Corpse Bride AU because I really wanted to draw this one scene heheh. Li’l ficlet under the cut
Also thanks to @a-la-orilla-del-rio for talking w me about this on discord lol <3 <3
The streets below Saitama’s window were covered in fog that morning. Lazy-ghost-like strands of mist crawled along the cobbled streets as the sun fought to send even a glimmer of cold light onto their town.
Glorious, he thought. Not even the sun is feeling it today.
A knock reverberated through his room and he looked away from the view, to glare et his door.
“What?” he said.
“Are you ready to leave yet?” his dad’s voice could be heard, as the door opened and he peeked in only to give Saitama one disapproving glance.
“Yeah”, Saitama sighed, as though the word itself was too much effort.
“Your tie isn’t done properly. Fix it then meet me in the car”, his dad said and turned to leave, but then back tracked to smile coldly at his son. “And please look more excited. It’s a wonderful day for a wedding.”
“Wonderful”, he mumbled mockingly at the fleeing back of his dad. He took one final look at the unforgiving world outside his window and followed suit, not fixing his tie.
Minutes later, Saitama stepped into a foreign building bathed sparsely in light, portraits of past residents hanging along the walls. He shook hands with his soon to be father- and mother-in-law and impolitely ignored everything they said. The parents spoke to one another about the arranged wedding with greedy smiles on their faces, while Saitama hung behind as they made their way though the corridor.
The second they turned a corner and left Saitama out of sight, he stopped.
He found a lonely staircase and sat down at its end. The polished rock beneath him was cold, just like the monotone color scheme that covered the entire household. He could not imagine anyone living within these walls to be even remotely friendly.
“Hello?”
He turned around and stared in awe at the first genuine smile he had seen this week. The young man was half way down the stairs, moving gracefully with one hand gliding along the dark wooden railing.
“Hi”, Saitama said and stood, “Mr. Rider. Nice to meet you.”
They shook hands, and he tried not to drown in those warm eyes, enlarged by the thick glasses resting on Rider’s nose.
“Nice to meet you too, Saitama. And please call me Mumen. We are”, he faltered,” getting married after all.”
“Yeah…” There was nothing to be said about that. Two men, forcefully brought together to benefit their respective families. He looked down, considering Mumen’s shoes and pant legs in comparison to his own. It was quite unremarkable. “Mumen. Guess we’ll get to know each other soon.” He attempted a smile, seeing how positive Mumen appeared even now.
“Yeah… Oh, we should go meet up with our parents, right? Don’t wanna keep them waiting”, he said, reaching for Saitama’s hand.
“I don’t mind keeping my old man waiting, though,” Saitama grinned. Mumen actually laughed, and it rang nicely in the corridor.
“Haha! Well, I can show you around as we go, there’s no need to be in a hurry.”
“Okay.”
Mumen named the golden-framed portraits for him as they walked, and Saitama did his best to make a pun out of every single one of them, which he gratefully found out that Mumen enjoyed, even if he did try to scold him afterwards. He also found out that Mumen loved travelling, and that his dream was to bike across the country.
“That sounds hard”, Saitama mentioned.
“It would be a challenge. But think of all you would see, and what you could learn!” Mumen said, eyes shining.
All in all, Saitama thought that maybe this would not be so bad, after all.
He held that cautious glimmer of hope for the grand total of five minutes. Then he met the raisin of a priest waiting for them with his mouth pressed tight. Saitama’s dad stood on one side and Mumen’s parents on the other. They all looked like Saitama had personally spit on each and every one of them.
He had only ever spit on his father once.
“What took you such time, Saitama?” said father drawled, taking him in with less excitement than he would a fly.
“You walked here together? How scandalous – Mumen, haven’t we taught you better?” Mumen’s mother sneered.
“I’m sorry, mother”, Mumen mumbled.
They were all transported to the chapel, a far too gloomy building just outside of town. They got in position, the priest at the altar, facing Saitama and Mumen, and behind them the three family members at the front rows in the old and worn chapel. They were merely rehearsing, but the priest looked serious enough that Saitama almost sweated.
Saitama held a candle in one hand and fiddled with the ring inside his pocket with the other. He knew it by heart by now – the only real pretty thing he had seen lately, golden with jewels imbedded all around it. It would sparkle nicely in the otherwise dull chapel once he got to slide it onto Mumen’s finger. Although he was starting to believe that maybe Mumen’s smile shone brighter.
At least he was the only one not outraged with Saitama’s voice as he tried to do his vows.
“Have you no passion, boy?” the priest snapped, his palms hitting the table in front of him. “This is a marriage, not a funeral! Act your part!”
“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell”, Saitama answered dryly, and felt some satisfaction when Mumen had to hold back a laugh.
“Don’t try to act smart with me”, the old man’s voice echoed in the barren chapel,” We’ve been at it for several hours and still you sound bored when you say your vows. You will not be getting married until you sound like you want it!”
Would be easier if I had a say in this whole thing, Saitama thought.
“Saitama”, his father said and rose from his wooden bench,” how is it you keep disappointing me? How come you cannot even say a few words right for me?”
That lit and angry fire in Saitama’s belly, and he growled and dropped the unlit candle on the floor. It made a sad noise and broke in two as Saitama strode out of the chapel in quick steps. Voices called for him but he ignored them and slammed the doors after himself.
He simply needed to clear his mind. He would return soon enough.
Outside the chapel was a sparse forest with a trail moving crookedly around the trees. He walked along it as the sun set beneath the far off trees, casting long shadows along the ground. The fog was returning, rising from the ground in time with the dropping temperature. Saitama shivered – his suit was not meant for the outdoors.
“How dare they”, he muttered. He hadn’t done anything wrong – he got the vows right, but the priest didn’t seem to enjoy his voice. It was not Saitama’s fault he sounded the way he did, not his fault he couldn’t bring himself to sound happy.
Fallen leaves crunched beneath his feet as he kept walking. They were the same colors as Mumen’s eyes, and Saitama felt bad for leaving him in such a fashion, in a room full of rude people and high expectations.
And, ah, this sort of counted as leaving your husband on the altar? Saitama winced as he kept walking, ducking under a wiry branch. He wouldn’t do that to Mumen, who after all was the most pleasant surprise Saitama had ever encountered. Even when their odds were less than in their favor, he could already tell that Mumen was pleasant to be around, like someone who would make soup or tea with too much honey when you were sick.
He faltered, ready to turn around and go back, force out an apology to everyone and try again to get the vows the way the priest wanted him to.
“But I don’t know how to do that.” Sound more like he wanted it? It had nothing to do with his ability to keep the promises he made. Even while unexcited, he was honest. He would not break the vows, nor would he abandon Mumen’s trust.
The opening he found himself offered no aid to his dilemma. He stuck his hand in his pocket and fingered the jewel-ridden ring absent-mindedly.
“How do I sound more genuine than what I do naturally?” he mumbled, holding the ring up against the risen full moon. It shone, colors distorted by the blue light. “With this hand I will lift your sorrows.” He said, pretending that he was an actor in Hamlet.
He spun, a few leaves flying around him as he attempted the grimmest expression he could manage without giggling. “Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.” No one could take this amount of over-acting seriously.
In one large motion, Saitama displayed his index finger to the trees around him, pretending that it was a candle. “With this candle, I will light your way into darkness. With this ring…”
He walked forward slowly. On the ground grew a rather sad looking sapling with thin, finger-like branches. He slid the ring onto that looked the most like a ring finger.
“… I ask you to be mine.”
He paused, then back a few steps, considering the golden ring on the little branch. The forest was still around him, no wind now animals to break the silence. Saitama huffed and looked away, smiling grimly. Yeah, he was absolutely done for. He’d ruin this marriage before it even started, because he couldn’t even say his vows genuinely.
Suddenly, a draft picked up, shuffling Saitama’s tie and suit. He heard something like someone stepping on a branch.
“Who’s there?” he asked into the nothingness, and the strange wind picked up. Perhaps it was time to leave. He turned to pick up the ring and found-
- That the hand-like sapling hand turned into a fist.
“Whoa”, he muttered, frozen in awe. In front of his eyes, the sapling’s wrist turned, and the fingers curled around a handful of dirt, as though they were trying to pull something up from… underneath.
Saitama leaned back as the ground around the sapling…. No, the hand, cracked open, and something began to rise from its spot in the ground. First, a hunched head full of pale hair, then a shoulder, a chest… another arm.
The figure heaved themself up, then their face rose to look at Saitama who had fallen gracelessly to the ground.
It was a man, dressed in ghostly white gowns, with pale eyes that seemed to burn right through him, and one skeletal arm, currently wearing Mumen’s ring. The moon illuminated his features and he seemed to glow like a spectral.
“Nope”, Saitama said and turned to run.
It felt like the forest itself tried to pull him back as he escaped. Branches hit his face and snagged on his suit, stones that he swore were not on the trail first now seemed to appear in front of him, and he stumbled forth as well as he could. Once, he actually fell and the mud scraped his palms. He glanced back and saw the being following, almost walking in slow motion yet keeping up with Saitama’s running.
He ran past the chapel and found himself panting on the bridge leading into town. He leaned against the boulders making up the (WORD) and frantically searched his mind for answers. Just what had happened? Was this the curse from leaving his to-be husband on the altar?
He took one final breath and straightened. He would have to go home, apologize for being away for so long (When had the moon risen so high?), and go straight to bed. Surely the being would be gone come sunrise.
He turned, and stood face to face with the man from the forest.
“I do”, whatever he was said.
