#the drums of war resound through us all ;; au

[mahotoai]

-- RP (AU): The Storm’s Prelude

@yugenronin​ | Motochika

---

The rocking of waves and the clap of thunder was an unwelcome sight to Motochika’s crew this night as they headed back to port. Tadasumi barking orders while the crew tried to keep the ship afloat -- but that wasn’t the only thing going on this night. Just off nearby, floating amidst the waves aboard what looked like a vine-woven plank of some kind was a woman with untamed raven black hair, barely wearing anything with the sea having claimed and torn most of her clothing, unconscious and barely staying afloat.

Nothing to her -- not even a name, as she remained unconscious. It would be one of the triplets, the youngest in specific, Masashige, who saw her amidst the storm, calling out to Tadasumi; “Man overboard!” and catching Tadasumi’s attention enough for the red-head to call out to someone to prepare everything for someone to fetch said ‘man’ from the sea. 

“Boss!” Takayori, the eldest of the brothers, and recently wed husband to Motochika’s cousin, Tsuruhime, went to get his attention. “Someone’s out there!” He called over the storm. “What’s your call?!”

[johns-prince]

So I’ve always been a huge history buff, and especially I am fascinated by, if not constantly humbled, by the first and second world wars.

It’s not original, as I’ve seen a few fanfictions set in this AU, or something similar; the boys being drafted for the second world war. Primarily because I’m much more knowledgeable about the second than the first, and in the second they were utilizing medics in the field.

***Based off of historical events, AU is obviously fictitious. There are most likely inaccuracies***

So, you know, Paul’s mother and father had expectations he’d become a doctor. Instead of becoming a doctor though, Paul wanted to be useful in the front lines, be in the midst of it all too (remember many men were basically fed propaganda about how grand going into war was; many did not know the horrors) so Paul trained as a combat medic. Of course Paul’s mother was rather upset, she’d rather her boy be safe in field hospitals/medical centers, far from the fighting, but Paul is stubborn. Jim is proud, of course, but even he shows emotion and fear of not seeing his eldest again as Paul is about to set off for basic training.

Paul would be considered a specialist; CMT [Combat Medical Technician] 

Now, I have an admiration for paratroopers, as they were also a new sort of military branch; so, John, George, and Ringo, followed by Paul, would be placed into this new parachute infantry; British Airborne. Not to mention they’d be getting paid for it, sent to their families back home, so why not? (Though John would’ve joined regardless of the bribery of money)

My knowledge of the UK military and airborne is adequate at best. I think I’d place them in the Parachute Regiment, or “PARAS” 5th Parachute Brigade, 6th Airborne Division. This isn’t set in stone though!

George and Paul signed up together, while they meet John and Ringo later on. 

John seems to be the best at hand-to-hand combat, struggled with his marksmanship.

George and John both struggled getting over their slight fear of heights and planes (both got sick once or twice) and both caught harmless crap for it from Paul and Ringo, though the teases were simply that. 

These would be the uniforms and equipment I imagine them having:

WW2 British Paratrooper Uniform – Basic Uniform

WW2 British paratrooper combat uniform

WW2 British infantry combat uniform

Paul’s outfit might’ve been a bit different being a combat medic:

Battledress, though without the insignia of a captain.

Worn over battledress.

On the left arm, one of the many armbands Paul could have worn, along with a simple combat helmet or one also featuring a red cross.

Medic satchel.

One of the weapons a medic would carry for both self defense and defense of their patient, The M1911.

John was often the one found provoking and taking the piss outta Paul, calling him “Nurse Paulie/Macca” for a bit until eventually Paul earned John’s respect and admiration for his bravery on the field during the heat of battle, focused solely on the injured. While John doesn’t completely drop the rather degrading nickname, he does adopt calling Paul “Doc,” or “Doc Paul/Paulie/Macca”

Despite John’s teasing and targeting of Paul since day one of training, they caught on like a house on fire; Paul could keep up with John’s wit most of the time, and even had this odd patience for his antics and at times, aggressive personality; when John learned Paul had a passion for music, and that while his parents wanted him to be a doctor, he actually just wanted to do music.

When John learns combat medics are trained extensively in close-quarters/hand-to-hand, the older makes Paul his honorary sparring partner– ‘’Don’t wanna get rusty now, do ya?” though it often divulges into play-wrestling/play fighting, stopping when someone gets pinned or they’re called. 

Among the company it becomes common knowledge that if anyone gives Paul flak, especially with John around, they’d get their head bitten off, dignity shred to pieces– if not physically intimated by John, always rearing for a fight, always willing to take a swing at anyone who talked badly about Paul. They have each other’s backs, and wherever Paul goes, John is sure to follow; wherever John is, Paul will also be. 

George is often treated like the little brother between John and Paul, much to his chagrin. Ringo treats George as much of an equal despite being older, and they become incredibly close, best of buds. The four musketeers altogether though, been there since day one.

Captain/Major/Brigadier Brian Epstein and  Second Lieutenant/Colonel George Martin.

To pass time, the boys often end up providing not only entertainment for themselves, but for the other men in the group; singing songs, songs of home, of women they’d left behind, and popular diddies and songs from back home. Ringo would often than not just provide some rhythm like a drum. Paul and John were often the ones singing though. It was great for morale, and somewhat kept the boys sane. They could always escape through music.

They talked of finding each other once this was all over, since they were all from Liverpool. Get together and form a proper ragtag of a band. This sort of talk also kept them optimistic. Plans of the future, making music, leaving all this carnage and blood and horror behind. During times of waiting for orders, of silence– John and Paul could sometimes be found writing down song lyrics and notes in their battered journals, planning to work on them with actual instruments when they got back to Liverpool. Anyone who wasn’t Ringo or George that went over to the pair during these ‘’sessions,’’ to see what they were doing and be nosy, were always met with a resounding “Fuck off,” “Piss off,” “None of yer business ya nosy little twat”   

I do know they’d be part of D-Day, invasion of France (when liberated, division sent to Paris for recouping, get good food and warm baths, clean set of uniforms. John and Paul end up spending it pretty much alone together, running off from George and Ringo. They share a room, and whenever George and Ringo go to fetch them, they know they’re in when music is playing from inside, thumping about and laughter. George commented on how they’ve both gone batty for each other, and nearly got a thump on the head for that by John. Paul merely cuffed him. Ringo could only laugh, if not come to the defense of George, claiming he’s merely stating the obvious. 

As they grow closer, the fear of losing each other slowly builds; while Paul is better at keeping it in, John isn’t, and after every major battle, usually separated with Paul running off to attend to anyone he can along with the other one or two medics assigned as well– when John finds Paul, regardless if he’s covered in someone else’s blood [god forbid his own] John embraces him. John won’t cry, can’t, but he holds onto Paul as if holding onto a lifeline. Paul let’s him, of course he does, because touching is good and touching that isn’t painful or the reassurance for a dying man, is what Paul finds himself desperate for at the end of it all, if he’s still alive.

Paul would be lying to himself if he wasn’t always looking forward to these comforting, intimate touches from his mate. 

Replacements would be Stuart Sutcliffe, Tara Browne [probably others I can’t exactly think of right now]

As Brian is promoted to  Lieutenant Colonel [and/or killed] replacement in command would be Allen Klein, though this would prove an awful fit as no one in the company actually respects or likes the man (especially Paul) though John at the beginning does take a rather liking to Klein. Until he found Klein trying to physically bully and, en short, dominate Paul; if it hadn’t been for Paul stopping him from going any further than decking the man, John probably would’ve killed him. In the end Allen Klein was moved to another company, with George Martin taking lead as Captain/Brigadier. 

Battle of the Bulge was a low point [for everyone] miserably cold, trees exploding everywhere, soldiers were breaking quicker. On the coldest of nights, in a foxhole, all four boys would huddle close, sharing a poor excuse for a blanket; “Oi, if this hole is lucky ‘nough to get hit, at least we’ll go out together.” “John.” “George?” “Shut up.” 

Paul singing this right after a brutal bombardment by the Germans; an eerie stillness falls as those who are still alive listen, listen to the haunting melody, and dream of going home. A song for those who hadn’t made it, the dead, and, John thinks, listening with weary eyes closed, and a song for them as well– because in a sense, they’re already dead too. They died the moment they signed up.

[beyond-the-mirror]

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Welcome back to another chapter of Music of the Night!

From this chapter and on, this fic will continue a bit kinda like the musical and the movie albeit with a few changes on the plot. This is an AU after all, one that mainly focuses on our dear and mysterious Phantom and his relation with the Reader.

Tagging @minteyeddemon​ and @thedyingmoon​ as a special thanks for believing in this idea since before I started writing it. Hope you enjoy!

…………

Chapter 4: An Angel Ready to Take Flight

- Two years later -

“This trophy from our saviors, from our saviors from the enslaving force of Rome!”

The conductor signaled to the orchestra the start of the opera Hannibal’s Overture. Right on time, a parade of actors and actresses entered the stage from the side, marching while backup singers among them continued with the song.

“With feasting and dancing and song, tonight in celebration, we greet the victorious throng, returned to bring salvation!”

The scene flowed beautifully, the gorgeous red dresses and attires that the performers were wearing looked stunning from Trish’s place near the first row of seats. Next, the backup dancers appeared on stage, their choreography signaling the triumphant entrance of the war general Hannibal.

“The trumpets of Carthage resound! Hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to our step on the ground! Hear the drums, Hannibal comes!”

The soldiers and ladies of the court stepped aside to reveal the arrival of the great general, played by main tenor Ubaldo Piangi.

“Sad to return to find the land we love threatened once more by Rome's far-reaching grasp-“

“Gentlemen, gentlemen…” Interrupting Piangi’s solo, the conductor nervously tapped the stand before him, stopping the music altogether. “Monsieur Lefevre, we are in the middle of a rehearsal right now.”

Lefevre had sauntered into the stage accompanied by three other men.

“I am terribly sorry Monsieur Reyer, it’s only for a quick announcement.” Lefevre excused himself before quickly clearing his throat “Monsieur Rever, Madame Trish, ladies and gentlemen. Please if I could have your attention thank you very much.”

Making a brief pause and waiting until everyone gathered round, Lefevre continued “As you know, in a few weeks I will be retiring, it has been a great pleasure for me working alongside an extraordinaire crew such as all of you. And now, it is my pleasure to introduce you to these two gentlemen who now own our Opera House, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre.”

He gestured to two of the men who stood by his side. One of them, which you presumed was Monsieur Firmin, stepped to the front and took the word. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. And we are deeply honoured to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.”

The third man in question was tall and with a lean figure, he had warm hazel eyes and curly blond hair. He was rather handsome and looked to be well-mannered considering his posture the entire time.

“My parents and I are honoured to support all the arts, especially Fortuna’s well renowned Opera House.”

“If you allow me Vicomte, gentlemen.” Lefevre interjected, beckoning Carlotta and Ubaldo. “Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, our current leading soprano; Signor Ubaldo Piangi, lead tenor of our fine Opera; and Monsieur Reyer, maestro in charge of our orchestra.”

“An honor Signor, Signora, Monsieur. I believe we are keeping you from your rehearsal. My apologies for the interruption everyone, you may continue with your duties.”

The three men retired to the side of the stage while Trish ordered to repeat the scene once more from the top. The premiere would be that same night and the last dress rehearsals must go according to the tight schedule programmed.

Lefevre invited the new administrators to stay and watch the performers first hand, soon enough Trish joined them so he could properly introduce her.

“Gentlemen, I proudly introduce you to Madame Trish. An unparalleled choreographer and dance captain that’s been gracing our beloved Opera for these last years.”

“An honor meeting you.” Trish responded politely before showing them the routine the dancers were currently practicing on stage. “As you can see, we take great pride in the excellence of our ballet. We primarily focus on the discipline of our ballerinas rather than their mere talent, in order to  ensure the success of our productions.”

The three man observed attentively at how the scene before them took place, impressed at the incredible skills and professionalism all the staff members showed for their work.

“Now I see why madame, especially that exceptional beauty performing over there.” Unbeknownst to you, Firmin pointed towards your dancing figure.

“(Y/N) (L/N).” Trish informed him. “A very promising ballerina Monsieur, one of the best this theatre has ever witnessed. Now please follow me gentlemen, we don’t want to stand in our performers’ way.”

As they gave the performers the space they needed, Raoul centered his bright eyes on you. He was enthralled by the swift flow of your movements, as if the choreography was basically second nature to you. The scene continued with the rest of the actors marching to the center, followed by a mechanical prop of a magnanimous war elephant.

“The trumpeting elephant sound. Hear, Romans, now and tremble, hark to their step on the ground. Hear the drums! Hannibal comes!”

A glorious crescendo filled the Opera House before the scene reached its finale. Silence took over for a few moments before the new administrators and the Vicomte clapped at the great performance they had just witnessed, not registering Carlotta’s frustrated voice as she strode towards them.

“That number was astounding! We are very excited about tonight’s gala-“

“All day! All they ever want is the dancing!” Carlotta rudely interrupted Andre “Allor… I hope you are as excited about dancing girls as your new managers, BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE SINGING! Addio a tutti!”

She stomped furiously to her personal assistants, ordering them to gather all her belongings for her. Carlotta’s sudden departure left Firmin and Andre in absolute shock, while the rest of the staff were simply unfazed by her attitude, already used to this kind of meltdowns from her.

“What can we do now?” With no other options at hand, the new owners had no choice but to follow Lefevre’s advice to this particular kind of situation “Grovel. Grovel, grovel.”

So of course, Firmin and Andre immediately took after Carlotta to stop her from leaving the stage, loudly exclaiming any possible compliment they could think of in order to appeal to her.

“Beauty!” “Principessa!” “Bella Dama!”

“Si! Si! Si!”

“Oh Goddess of Song!”

“If you excuse me, please.” Everyone turned to see the Vicomte approaching Carlotta with a rather calm and suave expression on his face “Monsieur Reyer, isn’t there a marvelous aria for Elissa in Act. 3 of Hannibal? Perhaps the signora-“

“Yes, yes, but no!” she angrily interjected “Because turns out I don’t have the right costume for Act 3 because somebody made a horrible disaster out of it! And I hate my hat!” She sobbed and lamented, very much like a spoiled diva in the eyes of the staff members. Raoul, however, remained unfazed by her sudden outburst and simply smiled warmly at her.

“I was wondering, signora, as a personal favor… would you give us the privilege of a personal performance? Unless of course, Monsieur Reyer objects.”

“No, aspette! aspette!” Taking in deep breaths, Carlotta composed herself, the Vicomte’s words having their desired effect. “If my managers command, Monsieur Reyer?”

“If my diva commands?” Reyer spoke in a mirth voice to appeal to her, which made her beam in joy.

“Yes I do!”

Reyer quickly returned to his position at the head of the orchestra, the pianist preparing himself for Elissa’s aria. Taking hold of his baton, the conductor signaled Carlotta.

“Signora?”

Carlotta first applied some throat spray and readied herself before confirming. “Maestro.”

Elissa’s aria ‘Think of Me’ was indeed an exquisite piece, only the most privileged voices could ever properly bring forth all the emotions contained in its beautiful lyrics. Carlotta Giudicelli may be an insufferable diva in the eyes of those who worked with her, but there was no denying that she had a rather wonderful voice. The entire theatre fell silent as a sign of respect to her magnificent singing, no one dared to interrupt her, no one dared to disrespect La Carlotta in such way.

That is until a snapping sound made everyone’s hearts drop, and the next thing they all knew, a heavy curtain was falling down right towards her.

“Signora!”

Panicked screams resonated through the stage. Raoul managed to pull Carlotta right out of danger’s way, her ample dress, however, ultimately made them both topple down due to the weight of its many layers of fabric. Many rushed immediately to help both the Vicomte and mostly the lead soprano, who was trapped beneath the heavy curtain.

“Oi Buquet! What in heaven and hell happened over there?!” Nico screamed furiously at Mr. Buquet, the man in charge of operating the changing scenery at the fly floors. “You are lucky nobody got killed for this!”

“It wasn’t me Nico, I swear! I-I remained in my position all the time, Lord Sparda knows I wasn’t near that curtain.” Buquet stuttered nervously, the poor man fearing the possibility of losing his job over this accident.

Adjusting her glasses, Nico walked around trying to look if someone else had been up at the fly floors tampering at the ropes, but couldn’t find nobody.

“What are you talking about? There’s no one else there.”

“Do you think… it could have been the Phantom?” Buquet murmured almost inaudibly.

“Please Buquet, don’t be ridiculous! Seems that I’ll have to examine the grid, the least I want now is a broken pulley or something.” She was sure Buquet hadn’t been responsible for the incident, for everyone knew he was a very hardworking and trustworthy person. So the only possible explanations Nico could think about were either one of the pulleys got damaged and broke down, or the rope wasn’t secured properly.

Meanwhile, the situation on the stage wasn’t looking pleasant at all.

“We are deeply sorry for this signora, I’m sure this kind of stuff tends to happen from time to time.” Andre tried his best, and failed, to calm down a ver altered Carlotta.

“Two years! For two whole years this kind of stuff has been happening! And has anybody done something to stop them? NO! So until you manage to stop this incidents, I refuse to set a foot in this Opera!”

As she stomped out of the theatre followed by her hurrying assistants, everyone could feel in their hearts that unlike her previous outbursts, she was not coming back this time. And now the question lingering in their minds was: What were they going to do now?

…………

The performers were gathered at the green room, already out of their costumes and in casual attire instead. All staff members were told to leave the stage so Trish, Lefevre and the new owners could discuss on how to proceed and find an imminent solution as soon as possible.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel.” Firmin lamented as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “We have lost our main star and there’s no way we can find another soprano for tonight’s premiere.”

“Calm down Richard. There must be a substitute, an understudy-“

“Understudy? With all due respect Monsieur Andre, but there’s no understudy for La Carlotta!” interjected Reyer who was visibly nervous about this turn of events.

Tension and concern filled the entire Opera, and as much as the Vicomte and Trish tried their best to control the situation at hand, still no plausible solution had been found yet. Firmin and Andre were mainly worried about the imminent decision of returning all the earnings, the Opera was having a full house that night after all and that could mean a terrible economic loss for the company.

You were currently sitting on the floor hidden behind one of the side curtains of the stage. Curiosity had completely taken over you and now you were secretly trying to listen to the discussion taking place on the stage. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop so rudely, but you were terribly worried and couldn’t help it. All the efforts of your friends, of the people you now considered pretty much your family. If a substitute is not found by tonight, then it all would be in vain.

“My nightingale, my angel of music…” a familiar voice filled your ears “Why are you worried? What is filling your heart with sorrow?”

You could feel his presence right behind you, but you dared not look back out of respect. The Phantom always kept his identity a secret, the least you could do to repay everything he taught you, was respecting his decision not to be seen.

“Our lead soprano is gone… if we don’t find someone, anyone, then…” you trailed off, fighting to keep your tears from falling. “Everyone has worked so hard for this production, I don’t want their efforts to be in vain…”

He remained silent.

A warm breath grazed your ear, making shivers run down your spine.

“I believe you are ready then…”

“Phantom? …What do you mean?”

“… I believe in you, my angel. Go forth, and bless the world with your divine voice.”

The presence behind you was gone.

“Phantom? Wait!” You turned around, but he was already gone.

Did he mean…? No, there was no way you could do this. You may have improved a lot since your first lesson with him, but were you truly ready to perform before a real audience? A full house? What if you get the lyrics wrong? What if you get nervous and stutter during a musical number? No, you couldn’t do this.

But the Phantom… he believed in you. The Opera, your friends… they needed you.

… Your father… he… he always believed in you.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly got on your feet.

…………

“Please excuse me everyone.”

Eyes turned to you, the discussion coming to a pause.

“(Y/N) is something wrong? You look worried about something.” Trish walked to you, concerned after noticing the few tears in the corner of your eyes which you quickly wiped away.

“Please, allow me to do it.”  the words came out of your lips in an almost inaudible whisper.

The others on the stage looked at each other in confusion. “Miss, you don’t mean…”

There was no turning back. With great strength in your eyes, you voiced your request with confidence. “If it’s not too much of a bother, please allow me to play as Elissa.”

Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise. Andre turned to Firmin “But she’s just a dancer, there’s no way she can do it.”

“(Y/N) do you have any idea of what this entails?” Trish was looking at you incredulously, genuine concern in her eyes. “This is the main role we are talking about, not just anybody can perform it correctly.”

“I know the choreography as well as the lyrics. I can assure you I’ll be able to do it.”

With a sigh leaving her lungs, Trish turned to Reyer. “Maestro would you kindly call your pianist over? Allow her to sing the Act. 3 aria and we shall see if she’s fit for the role.”

“Right away, Madame.”

As the pianist rushed to the orchestra pit, the Vicomte beckoned you to the front of the stage.

“Over here Miss, don’t be shy. For the moment let’s just hear the beginning of the aria, understood?”

You nodded. As Reyer and the pianist got ready, you closed your eyes and remembered the faith your family always had in you, your father’s words, and the teachings of the Phantom.

And so, the first notes to the aria sounded.

“Think of me, think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me, once in a while

Please promise me you'll try

When you find that once again you long

To take your heart back and be free

If you ever find a moment

Spare a thought for me.”

Silence.

“M-Magnifique! Absolutely magnificent!”

With wide eyes and clapping hands, you were congratulated by the everyone in front of you.

“(Y/N) that was wonderful!” Trish added in utter surprise “Now why hadn’t you mentioned you could sing like that before, darling?”

“To be honest, I’ve never sung professionally before. But I’ve been receiving lessons for a while and seeing our current predicament well… I decided to at least give it a try.”

“And what an extraordinaire performance that was.” Raoul walked to you and joined Trish at her side. “Miss (Y/N), due to our current circumstances and your impressive demonstration, we are proud to inform you that you may play Elissa in tonight’s premiere. We believe you will be able to deliver a breathtaking performance tonight.”

You could feel your eyes water again at their words. All those days you practiced, they were finally bearing fruit.

“Then I promise I won’t fail you.”

Trish gave you a warm smile. “Alright then, the show must go on and there’s no time to lose. Come (Y/N), we must rehearse your lines and musical numbers.”

A shadowed figure in the long abandoned Box Four smiled down at what was happening on stage before retreating. After all, the Phantom had a very important gala to attend that night, and there was no way he would miss his beloved angel performing on her debut.

…………

As Nico finally reached the grid high above the stage, she took out her flashlight and started inspecting the pulley of the fallen curtain. To her surprise, however, the device was in top-notch condition. Nothing broken, rusty or unstable

“Huh? Well that’s weird.” She had also previously checked the rope. It had no signs to have been cut or damaged either, so the only logical explanation left was that whoever was in charge of tying and securing the ropes made a terrible job, either that or… someone untied it and let the curtain fall on purpose. Then again, she couldn’t find anyone else on the fly floors other than Buquet, and he was too far away to have done it.

“Argh… I’ve already told them over and over again to check their damn ropes.” She muttered to herself before getting out of the grid.

…………

After one last conversation with Firmin and Andre, Lefevre decided to retire for the day. However, there was something else he had to take care to before leaving the building. He reached for the inner pocket of his coat, pulling a sealed black envelope with no name or address written on it, its only prominent characteristic was a lilac wax seal on the back.

Lefevre stared at the envelope for a few moments before putting it back in his pocket and proceeding with his task. Entering the green room, he spotted Trish and (Y/N) going over Elissa’s lines.

“Excuse me Madame Trish, may I talk to you for a few seconds. I’m afraid it’s a very important matter.”

She stood up and after instructing (Y/N) to keep practicing her lines, she followed him out of the room.

“What happened Monsieur Lefevre? Did something happen?”

He gulped audibly before answering. “Trish. You have worked in this theatre for a couple of years now, enough for me to realize how valuable and loyal you are for the company that I basically nurtured for most of my life. Which is why I trust you fully to complete the task that I’m about to give you. Please listen carefully what I’m about to tell you, and please, promise me you’ll handle this with complete and absolute discretion.”

Lefevre reached for his inner pocket once again and handed her the mysterious black envelope.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand Monsieur. What is inside this letter?” She inquired worryingly.

Lefevre inhaled deeply before continuing in a whispered voice “Inside this envelope there are exactly 1,800 euros. At the end of every month, you must place that exact amount of euros in a black envelope like this one. I keep them in the third drawer of my desk, as well as some lilac sealing wax and a seal stamp with a design like the one in this envelope. Then, you must take the money to Box Four and slide it under the curtain. That box must remain unavailable for the public always. It is imperative that nobody, absolutely nobody, sees you when delivering the money.”

“What? But who is this money for?”

Sweat started forming on Lefevre’s forehead, and when he remained quiet, it only worsened Trish’s concerns.

“Just… promise me that you will do it. And please… don’t ask anymore questions to me or anybody else.”

She hesitated. She had no idea of what was it that got Lefevre so nervous, and then there was the fact that he was willing to pay an unknown person such an important amount of money every month.

There was something quite sketchy behind all of this. And yet, she somehow trusted Lefevre.

“Fine… I just hope this won’t get me in any trouble in the future.”

“Don’t worry, I promise you this is the only thing you have to do. Thanks for everything Madame Trish.”

And with those words, Lefevre left the Opera.

Trish examined the envelope in her hands and turned it around. Her eyes centered on the mysterious lilac wax seal, or more importantly, the peculiar design of the stamp.

A single yet elegant ‘V’ decorating its center.

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 2 - Welcome to Bunkerland

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1643

Summary: A summer hiatus series. The reader is a refugee from the apocalypse AU where angels pursue humans with righteous wrath under the rule of the archangel Michael. Against all odds, the reader awakens in a world where the apocalypse never happened and not everyone is who they seem to be. Does her heart truly long to save her world, or does it belong now to the last person she ever expected to give it to?

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Humming contentment, inhabiting the sluggish middle-ground between sleep and sentience, you loll to one side of the bed. Knees curling to your chest, you nuzzle your chin deeper into the pillow and slide a hand beneath the cushion to cuddle it closer. The cotton fabric is cool and crisp to the touch. The clean floral hint of the dryer sheet with which it tumbled – and recently, judging by the fresh fragrance – tickles your nose. Poised at the brim of awareness, consciousness gently cascading over your somnolent senses, untroubled comfort blankets you for another blissful moment before wakeful alarm courses through your languid frame.

Fighting the reflex to flail off the sheets and flee, balling the pillow in your fists, you force yourself to freeze and formulate a plan. You still the dissenting shudder of your body as your heart sprints and adrenaline floods your veins and urges you contrariwise – every double beat a deafening drum to rise and run in your ears. You drink in a deep calming breath through your nose, reciting the mantra to stop and think over the wail of your pulse. Reaching into your memory to try to figure out what happened, you contort bodily and choke back a scream. Thinking hurts.

Mind a dense haze of smoke, brain a smoldering black coal that flares in a painful fiery burst when you try to recall any detail of the who, what, where, when, why, or how of being here, you default, instead, to basic survival instinct. You have an indistinct sense that wherever this place is, it’s very unlike the last place. You feel that you’re safe; some piece of you, however – a bit of coding programmed into your DNA – knows it’s not safe to trust safe anymore because nowhere is really safe from . . . You gasp at the galvanizing flash of lighting striking down the attempt at thought. Not thinking is hard.

Enough. Your eyelids separate into the slimmest of slits necessary to admit light in order to inventory the immediate surroundings: Bedside lamp, bulb illuminated and radiating a warm glow. Digital red numbers on an alarm clock indicating a time of 5:37PM. Glass of perfectly clear water, three-quarters full. Sheet of paper, thick enough to stand on the folded edge, a message scribbled across in bold black ink.

You clamp your lashes shut and take a slow and measured inhalation. Holding the air in your lungs until they begin to burn, you listen. You perceive only the rapid tinny race of your bounding heart. Identifying no imminent peril, you pop open both eyes and blow out the hot torrent of checked breath, panting afterward in relief. Swinging your legs over the side of the mattress, attention sweeping the bare walls, single wooden door, and beige-brown color palette of the windowless utilitarian room, your focus settles once more on the piece of paper on the nightstand.

You pluck it up to examine the note evidently intended for you as there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here. It reads: Back soon – make yourself at home. It’s a concise welcome, but does nothing whatsoever to clear up the confusion of where you are or how you came to be here. Your temples throb as you tread dangerously near a rising recollection. Rubbing at the ache, you notice ink bleeding through from the other side and flip the sheet: Stay put – don’t break anything. The handwriting is as different as the vaguely threatening sentiment and equally meaningless to you.

Tossing aside the paper, you hop to the floor. You suck in a quick shot of air to shallowly expand your ribcage and peer down at the external state of matters stretching from your neck to toes. It isn’t the oversized fleece-lined sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, extending well beyond your fingertips and shrouding you to your thighs that shocks you. Nor is it the wide-legged plaid pajama pants rolled up to your ankles that come as a surprise.

You tentatively shift your weight from one leg to the other and jump again. Your bare feet land with a quiet and painless thud on the tile. The pleased smile – small as it is – has no time to brush its subtle curve onto your mouth before a cinch of blazing embers ensnares your skull. Knees buckling, you sink shrieking to the floor as you realize your left leg isn’t the shattered limb you remember. You badly broke the leg when you lost your footing on a rugged mountain pass leading to a camp in Dayton, Ohio and the rumored promise of safety there. Safety. Through the crippling agony, specifics of the incident of failing to outrun a band of angels and your subsequent capture return to you.

When you recover your faculties, tears puddle on the porcelain where your forehead presses to the cold tile. Tongue swiping your lips, you taste the salt streaking your cheeks. Rocking onto your heels, you clasp your fingers around your wrists in turn and run the pads of them over the smooth skin. Like your fractured limb they, too, are unmarked by the tight binds that secured you to the chair in the cabin where . . . You flatten your palms to the floor in front of you to keep from crumpling at the emergent memory of him.

Castiel – the other angels called him Castiel, a seraphim sadist, strangely sentimental. He’s the one who set your brain ablaze. He wanted information about where the refugees were gathering and why. And he especially wanted to know the whereabouts of someone named Jack. He lit brush fires in your mind as if to smoke the information out. You don’t know jack, about any Jack, but you were willing to die before divulging anything to that divine douchebag.

You dare to think, perhaps, you are dead. Sitting upright, you glance around the room with that viewpoint. Imagining yourself in Heaven instills no solace. Heaven is chock full of angels and you’d rather be in Hell. You’ve heard it’s pretty decent digs since the apocalypse went down and all the demons went topside. You don’t expect anyone in power much cares where human souls end up nowadays.

From this vantage point, headache abating, you spot a square of pink in the center of the door you missed before. Standing up, you cross the room and squint at the writing: Kitchen is to the right if you want something to eat. It’s the same friendly scroll as the note bidding you to make yourself at home. Your stomach rumbles with enthusiasm. There’s a second square tucked below the first with a warning: Don’t drink all the beer.

“Seriously?” you snicker aloud. “Somebody’s in a bitchy mood.” You imagine it was quite the row these chuckleheads with warring memos had before they deigned to leave you here alone, wherever the heck here actually is.

Turning the doorknob, you step into the hall to make your way to the kitchen. Your eyes dart to each steady bulb of light illuminating the way. You find it curious there is no loud whirring roar of a generator providing the electricity. Until now, you believed electricity of this sort, available at the whim of a finger flicking a switch, was an extinct species – mere magical fodder for children’s bedtime stories.

You pause before a gaping door and peer into what must be the kitchen based on the stainless steel storage stretching along the walls. This room, you note, like the one you awoke in, is also windowless and tidy in efficiency. Throat itchy with thirst and thinking of the untouched glass of water you left bedside, you swallow dryly and cross over to the sink. Purely for your own amusement, since it also doesn’t exist anymore in a convenient manner, you twist on the hot water tap and cup your hands beneath the spout. Steamy liquid warmth instantly flows over and fills your upturned palms. Snorting a laugh, you dip your head to the basin to splash your skin with the soothing spray.

It’s with your face ducked under the faucet, letting the warmth pour across your foolishly grinning features, fully submerged in this fantasy come to life, fingers clasped to the sink edge to keep from falling in, that you fail to hear the gravelly voice resounding on approach in the hall over the rush of the water.

“Sam! Dean? I’m back. I have good news and bad news. The good news is, I was able to enter Heaven and the other angels didn’t murder me as we anticipated they would. The bad news is, they didn’t murder me because there are only a handful of us left and-” Cas swallows the remainder of his report as he leans over the kitchen threshold to study the peculiar scene.

Although he healed your physical injuries after Dean dragged you through the rift, he hadn’t expected you to wake given the sustained suffering of your mind. Even an angel cannot always undo the work of angels. He’s glad to see he was wrong. Determining his silent stare could be considered rude, he clears his throat, steps into the room, and announces his presence. “Hello?”

Through the blear of water wetting your lashes, you see a figure – a man, judging from the broadness of his shoulders – drifting toward you from the doorway. “Sorry, I-” You recoil from the sink, apologizing out of awkwardness. Slick fingers scrambling to turn off the faucet, you simultaneously grope along the counter for something to wipe your eyes.

“Here.” The raspy word is followed by a cloth laid against your arm.

“Thanks.” You dab the cotton to your face. “I-” When you look up from the towel, the man’s eyes lock on yours, both of them blue. The hue – an unmistakable shade seared into your memory – instills you with horror.

Next: Ch. 3 - The Quote Unquote Situation

[justanartsysideblog]

Melarue and Eda being awesome and kick ass nanae, daughter duo for the Melon'din AU? Or more Solace. I love Solace.

How about...both? XD 

War is never pretty. Despite how much victories and valor are glorified, Solace knows that it’s all a facade. A thin, shiny veneer atop a rotting, cruel truth. She is not used to such dark musings, but they have come to her more and more as the rebellion grows, and the cruelties of the evanuris come more and more into focus.

She shifts restlessly atop her mount, surveying the battlefield far below. Tiny black figures, the size of ants, have aligned themselves along both sides, and magic glitters in the air, so thick it feels like she’s breathing in syrup every time she inhales. 

Her mount senses her mood, and paws anxiously at the ground beneath it with silver-tipped claws, leaving large gouges in the rock. Solace absently leans down to pat its neck to calm it. Beside her, Solace’s charge lets out an impatient sigh.

Eda is not pleased with this current arrangement. Solace knew that would be the case, when Melarue told her that Eda would remain on the cliffs rather than on the field, and that her duty was to make sure that Eda did just that. 

It is a tactical decision, not just a streak of parental protectiveness. The way the valley curves, strengthened with specially places enchantments carved into the cliffs along both sides, create a perfect echo chamber for Eda’s songs and accompanying illusions. 

Of course, it is one thing to know, and another to accept. Solace can tell that Eda wants to be at her nanae’s side when the battle begins. At the moment, Melarue themselves is absent from the field. Their generals stand at the forefront, unmarked and marked alike, and the resounding crash of war drums makes Solace’s teeth ache.

“Sometimes I wonder how they manage it all,” Lethenwe, another of Eda’s personal guards and commanders, shakes his head with a wry smile. 

“Manage what?” Solace asks, not looking away from the field. 

“All those tricks and traps.” Lethenwe replies. “How did they know to have us carve those enchantments into this specific valley? They ordered the task three years ago, before the fighting even began in Arlathan. No one knew the enemy would march here.”

“The Cunning One knows all,” Nelhel answers staunchly. One of their Nameless allies, Nelhel called Melarue by the nickname they’d earned during the rebellion’s formation. Those from the lands of the Evanuris, who had followed Melarue through their disguise as Falon’Din, called them by their name. Some jokingly called them Melon’Din, a jest to their days of deceit living among the tyrant kings.

“I believe it.” Lethenwe shrugs.

“Where one person sees two paths, my nanae sees hundreds,” Eda remarks, voice soft. Despite her calm demeanor, Solace knew Eda was worried.

“I’d have a headache, with so many possibilities running around in my mind,” Lethenwe leans forward on his own mount, armored gauntlets tight on the reins. 

An unearthly shriek tore through the air, as two winged shapes flew above the enemy army: the slave kings in the shape of dragons, their magic so strong the air around them rippled with it like a stifling summers heat upon rock.

An answering roar thundered above them, and Lethenwe, Nelhel, and the others atop the ridge all ducked as a large shadow swept over them. Only Solace and Eda remained unnerved, as Melarue, in the same shape as the enemy, flew toward the battle dark green scales nearly black in the half-light. The sound of their roar, filled with magic of its own, lit the enchantments that ringed the entirety of the valley. 

Solace swallowed, then turned to look at Eda, just as Melarue’s daughter began to sing.

[mahotoai]

... He might be a bit lonely tonight. How long has it been since he’s had someone to warm under his wings...? Quite a while... Perhaps he should seek the company of someone willing.

---

Meanwhile, in another timeline...

Someone’s in a sour mood because he might miss a certain cheeky ninja.

@yugenronin​

[mahotoai]

-- Ship (AU): By A Winged Shadow's Love

Hajime didn't expect to find love when he started pledging his sword to the defense of the Himemiko Shrine, but somehow he ended up doing so.

Across the land stories were being written as was history was a whole, but unchanging stood the Shrine to Himemiko and its defenders. Kept from the outside world and not to interfere in it except on a blue moon basis, Hajime found himself in the company of Chizuru, brother to one of his co-workers and not as annoying. Starting out as casual banter and then into flirting, Hajime eventually began to invest more time in seeking her out around the time the siege against Nobunaga was talked about. With her being in Takeda's Army, she didn't have as much time to drop by and see her favorite Tengu ( and maybe her twin if she felt like it ), so he began going to her instead.

Upon things calming down and Chizuru coming back safely from the frontlines, Hajime decided to court her officially after the two exchanging letters. By doing it in the traditional way of Tengu's rituals, the two began courting, and maybe in time the two will eventually formally become engaged and wed, but for now, they stick to their duties and also continue to sneak about as needed to spend time together.

@yugenronin

[mahotoai]

-- RP: @yugenronin

The war had been... bloody to say the least.

Armies of all species uniting after things had gone south with negotiations regarding Nobunaga's surrender, ending in the entire decimation of his army and his family. Many had perished, vampire, werewolf, and oni alike. Some of the Lords had been hurt as well and as they sat in formal clothing in the aftermath of this and a celebration for the Lord and Lady of Kai's wedding, it felt like a nightmare that had gone to a dream, and yet the reality that times were still unsteady was heavy amidst the atmosphere.

The after party had been welcome to all of the remaining armies so long as it remained a time of peace. Many were covered in recovering wounds and wrapped in bandages, but it would be rude not to welcome a new Lady as it were. Chiharu looked and felt the most beautiful she had in her entire life, happy to have her now husband home and the hope they'd be able to have a peaceful life together even if it meant still fighting the undead and what not.

While many danced and drank or toasted to the new couple, some remained sitting and calm such as Ophelia who watched over Noe as he chased after Masazumi, Masanobu's son, seated beneath one of the trees with a tired smile on her face as usual.

Sakura was enjoying her warm sake, a bandage on her cheek and wrapped around her right arm from a nasty injury she received, but didn't seem to mind about.

Hajime had come down from the Shrine to find a single person, dressed as best as he could get to honor the wedding ceremony, slipping in and about the people -- happy she was alive but having not really seen much of her since she returned -- only letters were her call mark.

As it was, everyone was happy in this blissful dream for now, and Chiharu, happy for her friends as it were was starting to feel the atmosphere a bit overwhelming if just a bit -- and yet she couldn't say no to a afterparty and end it quite yet... so she waited for now, still dressed to the nine in her beautiful wedding kimono, joined every now and then by one of the Lords or Ladies, but mostly keeping to herself or Sakura... and yet Shingen was never far from her sight.

Speaking of which, what was everyone up too right now?

[mahotoai]

-- RP: @yugenronin

yugenronin:

Motochika waited until they could no longer see or hear Mouri’s army. The wretched, disgusting behavior the other lord had shown was more than Motochika was used to. While they never got along, Mouri Motonari had not always been so… unpleasant.

“Sorry, about him. Knew we’d run into ‘im at some point and that it wasn’t somethin’ I’d call fun, but he’s gotten worse since the last time we talked. Doin’ okay?” He knew Hasumi was tough. But that didn’t mean being treated in such a way by Motonari wouldn’t bother her. Nor did she need to keep it to herself if it did, especially now that they were far enough away where their words were of little consequence. “Just so ya know, Hasumi, if I know I have a meetin’ with him again, it is fine to say ya don’t want to go. There are so many things that need to be done around Tosa, we can work around it if ya never want to see him again.” The last thing he wanted was to force her to sit there and tolerate the insults of someone who clearly made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t like she couldn’t be useful elsewhere.

Hasumi's ears pinned against her head as Motochika joined her, heaving a heavy sigh, her chest rising and falling. "... I can't not show my face if i'm to join you and your retinue, my lord." She points out. "I... He caught me off-guard and it... frustrates me that it did." She admits. "... I need to become stronger and be able to guard my emotions closely so... that unsightly sight of myself doesn't happen again." She grits her fangs a bit before turning to look over at him.

Her eyes lightly dance with a sad emotion -- mostly depression and frustration, but if not a bit of humiliation. "... On top of that, I must have made you look bad as well..." Her gaze trails away then, ears now drooping instead.

[mahotoai]

-- RP: @yugenronin

yugenronin:

War was upon them. It had been for quite some time, even if the peaceful moments at home and lull in the fighting had lured some into a false sense of security. No one wanted this fight, but someone had to lose. Something had to give. Maintaining a state of disunity would do nothing to help the villagers and without Himemiko-sama to guide them… someone had to step up.  While Hideyoshi reaching out regarding an alliance against Oda was not what anyone expected, things were moving forward. Chosokabe would stay out of the fight. Mouri would join Oda against the other armies. But most lords were taking a stand against Oda Nobunaga.  Uesugi and Takeda were going to be able to fight together as allies, something both Shingen and Kenshin were relieved to be able to do. Preparations in Echigo were as smooth as they could be. Rarely did things go exactly according to plan, especially in a situation involving so many people and moving parts, but the Uesugi were well organized and Kenshin spent much of the night checking everyone’s equipment, reviewing the plans with his men, and ensuring everyone was on the same page about how they would handle it if things fell apart. In Kai, Masanobu was working hard to ensure Shingen had a supply of medicine on hand in case he needed it during or after the right. The men, largely, were getting antsy. An opportunity for glory and honor now presenting itself, they were determined to fight and fight well. To come home alive and proud that they were able to protect their home.  Chosokabe’s choice to stay out of things, well, Motochika knew it was the best decision for his people at the time. With Mouri a looming threat, his friend Mitsuhide’s doubts about Oda, and the fact neither Oda nor those allying against him were really fighting to take Tosa… he did not wish to be stuck between them if he could avoid it. Plus, he had Hasumi and the twins to worry about. To go off and fight, leaving them alone, was only an option if he could not protect his people otherwise. Come morning, though he was not marching out, Motochika would be looking inland. Toward the faraway site that would soon become a battlefield.

“The last thing I would do is make you fight alone again,” Kagemochi stated, leaning in to kiss Ophelia. “When we come home, I will take you and Noe somewhere special.” She had fought on her own to protect her son for so long, in so many ways. But they were a family now and he could not allow her to suffer again. No matter what, he would come back to her. Nothing would stop him.  Kenshin, too, felt the same way. He and Sakura were going to war together, something most unusual to see in Shinga. Her hands in his were so warm. He did not wish to let go.

“We will fight together, Sakura, and perhaps one day we will die together. But I do not believe today will be that day. If that time must come, let it be many years from now… peaceful and unremarkable.” Some men wished for nothing more than to die by the sword, fighting for honor. While it would be a good death, if he perished defending his people, Kenshin never wished to be a remarkable man. He never wished to be nicknamed the God of War. To see his people flourish used to be the only thing he hoped for. Now? He had a little something else to look forward to. Someone he wished to share his future with.  As did Shingen.

“No one should need to grow used to war or suffering. We never know how much time we have together. And while what happens to my people matters more than what happens to me, I will fight for any chance to see you again. I promise you that.” He knew little of Chizuru’s relationship with Hajime. Rather, Shingen hardly wished to drag her along with him despite how useful her skills were. It was at her insistence that she was coming, intent on keeping an eye on him on Chiharu’s behalf. Dressed in lightweight armor, her hair tied up, Chizuru knew her hands were already stained with blood. If it meant the completion of her duty, she would stain them further.  She almost did not want Hajime to hold them as he was, knowing those hands were going to be taking lives yet again before the day came to a close. Could such sullied hands ever be deserving of a soft touch? And yet… she did not pull away from him. She could feel his magic in the charm before she even saw what it was, his scent lingering on it. 

“Sake it is. But trust me, the delivery fee will be quite high.” Her normally playful tone had a seriousness to it, reluctance in her eyes despite the beginnings of a smile on her lips.  “But out of appreciation for the charm, I think I can give you a discount.” She did not elaborate further on the fee in question, keeping her feelings silent. Whether she truly wished for more than casual flirting with Hajime… it would have to wait until she made sure Shingen came home alive. 

As stories were divided for now, Pan observed them all from on high with Himemiko, a mixed look of distress and sadness about him. Ophelia and Noe would remain story for Kagemochi and await his return, knowing Sakura would watch over him as she would be with Kenshin on the battlefield.

Chiharu was perhaps the most concerned considering the idea of a future without Shingen by illness or by death incoming soon so close to her. She held on tightest and longest to her fiance, making sure he knew how much he would be missed and how much he was loved.

Hasumi would be holding her twins as she joined Motochika. Her story was safe, but for how long, she didn't know.

Hajime reluctantly let Chizuru go, if only because he had faith she would be alright, and he would watch over them all from the Shrine, forced to play neutral in this fight.

Pan, too, was forced to play neutral, but in truth, he sided with those he had taken under his wing and raised to bring them to this point. As he shifted his position, he laid a hand to the pool of water to send a chill breeze after those heading to war, reminding them cooler airs would be dawning soon, and for those that knew, that hopefully a happier time was joining that dawn.

end.

[mahotoai]

-- RP: @yugenronin

yugenronin:

“The histories of the Gods aren’t interesting to everyone. Chikage is simply… passionate,” she commented. “But being passionate doesn’t make him an entertaining lecturer.”

“And you know, you shouldn’t call it flattery when I’m simply telling the truth,” Chizuru began to tease him back, reaching a hand up to touch his face. “Oh… and I forgot to mention. Everyone says Shusen no Kami-sama is notoriously handsome.” The smirk on her face seemed to strengthen with her second remark as she wiggled her head out from underneath his so that her lips lingered right beside his ear.

“Personally? I think he pales in comparison to you.”

Hajime gave a small scoff at that. Passionate was an underestatement. Anytime Chikage could get a chance to ramble about the gods, he would. Hajime often found himself seeking out new resting places just to avoid the noise... but his thoughts were dashed as she mentioned Shusen being handsome and how he paled in comparison to himself, Hajime, as well as her light teasing against his ear. He gave no direct reaction yet, letting her have her way for a few moments... but then his lips find her neck, purposely placing a first tender kiss there, but then biting down as if to 'punish' her.

Lightly he licks over the mark he leaves, a purr rumbling in his throat as he rests his head against her shoulder, tugging her close to his chest.

"Let dead men stay dead, and let those of us blessed to live now live in heavens like this."

As if to say she was his heaven in his own flirty way.

[mahotoai]

Experienced in many faces, Chizuru felt like doing something a little bit entertaining. She knew of White Day, of course, from Shingen and Chiharu's relationship. And so, dressed up in men's armor, she went up the mountain to find Hajime.

And once she did, she held out a box of treats. Handmade, not too sweet, mostly fruit based, and some alcohol she sourced from the notoriously adventurous Chosokabe through quite the roundabout way. A temporary truce with Hattori Hanzo, in exchange for him requesting a favor of Akechi Mitsuhide on her behalf. That favor? To write to the Lord of Tosa for some of that Ryukyu Island snake alcohol.

"Hajime! I challenge you. Win against me, and you can have these. Certainly, you'll try, won't you? Unless you're afraid," she teased, the joking tone very clear, as she knew he was not the type to be afraid of her.

After all, he was dangerous himself. But that didn't matter, not really. She had no intention of actually fighting him. She would let him win even if he half-assed it, though it would be boring if he did.

"If you catch me before I make it to the shrine, who knows, maybe you'll get an extra special reward."

And with that, she took off as fast as she could, her speed limited only by the fact she had to be sure she didn't drop the snacks or the glass bottle of alcohol.

Was he really being goaded into a game of chase with a woman who had turned him down before? No communication and she expected him too... A sigh came from him as he moved from his spot on the branch. In a split second he was up and soaring after her, black wings creating a eclipse of sorts to block out the setting sun. It took a bit, but he caught up, and one arm hooked around her waist and pulling her to a halt, pressed up against her from behind, landing, his wings disappearing, his lips found themselves near her ear. "Teasing me is not smart." And with that, she's spun around and pulled close, lips finding hers firmly.

Eyes meet her own before he finally closes his eyes. Only when he needs to catch his breath does he relinquish her, instead his forehead brushing against her own. "... What are you thinking dancing with someone like me, Mochizuki Chizuru, hm...?"

[mahotoai]

He tried not to make a fuss all morning, Motochika, despite his excitement. He did all he could to act like it was any other day. He laid out some clothes for Hasumi, something he loved to see her wearing but was still comfortable and easy for her to move around in. Pretty but not suspicious. He said nothing of White Day when he asked to do her hair for her, stating he was just bored and wanted to spend some time relaxing with her instead of listening to Tadasumi fuss.

Sorry Tadasumi. Scapegoat was needed.

And then, as soon as the sun was about to set, he asked her to go with him outside. He promised her that the kids would be well looked after (pre-arranged babysitting, lovely!). He took her out to a remote beach, and at sunset, paddled a little boat out into an even more remote spot. A little cave, deep enough to swim but shallow enough for her to stand, with a miniature beach inside it and a hole in the top that allowed the moonlight to come through. He'd already brought some little things out to that little beach, blankets and things, to make it more comfortable.

"I thought we might spend a bit of time here, hm? Just us and the sea. Happy White Day. And if ya want a little somethin' else, check behind those rocks over there."

It was just the plans, since hiding the real thing would have been way harder but... it seemed Chosokabe Motochika was going to update the main ship he sailed on, the decorative figurehead would be changed to something a bit more feline cresting the waves, a symbol of Hasumi to be seen all around Tosa.

She wore the outfit as it was laid out, a playful smile on her features as she wondered what her husband was up too. Thankfully Tadasumi was understanding to a degree and got some of the midwives to help look after the twins -- especially since Tsuruhime was busy with her own husband and couldn't help out. ( The tradition was interesting, alright? ) She had followed Motochika out, greeting people as they passed, and after the sun set, being in the boat, waves calm, Hasumi let her hand place itself along the water's surface as they headed to that cove.

Upon arrival, she stared with wide eyes and a smile on her features once they touched the cove itself. "Just us and the sea..." She enjoys what things were brought there, up until he mentions something behind the rocks. Getting up, she moving over to search and upon finding the scroll, she returns to Motochika, unfurling it. The main fleet's head to be turned into a feline...

She finds her gaze softening -- not an emotional one Hasumi was, but she moves to lean up against him, purring softly. "-- I can't wait to see how the mysterious ship cat is honored. I hope the wood smiths do her justice." A joke of sorts being half the crew still hasn't figured it out. Only a few knew -- mostly the Lords and Tsuruhime. Tsuruhime's children too.

"Let's hope we catch as many fish as we have this season for the next with this blessing." She moves then to place a kiss to his cheek, giggling to herself as she does so.

[mahotoai]

Kagemochi had a surprise for Ophelia. A big one. A beautiful kimono, some flowers, a nice meal, the standard at first.

But after the meal, after spoiling her with great food and flirtatious glances, he presented to her something else. He waited until they were back in the privacy of their home.

It was a box, full of money he had been setting aside.

"This is a wedding fund, for us to have the celebration you dream of. I have earned this, for us, completely separately from what Kenshin has offered us as a token of his support. You deserve the world, and I want to give you all that I can."

He had to think of a wedding gift for Sakura and Kenshin, but with none of them having really set up a date for an official ceremony, he had time to figure that out. Just like Ophelia had time to figure out exactly what she wanted.

"This is just the start. We have time for you to think. I will keep putting aside some for this, and some for our future after. I uh, I do have a spot where I am keeping things I wish for Noe to have when he is older as well."

Needless to say, Ophelia was used to such gestures and, in time, had grown to enjoy them despite her shy demeanor. What she hadn't expected was talk of a wedding fund and gifts for Noe when he was older. She took a moment to compose herself and steady her fast-beating heart, and in that, a smile found its way to her features. She moves over to him and reaches up to rest her hands on his cheeks. "To be married to you... would be the greatest honor I could know besides being Noe's mother." She starts. "I don't wish to overshadow Sakura or Lord Kenshin's wedding that is no doubt due to happen soon, but then after that... I wish to be yours and yours alone in every way I can."

She strokes thumbs against his skin before pulling them back to rest on his chest. "So... i'd like to save until then and then we'll plan accordingly... but that is my dearest and most sincere wish."

To be named his forever, as a dragon, made her heart and pride soar with happiness. She could only imagine how Noe would react to hearing he finally could call Kagemochi his father in truth due to the culture of Shinga as well, but for now, she allowed herself to selfishly think of herself dressed in a wedding attire and Kagemochi at her side...

Her imagination was running a bit wild, but all the better it did now, right?

[mahotoai]

Now, White Day was an interesting thing for Kenshin. He struggled to plan something that he felt would compare to the thoughtful gift Sakura gave him. But he thought of something, and in the time between Valentine’s Day and White Day, if Sakura was willing, he would take her to explore a new spot in Echigo every day. Sometimes spots on the way to other spots. On days she wished to just spend time at home, it was no problem.

His excuse was that he should always revisit his own home, and areas around it within Echigo, to maintain a connection to the land and people. Since it was her home now and her people as well, he wanted her to come with him. While that was partly true, it was all part of his gift to her. A journal of their travels thus far, filled in with his letters to her, notes about what they did, little poems, sketches of her or places/things he noticed she really liked. Pressed flowers, scraps of fabric, recipes, anything he felt would help her remember these fond experiences.

And it was this journal he presented to her on White Day.

“Once you’ve looked through this, Sakura, if you wish to develop another one together… I would be happy to. Happy White Day, my love,” Kenshin murmured, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before looking at the ground, just a little bit embarrassed by how long it took him to find the words.

She went with him every day he asked, not entirely catching on at first what he was trying to say to her -- but eventually she just didn't seem to think on it too much. It was just spending time with him that brought her joy and nostalgia as spring came yet again for them. White Day was here, a holiday she had remembered well and was expecting just even a kiss or something from her beloved... but a journal of their days exploring these places she had grown fond of knowing? Her gaze softened and holding the journal close, she reached up with her remaining hand to cup his cheek and bring it to look at her in the eye.

Pushing up onto her toes a bit, she places a firm kiss to his lips and then lowers herself back down. Her touch is gentle, soft, and despite the callouses on her hands, her gaze speaks of love; "There will come a time when these words fade away, and that's when we'll see Echigo again as it changes more and more into a more peaceful land." The war was shifting the landscape everyday, but she had grown hope in training Noe and seeing Kagekatsu with Kiku that a more peaceful world was coming for Shinga.

Moving to touch her forehead to his own, she closes her eyes, ears laying flat. "Happy White Day, Kenshin. Let's celebrate many more, yes?"

[mahotoai]

White Day. Shingen had been preparing for this. Learning how to create the things he wished to create. Talking to people until he was able to track down the specific items he needed.

He was only really used to sewing when it came to his scented pouches and their embroidery. But today, he had done something different. Holding out his creation for Chiharu, Shingen was quite proud of the fuzzy black stuffed wolf he had made, the Takeda symbol embroidered on the bottom of one foot, with a red ribbon around its neck. And was that… something glinting in its mouth?

It was. Not a perfectly made one, but nonetheless a pretty a warm golden color with small sunset colored gems along the top.

“I know we’d talked before, about rings and marriage in the culture of the forest, but I wanted to try making one for you. Happy White Day, Chiharu. And there are snacks in the kitchen for us. The guys and I, we all got together and made mochi with various fruit.”

She found herself emotional today -- mostly just because she had to remind herself it wasn't a dream. This was real and happening and very much how she would live the rest of her life with the love of her life. Her feelings reciprocated and the chance at a family in a place she could call home!

Gently taking it from his grip, the stuffed wolf, a tear or two slipped loose as she carefully made sure the ring fell into her grip. "Shingen... I..." She had said it before, but she wanted to say it again; "-- Yes! A million times yes in every lifetime and every place we're together! I'll find you and love you." She throws herself up against his chest, clutching both items to her closely, burying her face there just to listen to his heartbeat and to his voice for a few moments, but then she's looking at him with a soft expression complete with a smile that hopefully only a husband could love -- she had cried a bit, oops.

"Just... yes. I love you and I always will!" She holds out her hand to take his. "Will you... will you put it on?" She asks, and then she's sniffling, acknowledging the fact he had asked about the mochi and fruits.

"-- Y-Yes! Sweets, please!"

( She's a mess but she hopes she's not too much of a problem today. Ohhhhh boy. )