corgi, it's called The Iron Dynasty for a reason. Feel free to speculate on the name.
Did I mention that China's last dynasty was the Qing Dynasty? Well, I just did.
Last edited:
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Steel or Titanium Dynasty doesn't have quite the same ring to it?
FM: Fucking-modulation.
- Location
- 'Murica
"I swear to fuck," Jersey roared at the top of her lungs, which was more than loud enough that ceiling tiles would be falling if she hadn't already knocked them all down with her sheer tallness. Just like the first one, her second star had done nothing to moderate her anger issues. If anything, it'd moderated every other facet of her being until the battleship New Jersey became a living embodiment of rage. A golem of anger given life by angry NCO screaming. "If this is a prank I will rip off your spine and fuck you to death with it."
"Not a prank, ma'am," said a jaded radioman who'd aged several decades in the past few months. He'd spend enough time with the admiral to know the hidden meaning behind her near-constant tirade of unprintable epithets. For one, her ordinary speaking voice was already loud enough that hearing protection was probably wise. She simply couldn't get any louder if she wanted her staff to hear more than one order before they retired, so modulating the frequency with increasingly creative cursing was the only way she could let her frustration be known.
"Are you fucking certain?" Jersey demanded, hands on her hips where her pistols had manifested with a slight pop of suddenly-displaced air. She took her shades off and bored into his gaze with those frighteningly blue eyes of hers.
"I ran it three times, ma'am," said the radioman. "It's definitely from Japan."
"And I assume you're going to explain to your admiral how it got through the miasma?" If anything, Jersey's voice got slightly more thunderous. But the relative dearth of profanity signaled that she'd internalized that this wasn't a prank and had moved on to working the problem to a satisfactory solution.
"I don't know," admitted the radioman. The Abyssal miasma still hung over most of the world's oceans. A sickly fog that rendered any ship that wandered more than a few dozen miles from shore blind, deaf, and dumb. Shipgirls—Jersey loathed the word kanmusume—could push it back in a tiny bubble around themselves, but to get a message halfway across the globe?
"You're smart," roared Jersey. From any other officer, it would've been a scathing sarcastic comment. But he'd served under her long enough to tell when her compliments were genuine. "Fuckin' figure it out!"
"Uh…" the radioman bit his lip and flipped through a manual. "Weather patterns, maybe? Atmospherics, freak conditions in the ionosphere?"
"So… freak fuckin' accident?"
"I think so, yes."
"A freak accident," Jersey put her hands on her hips and slowly paced the operations center. "When we regain contact with Japan ten years to the day—to the minute—after we lost contact?"
"Um, weirder things have happened," said the radioman.
"Name fucking one," said the living personification of a seventy year old battleship reborn as a shockingly leggy amazon who now served as both admiral and flagship of her fleet. "Okay, I get your point. Where the fuck is—"
"Sorry!" Alaska Young burst through the doors at what for most people would've been a dead run. Jersey couldn't bring herself to call it that though. Alaska didn't so much "run" as she "fell horizontally."
"Hey, 'laska," said Jersey. "Can I assume—"
"Pan-pakapan!" Atago trumpeted her arrival with the first honestly and unreservedly happy flourish Jersey'd seen in a decade. It was good to see the old Atago was back, complete with unnecessarily jubilant jiggling of all the Atagoparts that could jiggle.
"There you are," Jersey waved the blond cruiser over. "C'mere, read this."
Atago bounced over and squinted at the screen. To get her nose to a comfortable position, she had to sort of lean around the radioman, which entailed piling her overbuilt upperworks onto his head like a very soft hat. He did not seem to mind. "Can't you read Japanese."
"I try not to," said Jersey. "'sides… I, uh… I wanted a native opinion."
"Mmm," Atago nodded. "It's a summons," she said, mouthing the words to herself. She hadn't read Japanese in a long time. "To any free countries still remaining. Come to Sasebo to meet…"
"What?" said Jersey. "Why did you pause dramatically." The Iowa glared at Alaska, "Have you been showing her television?"
Alaska shook her head enthusiastically. "Who are we meeting?"
Atago blinked. The characters hadn't changed form. She shrugged. "The Iron Shogun."
Jersey shook her head. "I've gotta make so many fucking calls."
—|—|—
"You hear The Admiral's on the phone?" Heavy cruiser San Francisco, Friso to her friends and anyone else referring to her, had known Jersey for a long time. They'd been the closest thing the grumpy Iowa had to friends before she ever made admiral. Before she was a captain, even. But still, Frisco just couldn't bring herself to speak the battlewagon's name. She was in charge of the base, of the fleet. Whatever else she was, she was The Admiral.
"Which one?" asked her older sister Astoria. The two New Orleans-class cruisers could've been twins. They shared the same sinewy, slightly underfed treaty-cruiser build, the same high-waisted mini-skirt, the same lace-up running boots. Except, of course, that Asty was a blonde with cream-white skin while Frisco looked unmistakably Japanese.
"The red one," said Frisco. She hadn't seen the event herself. She didn't have to. She was a cruiser, and as such she had access to information mortals and battleships could only dream of.
"POTUS?" Asty stifled a gasp. For the past few years the president had enough on his plate just holding the country together. The past few administrations, really. For their little base to get a call when something hadn't gone catastrophically wrong… "What's going on?"
"Dunno," Friso swished the hem of her skirt as the two sisters turned the corner. The cruiser dorms were always quiet right after a patrol. Girls that weren't soaking in the docks were changing into pajamas and curling up for some long-neglected rest. It was peaceful, really. Nothing like the nights Frisco'd gotten used to. "I only heard snippets."
"Like?" Asty curled a lock of her blonde hair around a finger.
"Well, The Admiral's cursing less than usual."
"Oh," Asty's pace slowed. "It's that serious?"
"Seems like," said Frisco. "Don't think it's time sensitive though."
"Aw," Asty shrugged. "What do you want to do until then?"
Frisco thought for a moment, running through the options available in the cruiser dorm. A shocking amount involved pizza in some way. The navy actually two of the local joints on retainer. "Guam's back. So's Lou."
"Wanna hang out?" asked Asty. "I think I'm done wearing pants for the day."
"Neither of us wear pants."
"Skirt, whatever."
Frisco smiled. "I've got literally nothing better to do."
—|—|—
Watching Jersey on the phone was always an enjoyable experience for the base crew. Not so much because of what she said, although watching her casually curse while talking to four-stars and above was always amusing, but because of how she said it.
All the phones on base, including the red one Jersey used to talk to her bosses, were ordinary human sized phones. Phones that looked like they came out of a dollhouse or a kid's playset when the towering Iowa tried to use them. Just watching her daintily cradle the little plastic handset in her massive paw was good for a solid few minutes of intense giggles.
Of course, as soon as the conversation seemed close to ending the mood darkened again and everyone went back to work. Jersey did not appreciate being the butt of anyone's joke. Actually, she did. But she was an Admiral and so she had to stamp that out. There were rumors that the Iowa sisters kept a running e-mail chain of the best jokes they've heard though.
"Yes, sir," Jersey spoke even louder than usual, letting her staff know it was about that time. "Thank you, sir. I will sir." She carefully set the phone back in its cradle. There was a time when she'd slammed the phone home with conviction at the end of a message. She'd wanted to project an air of decisiveness to her staff. But IT got tired to replacing the phone after every call so that didn't last long.
"POTUS?" asked Alaska.
"It's the red phone, who the fuck do you think?" said Jersey casually. "Anyway, he's as intrigued by the message as any of us."
Alaska cocked her head.
"Okay, except for 'tago, but that was a given."
Alaska nodded.
"But…" Jersey pivoted on her heel to the bad news. "We're talking about a six thousand mile journey through unfriendly fuckin' oceans to an island we thought under enemy control."
"So we're committing," said Alaska, "but not… over-committing?"
"That's the jist of it, yeah," said Jersey. "POTUS wants a diplomatic expedition to head over, re-establish contact, get a feel for the situation and all that bullshit, then turn tail and report back." The big Iowa chewed idly on the corner of her lip, folding her thick arms over each other and thinking. "Obviously as a diplomatic expedition I will notbe taking the lead because holy fuck that'd be a goddamn disaster in every fuckin' possible way."
Alaska barely stifled a giggle. "Who're you thinking of to take the lead?"
"You," said Jersey.
Alaska blinked. "Um… what?"
"You're a cruiser," said Jersey. "Independent actions and recon gathering is literally in your… fuckin'…. figurative blood." The admiral scowled to herself, she had three stars. She should be able to manage a fucking metaphor without it getting away from her.
"Bu—" Alaska blushed as red as it was possible for her to blush. With her complexion, that wasn't much. "But I don't have any diplomatic experience."
"You don't fuckin' need it," said Jersey. "You're cute as hell. You'll defuse any incident just by standing there and batting your eyelashes like a derp."
"W-what?" Alaska blinked.
"Exactly, like fuckin' that," said Jersey. "'sides, bring 'Tago with you. She's the expert on all that japshit."
Alaska nodded. "That makes sense. Who else am I bringing?"
"I'll leave that up to you," said Jersey. "I want a list on my desk by oh-six Friday." The big Iowa visibly shivered at not only having a desk but putting it to use for things other than eating pie. "Might not be able to swing everything, but I'll get you what I can."
"Y-yes, ma'am," said Alaska with a salute. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Dismissed," Jersey returned the salute. "Wait, 'laska?"
"Ma'am?"
"Look," Jersey brought her voice as low as it was possible for an Iowa to wispier. "You didn't hear this from me. But if you could pick up some figurines or shit… Wisky's launch day is coming up and I'd owe you one bigtime."
Alaska giggled conspiratorially. "I'll keep an eye out, Admiral."
"Not a prank, ma'am," said a jaded radioman who'd aged several decades in the past few months. He'd spend enough time with the admiral to know the hidden meaning behind her near-constant tirade of unprintable epithets. For one, her ordinary speaking voice was already loud enough that hearing protection was probably wise. She simply couldn't get any louder if she wanted her staff to hear more than one order before they retired, so modulating the frequency with increasingly creative cursing was the only way she could let her frustration be known.
"Are you fucking certain?" Jersey demanded, hands on her hips where her pistols had manifested with a slight pop of suddenly-displaced air. She took her shades off and bored into his gaze with those frighteningly blue eyes of hers.
"I ran it three times, ma'am," said the radioman. "It's definitely from Japan."
"And I assume you're going to explain to your admiral how it got through the miasma?" If anything, Jersey's voice got slightly more thunderous. But the relative dearth of profanity signaled that she'd internalized that this wasn't a prank and had moved on to working the problem to a satisfactory solution.
"I don't know," admitted the radioman. The Abyssal miasma still hung over most of the world's oceans. A sickly fog that rendered any ship that wandered more than a few dozen miles from shore blind, deaf, and dumb. Shipgirls—Jersey loathed the word kanmusume—could push it back in a tiny bubble around themselves, but to get a message halfway across the globe?
"You're smart," roared Jersey. From any other officer, it would've been a scathing sarcastic comment. But he'd served under her long enough to tell when her compliments were genuine. "Fuckin' figure it out!"
"Uh…" the radioman bit his lip and flipped through a manual. "Weather patterns, maybe? Atmospherics, freak conditions in the ionosphere?"
"So… freak fuckin' accident?"
"I think so, yes."
"A freak accident," Jersey put her hands on her hips and slowly paced the operations center. "When we regain contact with Japan ten years to the day—to the minute—after we lost contact?"
"Um, weirder things have happened," said the radioman.
"Name fucking one," said the living personification of a seventy year old battleship reborn as a shockingly leggy amazon who now served as both admiral and flagship of her fleet. "Okay, I get your point. Where the fuck is—"
"Sorry!" Alaska Young burst through the doors at what for most people would've been a dead run. Jersey couldn't bring herself to call it that though. Alaska didn't so much "run" as she "fell horizontally."
"Hey, 'laska," said Jersey. "Can I assume—"
"Pan-pakapan!" Atago trumpeted her arrival with the first honestly and unreservedly happy flourish Jersey'd seen in a decade. It was good to see the old Atago was back, complete with unnecessarily jubilant jiggling of all the Atagoparts that could jiggle.
"There you are," Jersey waved the blond cruiser over. "C'mere, read this."
Atago bounced over and squinted at the screen. To get her nose to a comfortable position, she had to sort of lean around the radioman, which entailed piling her overbuilt upperworks onto his head like a very soft hat. He did not seem to mind. "Can't you read Japanese."
"I try not to," said Jersey. "'sides… I, uh… I wanted a native opinion."
"Mmm," Atago nodded. "It's a summons," she said, mouthing the words to herself. She hadn't read Japanese in a long time. "To any free countries still remaining. Come to Sasebo to meet…"
"What?" said Jersey. "Why did you pause dramatically." The Iowa glared at Alaska, "Have you been showing her television?"
Alaska shook her head enthusiastically. "Who are we meeting?"
Atago blinked. The characters hadn't changed form. She shrugged. "The Iron Shogun."
Jersey shook her head. "I've gotta make so many fucking calls."
—|—|—
"You hear The Admiral's on the phone?" Heavy cruiser San Francisco, Friso to her friends and anyone else referring to her, had known Jersey for a long time. They'd been the closest thing the grumpy Iowa had to friends before she ever made admiral. Before she was a captain, even. But still, Frisco just couldn't bring herself to speak the battlewagon's name. She was in charge of the base, of the fleet. Whatever else she was, she was The Admiral.
"Which one?" asked her older sister Astoria. The two New Orleans-class cruisers could've been twins. They shared the same sinewy, slightly underfed treaty-cruiser build, the same high-waisted mini-skirt, the same lace-up running boots. Except, of course, that Asty was a blonde with cream-white skin while Frisco looked unmistakably Japanese.
"The red one," said Frisco. She hadn't seen the event herself. She didn't have to. She was a cruiser, and as such she had access to information mortals and battleships could only dream of.
"POTUS?" Asty stifled a gasp. For the past few years the president had enough on his plate just holding the country together. The past few administrations, really. For their little base to get a call when something hadn't gone catastrophically wrong… "What's going on?"
"Dunno," Friso swished the hem of her skirt as the two sisters turned the corner. The cruiser dorms were always quiet right after a patrol. Girls that weren't soaking in the docks were changing into pajamas and curling up for some long-neglected rest. It was peaceful, really. Nothing like the nights Frisco'd gotten used to. "I only heard snippets."
"Like?" Asty curled a lock of her blonde hair around a finger.
"Well, The Admiral's cursing less than usual."
"Oh," Asty's pace slowed. "It's that serious?"
"Seems like," said Frisco. "Don't think it's time sensitive though."
"Aw," Asty shrugged. "What do you want to do until then?"
Frisco thought for a moment, running through the options available in the cruiser dorm. A shocking amount involved pizza in some way. The navy actually two of the local joints on retainer. "Guam's back. So's Lou."
"Wanna hang out?" asked Asty. "I think I'm done wearing pants for the day."
"Neither of us wear pants."
"Skirt, whatever."
Frisco smiled. "I've got literally nothing better to do."
—|—|—
Watching Jersey on the phone was always an enjoyable experience for the base crew. Not so much because of what she said, although watching her casually curse while talking to four-stars and above was always amusing, but because of how she said it.
All the phones on base, including the red one Jersey used to talk to her bosses, were ordinary human sized phones. Phones that looked like they came out of a dollhouse or a kid's playset when the towering Iowa tried to use them. Just watching her daintily cradle the little plastic handset in her massive paw was good for a solid few minutes of intense giggles.
Of course, as soon as the conversation seemed close to ending the mood darkened again and everyone went back to work. Jersey did not appreciate being the butt of anyone's joke. Actually, she did. But she was an Admiral and so she had to stamp that out. There were rumors that the Iowa sisters kept a running e-mail chain of the best jokes they've heard though.
"Yes, sir," Jersey spoke even louder than usual, letting her staff know it was about that time. "Thank you, sir. I will sir." She carefully set the phone back in its cradle. There was a time when she'd slammed the phone home with conviction at the end of a message. She'd wanted to project an air of decisiveness to her staff. But IT got tired to replacing the phone after every call so that didn't last long.
"POTUS?" asked Alaska.
"It's the red phone, who the fuck do you think?" said Jersey casually. "Anyway, he's as intrigued by the message as any of us."
Alaska cocked her head.
"Okay, except for 'tago, but that was a given."
Alaska nodded.
"But…" Jersey pivoted on her heel to the bad news. "We're talking about a six thousand mile journey through unfriendly fuckin' oceans to an island we thought under enemy control."
"So we're committing," said Alaska, "but not… over-committing?"
"That's the jist of it, yeah," said Jersey. "POTUS wants a diplomatic expedition to head over, re-establish contact, get a feel for the situation and all that bullshit, then turn tail and report back." The big Iowa chewed idly on the corner of her lip, folding her thick arms over each other and thinking. "Obviously as a diplomatic expedition I will notbe taking the lead because holy fuck that'd be a goddamn disaster in every fuckin' possible way."
Alaska barely stifled a giggle. "Who're you thinking of to take the lead?"
"You," said Jersey.
Alaska blinked. "Um… what?"
"You're a cruiser," said Jersey. "Independent actions and recon gathering is literally in your… fuckin'…. figurative blood." The admiral scowled to herself, she had three stars. She should be able to manage a fucking metaphor without it getting away from her.
"Bu—" Alaska blushed as red as it was possible for her to blush. With her complexion, that wasn't much. "But I don't have any diplomatic experience."
"You don't fuckin' need it," said Jersey. "You're cute as hell. You'll defuse any incident just by standing there and batting your eyelashes like a derp."
"W-what?" Alaska blinked.
"Exactly, like fuckin' that," said Jersey. "'sides, bring 'Tago with you. She's the expert on all that japshit."
Alaska nodded. "That makes sense. Who else am I bringing?"
"I'll leave that up to you," said Jersey. "I want a list on my desk by oh-six Friday." The big Iowa visibly shivered at not only having a desk but putting it to use for things other than eating pie. "Might not be able to swing everything, but I'll get you what I can."
"Y-yes, ma'am," said Alaska with a salute. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Dismissed," Jersey returned the salute. "Wait, 'laska?"
"Ma'am?"
"Look," Jersey brought her voice as low as it was possible for an Iowa to wispier. "You didn't hear this from me. But if you could pick up some figurines or shit… Wisky's launch day is coming up and I'd owe you one bigtime."
Alaska giggled conspiratorially. "I'll keep an eye out, Admiral."
- Location
- Central Standard Time
Ah, Jersey. Never change.
That is true.
WarpObscura
Sleepy Big Stick
- Location
- A dot at the edge of continental Asia.
Is this canonically BelBat's future, or just one of many potential ways things can go?
- Location
- Central Standard Time
Look, when you see an opportunity for bullying not just Sky (since that's so 2018), I███ (since that's so 1916), or [REDACTED] (since that's so 1945), but also C████, C████'s ███████, D████████, and more, you take it.
Basically, this is Highest Canon, and nothing will convince me otherwise.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hey now, that's unfair. You're tots diplomatic. Your words are backed up with 16 inch rifles, meaning everyone agrees with you.
Hon Hon Hon!
- Location
- 'Murica
Alaska twisted the phone in her hand, slowly curling the cord around her arm. It was a nervous habit she'd picked up years ago. She'd stopped getting butterflies in her bunkers whenever she called Cameron around the time they got married, but with the expedition… They were back again. And in force.
"Young Residence, Mariana speaking."
Alaska beamed. Her kids were so polite on the phone. She'd take credit for it, but… really… with how often she was on patrol, Cameron had done most of the parenting. "Hi, sweetie, can you put your dad on, please?"
"Sure!" Alaska heard the muffled but tell-tale sound of her daughter rocketing through the house at speeds far higher than was strictly speaking safe. Alaska wasn't worried. Her kids were tough, and at that age where they bounced.
"Hey, love," said Cameron.
Alaska let out a dopey giggle. Even now, after ten years of marriage, hearing her husband's voice on the phone made Alaska's knees turn all gooey. "Hey," she said, allowing herself a moment to enjoy herself. "So, um," she coughed and forced herself to stiffen. "Admiral Jersey wants to mount an expedition, and…" The large cruiser winced, bracing herself for what she had to say next. "And she wants me to lead it."
"That's, uh… that's great news," said Cameron. "Right? I mean… I'm sure Atago will be happy."
"I…" Alaska blushed. "I'll be gone for weeks, maybe more." She bit her lip. She was a warship, born and built to go into harm's way. But she was also a wife, a mother, and a friend. Things her builders could never have anticipated. "It's a lot of unfriendly ocean."
"Good thing they're sending you then, right?"
"Huh?"
"Didn't you say you were the strongest cruiser ever built?"
Alaska nodded reflexively. "Yeah, but… I mean it's not safe."
"'Laska," Cameron sighed. "You know I'm still a novice at this whole navy thing, right?"
"Yeah," said Alaska. It'd taken her years to get him to stop calling her aft her butt.
"Okay, but… you are too compared to the Admiral," said Cameron. "Jersey's got… what, thirty years of active combat experience, right? She's got those stars for a reason. And she put you in charge for a reason."
"But I could—"
"No," Cameron cut her off. "Not hearing it. You'll be fine."
"But the kids—"
"Will be fine," said Cameron with finality. "I can watch them for a few weeks, and Sara and Skye would love to help out."
Alaska blinked. "Really?"
"Well…" Cameron giggled. "Sara would. I don't think Skye gets to have an opinion on the matter."
"That's true," Alaska giggled despite herself. Of all the ships she'd known, Sara was always the most maternal. It'd taken a long time and an immense amount of behind-the-scenes plotting by Alaska and Atago to finally get her married off though. Now Sara was burning off all that accumulated mom-ness at a vastly accelerated rate.
"We'll be fine without you," said Cameron. "Go save the world."
"'Kay," said Alaska. She was about to hang up when she remembered something. "Oh! Uh, I've got a lot of work to do to get ready for this. I probably won't be back until late."
"I'll make dinner and put the girls down, don't worry."
"No, actually," Alaska glanced at her watch. "Can you give me a call at twenty-one hundred? I wanna read their bedtime story."
"Okay," said Cameron. He'd long since learned not to underestimate his wife's ability to multitask. "I love you."
"I love you too." Alaska kissed the phone in a gesture that sounded more romantic in her head than it was in practice.
"Did you just kiss the phone?"
"Maybe?"
Cameron just laughed. "Good night, 'laska. Good luck."
"Thanks." Alaska hung up.
—|—|—
"Hey, Guam?" The voice filtering through Guam's half-open door could only belong to the large cruiser's older—not to mention married—sister. It was that perfect mix of airy and powerful, like a stiff breeze pushing over a snow-swept plateau. Also, from the sound of the creaking floor bending, her visitor was far heavier than any of the treaty cruisers.
"What's up, sis?" Guam pressed her nose against her big fish tank and smiled into it. One of her fish swam over and bumped its nose against hers through the glass. Which would've been adorable except Guam knew that particular fish had no sense of direction.
"Are you wearing pants?" Alaska's voice was as tense as the serene cruiser was able of getting.
Guam glanced down at herself. It was the weekend, so she was wearing something special. Nice lacy purple panties with bits of deep blue trim that brought out her sun-kissed tan like nothing else. She'd bought them last valentine's day in a fit of unreasonable optimism. She liked wearing them though, it was nice to dream. "I'm wearing panties, does that count?"
"N…no," Alaska sighed and opened the door. "Okay, those are actually really cute."
"I know!" Guam spun on her heel. Unlike her married, maternal sister she didn't have the upperworks to really jiggle with the motion—she had the aft though. The aft and then some. But at least she knew what babies did to an Alaska-class. She couldn't wait to start a family.
"Where…" Alaska bit her lip. "Where'd you get them?"
"Present for Cameron?"
Alaska nodded. "He really likes me in lace."
"He likes you in everything."
"Which includes lace."
Guam narrowed her eyes. "Point. You didn't come down her to ask about underwear though, did you?"
"No," admitted Alaska. "Although let me know when you've got the time."
"Will do."
"I'm leading an expedition to Japan," said Alaska. "It's—"
"I'm down," said Guam.
Alaska blinked.
"A mission with my big sister?" Guam shook her head. "'Laska, nothing you could say would make me turn that down."
Alaska threw her arms around her sister and pulled her in for a long hug. "Thanks, Guam."
"Anytime, sis."
—|—|—
Belleau Wood stood on the gently rolling surf. Her eyes were the milky unfocused white of a carrier focused entirely on her distant planes, her overflowing bundles of fluffy blond braids spilled from a poofy black beret topped with a somehow even poofier poofball.
She smiled to herself, feeling the sun's rays against her cheeks while her gaze was focused on her orbiting hellcats. It was a good day for flight practice, the wind crashing against her bow was crisp and warm with just enough salt to give it some bite. Yes, today was a good day to be a— wait.
Was someone calling her name?
Belle shook her head, the milky haze glazing over her eyes vanishing like melting snow. She plucked her headphones off and let them hang around her neck, the tinny sound of Kenny Loggin's singular masterpiece of naval aviation still echoing from the cheap speakers.
She glanced over her shoulder. The typically impressive form of Alaska was steaming towards her at a solid clip, hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted. "Belle!"
"Oui?" said the Independence, cutting her throttles to let Alaska catch up.
The big large cruiser shook her head with a smirk. "Belle, we loaned you to France for a while, you're not French."
"Non!" Protested Belle, pointing angrily to her rakishly-sloppy beret.
Alaska narrowed her kind, icy eyes and looked sideways at the light carrier. "Is that the only French you know?"
Belle beamed. "Baguette!"
Alaska sighed. It was the long-suffering mom sigh. The one that made it clear that she wasenjoying the joke, but she was about to get tired of it. "Belle?"
"Sorry," Belle pulled her beret off and tucked it into her pocket. "What's up?"
"We're mounting an expedition to Japan," said Alaska. "Admiral wants me to pick a team, and I need a carrier."
Belle cocked her head and shifted a lock of her fluffy blonde hair out of her eyes. It really was easier to keep everything in place with that beret. "Why not one of the heavies?"
"CNO doesn't want to risk it," said Alaska. "'sides, have you seen how much 'trepid eats? It'd double the size of the supply train."
Belle thought for a second and then a wicked giggle slipped past her lips. "Well, she ispregnant."
"What, again?" Alaska gaped with joy.
Belle nodded. "Don't tell her I told you though, it's carriers-only information for now."
Alaska nodded emphatically. "I'll be on the other side of the Pacific soon. And you?" She smiled. "You know the area, and you're post war so I'm not worried about tensions."
"I'd be happy to sail with you," said Belle.
—|—|—
"Fuckin' sucks, don't it?" Jersey glanced over at Cameron. Well, more over and down. He wasn't a small man, but he was shorter than Alaska and downright minute compared to the towering Iowa.
"Huh?"
"Watching 'em marshal up." The Iowa crossed her strong arms and scowled. "Knowing they're heading out without ya."
"Yeah," Cameron nodded. He'd said his goodbyes—and more—last night. The girls had dropped by before school for one last crushing hug from their mamma and to drop off a picture they'd framed themselves. But now the large cruiser was far too busy wrangling the last few ships for her expedition and triple-checking everything. "Must be hell for you."
"Oh hell yeah," said the towering Iowa. "I could be going with them. Should be, feels like." She shook her head. "Every time I send a fleet out, feels like someone shoved a rusty knife up my cunt."
Beside her Cameron slowly recoiled. "Oh god."
"Oh please," Jersey rolled her eyes. "You've watched a baby come out of your wife. Twice."
"Okay," said Cameron. Miracle of birth and all that, but… it gets messy. "That's, um… fair."
"Hey," said Jersey. "She'll be alright. She's got a good head on her shoulders."
"You think?"
"Married you, didn't she?"
"Young Residence, Mariana speaking."
Alaska beamed. Her kids were so polite on the phone. She'd take credit for it, but… really… with how often she was on patrol, Cameron had done most of the parenting. "Hi, sweetie, can you put your dad on, please?"
"Sure!" Alaska heard the muffled but tell-tale sound of her daughter rocketing through the house at speeds far higher than was strictly speaking safe. Alaska wasn't worried. Her kids were tough, and at that age where they bounced.
"Hey, love," said Cameron.
Alaska let out a dopey giggle. Even now, after ten years of marriage, hearing her husband's voice on the phone made Alaska's knees turn all gooey. "Hey," she said, allowing herself a moment to enjoy herself. "So, um," she coughed and forced herself to stiffen. "Admiral Jersey wants to mount an expedition, and…" The large cruiser winced, bracing herself for what she had to say next. "And she wants me to lead it."
"That's, uh… that's great news," said Cameron. "Right? I mean… I'm sure Atago will be happy."
"I…" Alaska blushed. "I'll be gone for weeks, maybe more." She bit her lip. She was a warship, born and built to go into harm's way. But she was also a wife, a mother, and a friend. Things her builders could never have anticipated. "It's a lot of unfriendly ocean."
"Good thing they're sending you then, right?"
"Huh?"
"Didn't you say you were the strongest cruiser ever built?"
Alaska nodded reflexively. "Yeah, but… I mean it's not safe."
"'Laska," Cameron sighed. "You know I'm still a novice at this whole navy thing, right?"
"Yeah," said Alaska. It'd taken her years to get him to stop calling her aft her butt.
"Okay, but… you are too compared to the Admiral," said Cameron. "Jersey's got… what, thirty years of active combat experience, right? She's got those stars for a reason. And she put you in charge for a reason."
"But I could—"
"No," Cameron cut her off. "Not hearing it. You'll be fine."
"But the kids—"
"Will be fine," said Cameron with finality. "I can watch them for a few weeks, and Sara and Skye would love to help out."
Alaska blinked. "Really?"
"Well…" Cameron giggled. "Sara would. I don't think Skye gets to have an opinion on the matter."
"That's true," Alaska giggled despite herself. Of all the ships she'd known, Sara was always the most maternal. It'd taken a long time and an immense amount of behind-the-scenes plotting by Alaska and Atago to finally get her married off though. Now Sara was burning off all that accumulated mom-ness at a vastly accelerated rate.
"We'll be fine without you," said Cameron. "Go save the world."
"'Kay," said Alaska. She was about to hang up when she remembered something. "Oh! Uh, I've got a lot of work to do to get ready for this. I probably won't be back until late."
"I'll make dinner and put the girls down, don't worry."
"No, actually," Alaska glanced at her watch. "Can you give me a call at twenty-one hundred? I wanna read their bedtime story."
"Okay," said Cameron. He'd long since learned not to underestimate his wife's ability to multitask. "I love you."
"I love you too." Alaska kissed the phone in a gesture that sounded more romantic in her head than it was in practice.
"Did you just kiss the phone?"
"Maybe?"
Cameron just laughed. "Good night, 'laska. Good luck."
"Thanks." Alaska hung up.
—|—|—
"Hey, Guam?" The voice filtering through Guam's half-open door could only belong to the large cruiser's older—not to mention married—sister. It was that perfect mix of airy and powerful, like a stiff breeze pushing over a snow-swept plateau. Also, from the sound of the creaking floor bending, her visitor was far heavier than any of the treaty cruisers.
"What's up, sis?" Guam pressed her nose against her big fish tank and smiled into it. One of her fish swam over and bumped its nose against hers through the glass. Which would've been adorable except Guam knew that particular fish had no sense of direction.
"Are you wearing pants?" Alaska's voice was as tense as the serene cruiser was able of getting.
Guam glanced down at herself. It was the weekend, so she was wearing something special. Nice lacy purple panties with bits of deep blue trim that brought out her sun-kissed tan like nothing else. She'd bought them last valentine's day in a fit of unreasonable optimism. She liked wearing them though, it was nice to dream. "I'm wearing panties, does that count?"
"N…no," Alaska sighed and opened the door. "Okay, those are actually really cute."
"I know!" Guam spun on her heel. Unlike her married, maternal sister she didn't have the upperworks to really jiggle with the motion—she had the aft though. The aft and then some. But at least she knew what babies did to an Alaska-class. She couldn't wait to start a family.
"Where…" Alaska bit her lip. "Where'd you get them?"
"Present for Cameron?"
Alaska nodded. "He really likes me in lace."
"He likes you in everything."
"Which includes lace."
Guam narrowed her eyes. "Point. You didn't come down her to ask about underwear though, did you?"
"No," admitted Alaska. "Although let me know when you've got the time."
"Will do."
"I'm leading an expedition to Japan," said Alaska. "It's—"
"I'm down," said Guam.
Alaska blinked.
"A mission with my big sister?" Guam shook her head. "'Laska, nothing you could say would make me turn that down."
Alaska threw her arms around her sister and pulled her in for a long hug. "Thanks, Guam."
"Anytime, sis."
—|—|—
Belleau Wood stood on the gently rolling surf. Her eyes were the milky unfocused white of a carrier focused entirely on her distant planes, her overflowing bundles of fluffy blond braids spilled from a poofy black beret topped with a somehow even poofier poofball.
She smiled to herself, feeling the sun's rays against her cheeks while her gaze was focused on her orbiting hellcats. It was a good day for flight practice, the wind crashing against her bow was crisp and warm with just enough salt to give it some bite. Yes, today was a good day to be a— wait.
Was someone calling her name?
Belle shook her head, the milky haze glazing over her eyes vanishing like melting snow. She plucked her headphones off and let them hang around her neck, the tinny sound of Kenny Loggin's singular masterpiece of naval aviation still echoing from the cheap speakers.
She glanced over her shoulder. The typically impressive form of Alaska was steaming towards her at a solid clip, hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted. "Belle!"
"Oui?" said the Independence, cutting her throttles to let Alaska catch up.
The big large cruiser shook her head with a smirk. "Belle, we loaned you to France for a while, you're not French."
"Non!" Protested Belle, pointing angrily to her rakishly-sloppy beret.
Alaska narrowed her kind, icy eyes and looked sideways at the light carrier. "Is that the only French you know?"
Belle beamed. "Baguette!"
Alaska sighed. It was the long-suffering mom sigh. The one that made it clear that she wasenjoying the joke, but she was about to get tired of it. "Belle?"
"Sorry," Belle pulled her beret off and tucked it into her pocket. "What's up?"
"We're mounting an expedition to Japan," said Alaska. "Admiral wants me to pick a team, and I need a carrier."
Belle cocked her head and shifted a lock of her fluffy blonde hair out of her eyes. It really was easier to keep everything in place with that beret. "Why not one of the heavies?"
"CNO doesn't want to risk it," said Alaska. "'sides, have you seen how much 'trepid eats? It'd double the size of the supply train."
Belle thought for a second and then a wicked giggle slipped past her lips. "Well, she ispregnant."
"What, again?" Alaska gaped with joy.
Belle nodded. "Don't tell her I told you though, it's carriers-only information for now."
Alaska nodded emphatically. "I'll be on the other side of the Pacific soon. And you?" She smiled. "You know the area, and you're post war so I'm not worried about tensions."
"I'd be happy to sail with you," said Belle.
—|—|—
"Fuckin' sucks, don't it?" Jersey glanced over at Cameron. Well, more over and down. He wasn't a small man, but he was shorter than Alaska and downright minute compared to the towering Iowa.
"Huh?"
"Watching 'em marshal up." The Iowa crossed her strong arms and scowled. "Knowing they're heading out without ya."
"Yeah," Cameron nodded. He'd said his goodbyes—and more—last night. The girls had dropped by before school for one last crushing hug from their mamma and to drop off a picture they'd framed themselves. But now the large cruiser was far too busy wrangling the last few ships for her expedition and triple-checking everything. "Must be hell for you."
"Oh hell yeah," said the towering Iowa. "I could be going with them. Should be, feels like." She shook her head. "Every time I send a fleet out, feels like someone shoved a rusty knife up my cunt."
Beside her Cameron slowly recoiled. "Oh god."
"Oh please," Jersey rolled her eyes. "You've watched a baby come out of your wife. Twice."
"Okay," said Cameron. Miracle of birth and all that, but… it gets messy. "That's, um… fair."
"Hey," said Jersey. "She'll be alright. She's got a good head on her shoulders."
"You think?"
"Married you, didn't she?"
- Location
- Central Standard Time
I didn't think Alaska could get sweeter.
I was wrong.
I was wrong.
ijnfleetadmiral
CinC Rengo Kanmusutai
- Location
- Admiral's Bridge, HIJMS Kongo
No, no, he really doesn't. :lol But somehow I don't think he minds, either.
DerpCruiser meets DerpCarrier...another MaxAdorable shipgirl.
Hey, there's an image we needed...thanks much, VADM JerJer.
You ain't kidding...
I seriously can't wait until Guam's summoned in BelBatt...I can see her teaming with 'Tago to get her older sister married off.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Editing and punctuation is important, since I first read that as 'how much admiral' being what JerJer ate every day, which implies either a bizarre amount of cannibalism of flag officers, or JerJer is a big fan of oral sex.
This is one reason why 'admiral' in that setup should be capitalized, since it's a title as well as a rank: it's Captain Kirk, not captain Kirk. 'Admiral Jersey' is a lot easier to parse correctly.
The last time she hate-fucked Mushitits, the property damage bill was in the millions, yes.
That's... uh, certainly an image. Who stores pancakes in a sack?
- Location
- 'Murica
Bold of you to assume I didn't do that intentionally because I found it funny.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
I never assume you know what you're doing.
Axslashel
I am a pessimist not a realist.
- Location
- Land of the Midnight Sun
There is a discord?
- Location
- Central Standard Time
I mean, my theory herrings come from somewhere.
This is funny on two different levels. In-joke.
In a related note, the Shogun's personal household will hopefully live up to your expectations.
Also, this submarine trick is— Ping!
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
...It's ADM Richardson or Jane isn't it. Though I guess Goto's also a possibility.I mean, my theory herrings come from somewhere.
This is funny on two different levels. In-joke.
In a related note, the Shogun's personal household will hopefully live up to your expectations.
- Location
- Philippines
You thought it was one of those three, BUT IT WAS ME, SHEO!
*is beaten by annoyed clouds*
"We apologize for the ruckus our silly Master has caused," sweetly said Kiyohime as she, her Swimsuit Lancer version, and the rest of SecFleet Murakumo drag the unconscious Author back to his fics.