Ok so I have a bit of a hobby of making silly picsart edits kdnckdkcnd
Mostly these are like sort of bastardizations of how Michael is seen in fandom sort of, like just the generic soft little edits when he as a character is literally evil and how ironic it is that he’s made to be like a soft character by fans.
Also the text on the bottom left of the 1st one comes from @riphimopen, I love their Michael wiki peom they did anyway these were fun to make
[helloooo! so...this is my first fic, and i’m actually terrified by the lack of reactions it might get. please be understanding but do not hesitate to give me feedback :)]
BIG thanks to @little-mini-me-world for her precious help <3<3
One-shot about grief. 100% angst.
I slightly opened the door and saw my husband focused on making tea, alone in his room. I knew that behind his calm eyes, there was a storm of feelings. I also knew he had to deal with it on his own. Quietly closing the door, I walked away with a knot in my throat.
Mitsuhide hadn’t really thought about it. He had simply risen on his feet, took everything he needed from the shelves, and began a tea ceremony. It felt natural. He had a lot of practice, with all those years in Lord Nobunaga’s service. Some people thought of him as a master in the art, but he wasn’t there yet. Lord Nobunaga was better than me. Still, his movements were precise, his timing impeccable. The herbal smell eventually reached his nostrils, somewhat…sugary. It’s… He hadn’t paid attention to which box of tea he had chosen. Mitsuhide lost his focus for less than a second but it was too late.
He made a mistake. He let his thoughts and emotions consume his mind. His jaw clenched slightly and he looked up, for… for reassurance perhaps. Or the opposite. Lord Nobunaga could do both in one single sentence… But, there was no one there to either frown or smile. Mitsuhide’s features relaxed into an unreadable expression, his eyes slid back to the cup in front of him. Droplets of tea on the tatami mat made a trail pointing to his left. He followed them with a slow gaze until he saw the second cup. The sight made him feel ill and he looked away quickly.
Lord Nobunaga’s criticism was often harsh, but it helped him get better in the art of making tea. And other things. Now, he doubted he would ever progress again. He would never be as good as many imagined and believed he was. Mitsuhide took the cup of tea in both of his hands and looked into his reflection. It was the face of a man that had failed. A man that had failed at more than just making tea. The aroma was everywhere now.
This particular tea box had magically appeared in front of his door, one day. It was one that Lord Nobunaga and he had found years ago in an european trade market. It had a very peculiar flavor, they never figured out what exactly, but enjoyed immensely nonetheless. They never came across it again after that day. That is until a few weeks ago when someone had apparently found it… and remembered. Mitsuhide’s smile hadn’t left his face all morning on that day he had received this gift, growing even wider each time he met eyes with a flushed Lord Nobunaga. They had never talked about it. They also never drank it together again. He shook his head and realized the tea was cold. But, it felt wrong throwing it away. It felt, wasteful. I might as well…
It tasted awful. Mitsuhide’s eyes grew wide, as big as bowls. He looked at it more closely, wondering if he had been mistaken somehow. But, what he saw there gave him the explanation he needed. He put the cup back on the mat and brought his fingers to his cheeks. It was his salty tears that had changed the flavor of the tea. He had been so lost in his memories, for a long time judging by the wet streaks on his face and down his neck, he didn’t notice the tear drops dripping into the tea cup. Around him everything was blurry and hazy. He felt dizzy… lost. He took a glimpse at the cup, filled with the tea and his tears, then to Lord Nobunaga’s usual place at his side. Nobunaga…
After several hours I kneeled in front of Lord Mitsuhide’s door and called out to him shyly. It opened, but I barely had enough time to look up before my husband fell on his knees in front of me. His eyes were puffy and red, tears streaming on his handsome, yet forlorn face devastated by his grief. I reached for him, my heart aching like never before, seeing him like this. I held him in my arms as firmly as I could, knowing well that even if I could embrace all of him I would never be able to fill the hole in his chest Lord Nobunaga had left forever. He wept on my shoulder, his sobs twining with the sound of rainfall. It only just started. The drops were heavy and they seemed to be full of sorrow themselves. Lord Mitsuhide looked up, I knew he hoped for the same thing I did – that Lord Nobunaga and he were sharing something again, even if it were tears of pain.
