Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kure Naval Base, Hiroshima Prefecture, home to Rising Sun’s largest shipyards, docks, and until recently, the only port capable of safely maintaining the three Sakuran leviathans.

Er, two-and-a-half. MAGIC doesn’t count that silly insomniac kitsune as a threat. Don’t ask.

Days after their victorious strike against the Eagle’s pacific egg, a council of Sakura’s capital ships convened to discuss the new flagship of the IJN. In the spirit of seniority, only class-leads attended. According to our spy, who is acting as the council’s scriber, we’re looking at Kongo, Fuso, Ise-o, Nagato, and Toasty-O’s.

Turns out, a diet of C-rations are not conducive for under-cover agents.

All Kansen-O’s sat at a semi-circle judgment desk, facing away from the sea. For added mystery, silk screens ensured no kansen could steal a view by turning around.

From a decorated shed (read: bamboo portapotty), a single, curvy figure emerged with a large gun resting on her shoulder.

As she walked towards the council, nine objects of floof and Sakuran red robes gently swayed with every shift of her mass. Slow, but steady puffs of wispy smoke emerged from a slender Kiseru tobacco pipe.

“Smoking at a young age?” Mikasao disapprovingly muttered, taking a long drag from her emotional support pipe.

“Look who’s talking,” Kongo spat, nursing her own bowl-on-a-stick of British-refined opium.

“I need this,” Mikaso stressed, rapidly breathing through the pipe to calm her nerves.

“Hai, so you can pretend to fire your boilers.”

“Why—you second-rate upstart, I’ll—”

Fuso stabbed the oriental pipe into Mikaso’s mouth, holding it there as her muffled rambling transformed into smoke signals.

“Kongo-san, we all have our ways of battling worry,” Nagato drawled fiddling with an unlit cigarette. “Do not make me remind you of who you fight for.”

“Hey, do you think the [ aokusai ] ship will see action?” Toasty—Tosa-o sighed, balancing a smoldering cigar on the tip of her blade’s saya.

“We can only hope. Hope and pray. Hope for Fortune to favor us once again and pray that our advisories stay dead,” Fuso prayed, preparing various addictive substances for the other class-leads. “Hakko ichiu.”

“Kaikoku Nippon,” the class-leads chorused. Except for Mikaso, who hyperventilated through her pipe, albeit slower now.

“Kaikoku Nippon,” the growing…no, the approaching figure bellowed deeply.

Before them bowed a mountainous kansen, bigger than any ship known to the Sakuran navy in both figure and form.

“I am heavy displacement ship…and this—” The figure plants the non-business end of her gun on the ground, driving the breach all the way into the concrete in the name of Imperial Japan, “—Is my weapon.

“It weighs 164,654 kilograms and fires 2.2 million yen shells at 2 rounds per minute.” The figure glares intensely at no one in particular. “It costs 400 million yen to fire my guns for 10 minutes.”

Mikaso’s pipe dropped out of her mouth. All she could think of was how bouncy that figure would be if she started guffawing.

RAH, HA, HA, HA!

Fuso reapplied the oriental pipe to disperse the elder’s impure thoughts.

The figure pulled out her weapon for the council to inspect closely, only to realize the scratches near the breach.

“Oh my Amaterasu, who touched Bishamonten? Alright… who touched my gun? ”

Nagato enjoyed her current cigarette one more time before taking it out and flicking it perfectly into Yamato’s mouth, soothing the cantankerous kitsune before the kitsune remembered she had her own source of will-be-needed tobacco.

“Some navies think they can out-maneuver me. Maybe.”

Sniff.

“Maybe.”

Yamato held up one of her shells with two fingers, “I’ve yet to meet one that can out-maneuver shell.”

~ ~ ~

October 25th, 1944.

KA-BOOM!!!

Six massive shells gleefully dash towards the running Eagles. How foolish of them to fall for the Northern-Force distraction! Soon, the Sakura will have 5 fleet carriers and 8 cruisers to add to their tally!

“Waaaaahhhhh! Uwaaaaaaah! Ahahahahaha!!! Can’t I Kessen?!?! ”

~ ~ ~

Yamato snickers politely, “Heheh, can’t I kessen.”

Chapter Text

“I am the superior battleship Yamato. Let our enemies be in our care,” Yamato deeply bowed.

“Mikasa-san, are you alright? Your nose is bleeding.” Fuso asked.

Mikaso, bless her heart, could not rid her mind of impure thoughts.

“It is a small loss compared to the length of my service; I will suffer just as excellently.”

Makaso elegantly sniffed the blood back into her nose before resuming catharsis via unhealthy coping.

“Arigato, Yamato-kun. Please visit Akashi in preparation for the journey to Truk.”

“ HAI!”

As the Heavy Displacement ship returned to the bamboo porta–shack, Tosa-o asked a very important question. “Question: weren’t there five of us?”

“No, there are six chairs.”

“W-where did Ise go?”

A squadron of seaplanes buzzed overhead, bound for the local Imperial Japanese Army depot. One sword-wielding figure was riding the lead element, screaming something about having the greatest plan.

“Haaaa, who left Ise alone with our tankers again?” Nagato asked, passing out forms for the other leads to fill out.

“It was me!” Everyone looked at the aviation-based, red-hued, and slightly deranged kitsune. “I did it like this!”

Akagi proceeds to send a miniature flaming zero into an army barge.

“That was a joke, min’na.”

Everyone ROFL’d on the floor until the smokers started coughing.

Akagi chugged on an aviation fuel hose. “It was yo— burp— her!”

Akagi points to our scribe who, according to the post-mission notes, was wearing a cowboy hat. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” AKagi burps again. “That was a joke too.”

Our scribe starts laughing before using the Texas One-hundred gallon like a very scary frisbee on Akagi. She will receive a WoWS-brand Critadel-Hit ribbon for her service.

“That’s right, it was me!” Texas reveals, whipping out five shotguns welded side-by-side on a rack. “And now for my Silver-Star escape plan!”

Texas slaps a saddle on the guns before pointing the barrels to the floor. The recoil sends her flying in the general direction of her home state (Not that it’s hard to miss because it’s, like, ½ of America).

“See y’all next week!” Texas parted, stealing Mikaso with a lasso.

~ ~ ~

“Wuh! Oh…it’s just a dream,” Enterprise sighs. She spies a thermos of Sweet Tea on her night stand. “Damn it, Tex.”

Thump.

Enterprise magics her bow into her hand, pointing at the door, an arrow made from one of her battle stars primed and ready.

By the time the sun rises, Enterprise finally, but slowly, lowers the bow.

Slam!

Texas barges in, rigging a triangle, “BREAKFAST IS READY!!! ”

Enter-suprised screams. “OWARI-DA!!!!”