Unfeathering hope one-handed. [Sengoku Basara]
SENGOKU BASARA and all characters/ideas/concepts/places therein are not mine, although the writing certainly is.
Title: Unfeathering hope one-handed.
Characters/Pairing(s): Hanbei, implied Hideyoshi & Hanbei
Rating: PG
Summary: Time is the enemy.
Warnings? Spoilers apply for the end of the second season of the anime.
Notes: The title was inspired by the poem “Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickenson. Happy birthday, Pris! '^'
Unfeathering hope one-handed.
He manages to wake up right before the fit starts, giving him enough time to get up and put a good amount of distance between himself and their room. It would have been better if he hadn’t collapsed in a shivering heap of coughing and pain in the middle of the corridor, but no one was around to see him. A stroke of luck, that.
The minutes of the hour and his sense of them passing disappear for Hanbei during that entire ordeal, pushed out by the raw, bloody business of his lungs trying to rip their way out of his body against his better judgment. Later, when it’s finally done and he’s allowed to breathe without thinking it’ll kill him, he straightens up, dabs at the blood staining his lips and makes his way back, sticking to the shadows, avoiding the guards roaming through the area. He doesn’t go back to bed immediately: he makes a beeline for the bath, where he can rinse his mouth out, wash his face clean.
His lord stirs just a bit, as Hanbei slips between the covers and returns to his side. He kisses the man’s jaw, coaxing him back to whatever dream he’s having. He nestles his head close to his lord’s chest and drapes an arm about his body.
He’s running out of time: it’s slipping through his fingers, or more accurately, through his lips with every cough, every breath he draws. It’s the greatest irony, this; killing himself faster by continuing to live.
He does not sleep. He spends the hours before sunrise thinking, retooling his plans and reworking his strategy, seeking out the best way to give his lord the country before everything ends. The conclusion is always the same. There is no way. It’s never enough.
Title: Unfeathering hope one-handed.
Characters/Pairing(s): Hanbei, implied Hideyoshi & Hanbei
Rating: PG
Summary: Time is the enemy.
Warnings? Spoilers apply for the end of the second season of the anime.
Notes: The title was inspired by the poem “Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickenson. Happy birthday, Pris! '^'
Unfeathering hope one-handed.
He manages to wake up right before the fit starts, giving him enough time to get up and put a good amount of distance between himself and their room. It would have been better if he hadn’t collapsed in a shivering heap of coughing and pain in the middle of the corridor, but no one was around to see him. A stroke of luck, that.
The minutes of the hour and his sense of them passing disappear for Hanbei during that entire ordeal, pushed out by the raw, bloody business of his lungs trying to rip their way out of his body against his better judgment. Later, when it’s finally done and he’s allowed to breathe without thinking it’ll kill him, he straightens up, dabs at the blood staining his lips and makes his way back, sticking to the shadows, avoiding the guards roaming through the area. He doesn’t go back to bed immediately: he makes a beeline for the bath, where he can rinse his mouth out, wash his face clean.
His lord stirs just a bit, as Hanbei slips between the covers and returns to his side. He kisses the man’s jaw, coaxing him back to whatever dream he’s having. He nestles his head close to his lord’s chest and drapes an arm about his body.
He’s running out of time: it’s slipping through his fingers, or more accurately, through his lips with every cough, every breath he draws. It’s the greatest irony, this; killing himself faster by continuing to live.
He does not sleep. He spends the hours before sunrise thinking, retooling his plans and reworking his strategy, seeking out the best way to give his lord the country before everything ends. The conclusion is always the same. There is no way. It’s never enough.