that video you reblogged was indeed kpop :) it's bts' love yourself, though the official version hasn't been released and the audio from that clip was from their teaser
Omg someone actually came to my rescue thank you so much!!!!!
Wow. I like a kpop song???! This is crazy! And of course it’s one that’s not released ahah story of my life
heya, friend! don't mind me i'm just goin around sendin positivity hither and thither. i just wanna let u kno ur blog is amazin; u work so hard to bring us good art so that we don't have to search for it, and i really appreciate u and everything u do for the ikesen fandom. have a great day!
heya! i don’t really do much besides spam but i swear i feel bad spamming a lot. my blog is really meant to be my own archive of stuff i like or stuff i’d like to remember from the games i play, so it gets spammy– but i’ll keep apologizing whenever i can to make up for it! thank you, asks like this make me really happy! ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡
A/N: I hope you like it, Em~! Thanks so much to you and everyone else at Cryptic Cupid for your hard work in putting all this together!
Sunset cast long, blue shadows across Azuchi’s courtyard. The waning sunlight stained wooden walkwalks red and traced leaf edges with gold. Those colors washed over Mitsuhide as he slipped past in smooth, languorous strides. He drank them in, hoping to fill the expanding hollow in his chest.
None of Mitsuhide’s associates would find anything amiss in his unhurried gait, but he couldn’t deceive himself. Even ignoring how his wounds pulled with each step, he was stalling. He did not want to visit Hideyoshi. He did not want to see Mikiko–and yet he longed for that very thing with a fervor that gnawed at the corners of his numbness. And so he had volunteered to bring the war council’s briefing to Hideyoshi in person. The rankle of seeing them together would be punishment enough for his impure motives.
One of Hideyoshi’s men greeted him at the entrance of the manor and escorted him to the lord’s bedroom to announce his presence.
“Tell him he can come in.” Hideyoshi didn’t sound pleased, but that only made Mitsuhide smile. As per usual, they were on the same page in a way Hideyoshi couldn’t recognize. The man bowed to Hideyoshi beyond the door, then turned to bow to Mitsuhide, though Mitsuhide remained in place with his hands clasped behind his back. Mikiko’s footsteps pattered towards him, and soon enough she slid the door open herself.
“Mitsuhide!”
Oh, what her smile did to him. It burned in his veins, warming him, searing him. His own smile curled upwards further.
“Ah, Mikiko. I’m glad to see you haven’t wearied of tending to your patient.”
Mitsuhide looked past her to Hideyoshi, propped up on one elbow, who scowled when their eyes met. Mitsuhide actually felt a twinge of merriment at that. But Mikiko gave only the wry, knowing smile that said she was untroubled by his teasing.
“Not that he lets me treat him like much of a patient.” She moved out of the doorway so that Mitsuhide could step inside. “It’s great that you’ve come for a visit though!”
Hideyoshi tried to sit up further, but the moment Mikiko saw he was straining his injured shoulder, she rushed to his side to help lift him instead. Hideyoshi grimaced, likely from embarrassment more than pain, but he seemed to know better than to protest.
“So,” he said, “what’s going on?”
Mitsuhide chuckled as he sauntered to the bedside. “Can’t a man visit an injured friend to inquire about his health?”
“He can,” Hideyoshi answered, “but that’s not why you’re here.”
“It’s one of the reasons.” Mitsuhide seated himself in one fluid motion. The flexion made his nerves screech with pain, and his smile grew with it. “So, Mikiko, how is he?”
“Since he’s sitting right here, I’ll let him answer himself.”
Hideyoshi looked tense with impatience. “I’m fine. I’ll be better when you tell me whatever it is you’ve come to say.”
Mikiko pursed her lips, a small furrow appearing on her brow, but she said nothing, and Hideyoshi didn’t notice. Those small signs of disappointment were touching nonetheless. After all, it was the slow, steady ravages of time that laid a house low…
Mitsuhide tensed his muscles, eliciting the flash of pain he sought.
“Very well,” he said, tone pleasantly mild as ever, and in the same way he relayed the proceedings of the council. He addressed Hideyoshi, but in his periphery he collected each of Mikiko’s shifting expressions–concern, relief, determination, each so distinct though composed of the same elements. Her lucid eyes, expressive brows, and soft, responsive lips… he could watch the stories they told forever.
The briefing didn’t take long, though, and he didn’t contrive to draw it out, much as part of him wished to. Hideyoshi already looked exhausted. At least the tension seemed to have drained away, as well.
“Thank you, Mitsuhide,” Hideyoshi said. “I appreciate you coming in person to catch me up.”
“Believe me, it’s my pleasure. I got to witness you being so helpless as to finally have someone dote on you, for a change.”
Mikiko laughed. “It’s the only way I’ll ever get to do anything for him. Though I wish it didn’t have to take something so drastic.”
She leaned in to place a light kiss on Hideyoshi’s forehead. Hideyoshi’s ears turned pink, but it did stop him from rising to Mitsuhide’s bait. Alas.
“Well, don’t get used to it, missy. As soon as I can, I’ll spoil you twice as hard to make up for it.”
Mikiko only smiled, warmth dancing in her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Just like that, Hideyoshi softened, a smile spreading to his face as well. She knew exactly how to handle him, and even more incredibly, she would never even think of it as “handling.” Likely, she would simply look at it as “saying what would help him feel better.” They really did deserve each other.
Mitsuhide chuckled. “As for me, I’ve quite had my fill. I’m afraid I must bid the both of you goodnight.”
He rose, greeting the knife-edged strain on his wounds.
“Thanks again, Mitsuhide,” Hideyoshi said. He was so earnest that when Mitsuhide smiled back at him, it was with gentle and genuine regard.
Mikiko beamed and hugged Hideyoshi’s arm a little closer, perhaps encouraged by the brief moment of camaraderie. “You should come visit again soon. You don’t have to just come when there’s war council. We can all have tea and just catch up.”
Hideyoshi gave Mitsuhide a somewhat wary look, but he did not protest.
“Perhaps I will,” Mitsuhide said. Nothing more to be said, he slipped away, pace leisurely as ever, because he was as loathe now to leave as he had been to arrive. Even when he had left the manor behind in the darkness, part of him lingered in that room, tethered to Mikiko’s smile.
Moonlight cast Mitsuhide’s room in blues, from the periwinkle glow of parchment to the deep cobalt of shadowed corners. It might have been beautiful if it hadn’t seemed so empty. He rarely enjoyed returning here. The quiet let his thoughts roam freely, and while that was often useful and necessary in his role as Nobunaga’s left hand, being so untethered risked wandering into a current that would sweep him away and break him upon the rocks of truths he’d rather forget.
Mitsuhide untied his kimono, let it slip with his scarves to a slack circle of fabric. Small, dark stains interspersed the innermost layer, matching the larger spots on his bandages. He would have his maid help him with the ones on his back tomorrow, when he felt less wearied at the thought of another human presence, but he could change the bandages on his legs now.
Mitsuhide retrieved a jar of ointment and lowered himself to wooden floor, its cold surface offering some alleviation in contrast to the tense pull of his movements on his lash wounds. Those long, deep cuts had been raw fire in his cell. There was no position sitting or standing that had allowed him a reprieve. Thanks to Ieyasu’s ministrations, his wounds were healing now, but he had to stay careful and diligent to guard that progress. Well–careful and diligent was nothing new.
He wondered if Mikiko was changing Hideyoshi’s bandages now, too, in preparation to settle next to him to sleep. How did it feel to have her warm and gentle hands loosen the damp cloth, peel it away to let skin breathe cool air? How would it feel for her fingers brush over the wounds, the touch light as a ghost’s, while concern shone in her eyes and creased her brow?
She would search his face for pain, press her forehead to his, as if hoping she could draw the suffering from his body away through contact and sheer will.
And he would thank her by tilting his face up so that he could bring his lips to hers, would whisper his gratitude into her breath, breath that fled from the tingling on her lips before he twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her closer. She would melt into his arms, and every part of her–her tense and eager body, her closed eyes and yielding mouth, her trembling voice and shallow breaths–would betray how she yearned for him. Warmth washed over Mitsuhide’s tongue and his own breathing stumbled. He would lay her back, unwrap her as she had unwrapped him… Mitsuhide’s fingers twitched, imagining the smooth silk of her kimono.
He pressed those fingers into one of the fissures on his leg. Agony burst hot and all-consuming as he dug into the wound. He half-gasped, half-growled, eyes squeezed shut as he pressed further until his hand broke away almost of its own accord and he was left shaking under waves of pain and nausea. But when they passed, and his lungs no longer strained for air, he had the relief he sought. His world was once more only silence, cooled by sweat and tears in the clear night air.
