Obamitsu brainrot continues.
“Iguro-San, if I became a demon what would you do?” Mitsuri asked, sitting beside her fellow hashira on a bench. There was a plate of dango between them. Iguro-San took one out of twenty. His grip on the stick tightened and he stared directly ahead.
“Don’t speak like that,” he said. Mitsuri blinked. He never raised his voice around her. The stick broke between his fingers. She raised her hands up to catch one of the fallen pieces. Instead he caught her wrist and faced her. Her cheeks warmed at the contact and his heated gaze.
“I’d never allow you to become a demon, not while I’m alive,” Iguro practically growled.
“I-I’m only joking,” Mitsuri stuttered.
“Your life is not a joke,” he said. “You’re the most important person to me.” He moved his hand from her wrist to hold her hand. Her heart stuttered this time. Did she really mean that much to him? Surely he was only being kind. Mitsuri tried to pull her hand away, but he held tighter.
“Kanroji-San, don’t you get it?” He asked, leaning towards her. Her ears buzzed until all she could see was his face. “I love you,” Iguro admitted. He reached up and pulled the bandages down. She didn’t even care to look before their lips met.
This is an addition from a previous Obamitsu Drabble where Obanai reacts to the news about the demon slayer mark.
Canon divergent. Spoilers for the Hashira Training Arc
“For those who have already awakened the mark,” Amane began, “you have my eternal gratitude and respect. Because of that, I have to let you know those who had the mark died before they turned 25.” She paused, letting her words settle.
Obanai tried to control his emotions, but his eyes widened. Kanroji and Tokito would die. Their years were numbered. His throat burned from the acid threatening to come up. Kanroji had six years while Tokito had eleven years left. It was a little under half his current age. He was only fourteen years old and he knew he would die. His insides churned. Partially from not having eaten since yesterday morning while the other was the devastating realization his fellow Hashira unknowingly sealed their fate.
He hid his hands under his sleeves as they began to shake. This was a harbinger of the coming times. Only death and destruction laid between them and confronting Muzan. Behind his bandages he pursed his lips. His scars pulled on his cheeks, a constant reminder of what his family made him.
Obanai planned to die fighting demons. It was the only way to redeem his wretched self. To atone for his and his family’s corruption. Their fortune was built on a pile of blood, bones, and murders. If anyone deserved to die before they reached 25 it was him. He had already spent too long of this earth, but he would live until a demon cut him down.
Let him take their place. They had people to live for. People who loved and cared for them. People who would grieve their loss. There would be no one to grieve for him except Kaburamaru, Shinazugawa, and the Master. Possibly Kanroji, but she grieved for everyone.
Tokito and Kanroji had no intention of dying when they joined the Corps. The Mist Hashira regained his memories after earning his demon slayer mark. His personality was beginning to surface. Obanai saw glimpses of an optimistic boy underneath his stoic veneer. His potential was undefined. He was beginning to come into his own, not only as a slayer, but as a man. He gripped the inside of his sleeve as his palms began to sweat.
Though, there were aspects of the Mist Hashira that were still childish. His love of paper planes and his gleeful expression when he asked to train with the Wind and Snake Hashira. In truth, he saw parts of himself in the younger hashira. He was steadfast with a dry sense of humor.
Obanai swallowed. Tokito was only a boy and he had a death sentence. It was not fair, but that’s what life amounted to. A series of horrid events ultimately leading to death. The Snake Hashira knew that’s what fate held for him, but it should not be the same for Tokito or Kanroji. They had so much more to live for.
His eyes glanced over at Kanroji. For a brief second, her lips pulled back in a thin line before trembling. It was fear and grief. Why did she of all the hashira have to awaken the mark? The woman he adored more than anyone.
Kanroji joined to save people and to find a husband. A man who was not intimidated by her strength, appetite, or beauty. She perceived herself as an odd woman, but she was the only one to ever look him in the eye and talk to him. He was the odd one, yet she made him feel normal.
A man meant to die the day he was born to appease the demon his family called a goddess. A goddess who asked to make him in her image. Sometimes he still felt his cousins and sisters holding him down for his mother to slice through his cheeks. Their nails digging into his skin and white robes. Their whispers ensured he was pleasing the goddess and he should be honored. He shut his eyes briefly and inhaled slowly through his nose as a memory surfaced.
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His grip on the hair pin was making his hand numb as he chipped away at the cage. He could only work when the demon and his family were not watching him. The demon said he had to get bigger before she would… Bile rose in his throat. Obanai had not eaten anything in a day. He shut his eyes, forcing himself to focus solely on the task at hand. He had to get out. He had to leave. There had to be more to life than these four walls. The lattice wood cage constricting his movement, freedom, and will.
Though his vision was bad, he had good ears. He heard two women outside of his room. He took the hairpin and slid it under his sleeve for safe keeping. Then he placed one of the food trays in front where he had been working. The wood lined up perfectly with the outside and with more time he would be able to slip through. Once he got out he would run, it wouldn’t matter where as long as he got away.
The sliding door opened and his mother and sister walked in. They were carrying two trays of fried chicken and tempura vegetables. He held his sleeve over his nose to block the smell.
“Obanai,” the older woman said. “We brought you dinner. I do hope you like it. Aya and I made it.” His mother beamed at his sister. Both them had the same slight build, black hair, and teal eyes. Everyone looked the same here. All of them were fake and devoid of real emotions. Smiling as they force feed him luscious, oily meat and tempura, never once stopping.
“Brother, our goddess told us you would soon be ready for her,” she bowed deeply to him as she set the tray down. “You honor us and our family.”
When she looked up her eyes were soulless behind a wide smile. They looked exactly like the snake demon, soulless eyes and grotesque smile. He hated them. Pretty words, smiles, faces meant little when they carried the sins of hundreds. Their riches built on the suffering of others. Murdering, sacrificing their babies, and stealing the riches and lands from those the demon ate. Obanai wasn’t sure which one was worse between the demon or his relatives. He had to leave tonight.
That night he realized how cruel fate could be. His freedom and will to live killed fifty women. Obanai learned he was just as despicable as the rest of his family. If he had simply stayed and fed to the demon, they would have lived. How fate loved to mock him with its irony.
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Fate was mocking him again. It was telling him everyone he interacted with would die. Lead filled his gut. It was his fault for ever loving Kanroji and Tokito. If only Obanai could sacrifice himself in their place. His hands were stained with more innocent blood. He looked away from the pink haired woman and stared at the wall ahead of them.
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“I won’t live past 25,” Mitsuri said, holding her spoon an inch from her lips. Amane told her the truth of it during the Hashira meeting. After the meeting, excluding Tomioka, she invited everyone out to dinner. Now she sat alone with Iguro-San in a private dining room. Everyone else went home. “They say you’ll never know when you’re going to die, but now I have a time frame.”
She stared at the wall vacantly. It was surreal. She had six years left if it was true. What would she do with the rest of her time? She wanted to be someone’s wife and have children. Mitsuri set down her spoon and looked at Iguro-san. His eyes watched her with empathy, closing a bit more than normal.
“I am not sure what to say,” Iguro-San said. Under the bandages his lips seemed to twitch and there were worry lines on his forehead. “It’s a sacrifice I wish you did not have to make. If I could I would switch places with you,” he said, glancing away. “You deserve a happy life surrounded by your loved ones.”
This was why she loved him. His kind words and willingness to sacrifice for her and others. There were rumors he was mean and cruel to the lower ranked slayers, but he would defend any of them. He sought out the tougher missions before he was even a Hashira according to Shinobu. Always willing to risk himself for the corps. She admired his dedication and hard work.
The pink haired woman licked her lips in thought. Her dream was to be a wife and mother. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife, she wanted to be Iguro-san’s wife. There was clarity in the realization. Pushing her broth filled bowl to the center of the table, she turned her body towards him. Her temperature rose and her cheeks colored as she decided to jump.
“I am surrounded by those I love,” Mitsuri started. He looked up at her. “I love everyone I have met in the Corps. The Butterfly House girls, the attendants, the lower ranked members, and the other Hashira…” her voice trailed off. She had to say something more to let him know how she felt. Words escaped her. Iguro-San shifted in his seat. Kaburamaru stared intently at her in curiosity and curled tighter around his friend’s shoulders.
“You as well, Kaburamaru-San,” she added with a grin and reached up to stroke the snake’s head. He raised his head to meet her hand. The touch forced her to relax and clear her mind.
“Iguro-San, I love you,” Mitsuri said plainly. It didn’t need to be a great declaration of love where she prepared a long poem or gifted him with expensive gifts. No, it was clear cut.
The man beside her was silent, but kept eye contact. He grasped his pant leg under the table, the veins becoming more prominent. She reached for his hand and held it in her lap. “If I only have six years left,” her thumb swept over the backside of his hand. “I want to spend them as your wife.”
The man was stunned and the silence dragged. His hand squeezed hers, so he was not devoid of reaction. Her heart hammered. She could not leave this world without taking a chance.
“Kanroji-San, I cannot offer you anything,” Iguro-San whispered. “My entire family is dead. When I chose to be a demon slayer I swore I would die fighting until Muzan was gone. I would only disappoint you,” he continued.
“You’ve never disappointed me and you never will. You try your hardest in every endeavor you take. Why would marriage be any different?” Mitsuri asked.
“It’s not that-“ he turned his head and looked at the wall. “I’m not good. I am a beast beneath these bandages,” he pointed to the wraps. “My family cut my face. They worshiped a demon and the demon wanted to taste my blood. I was raised to be a sacrifice and continue to live as a sacrifice. I'm not meant to live long,” Iguro-San said as his jaw clenched.
Mitsuri was not deterred by his words. She brought his hand to her face and kissed his fingers. “I’m not either. I only have one question and please answer truthfully, do you love me?” She asked. His posture was rigid.
“Yes,” he breathed, “I love you.” Thud. Thud. Thud. Her heart fluttered and kissed his hand again, unable to contain herself.
“Then make a sacrifice for me. Marry me,” Mitsuri smiled at him. He twisted himself towards her, eyes wide. “Marry me. Make me your bride. Allow me to love you for the rest of my life at least what is left of it. Let me love you,” Mitsuri pleaded.
Instead of replying, Iguro-San pulled the bandages from his face and leaned forward. His lips crashed into hers. She didn’t even have enough time to process what just happened until she felt his hand curl under her jaw. Her hand found his neck and pulled him closer. Warmth spread over her body as they kissed.
“I’ll marry you. I will make you happy, I promise,” he whispered against her lips. “Until you or I pass into the afterlife.”
“And in our next life I’ll give you more than six years,” Mitsuri promised, “I’ll give you a lifetime.”
Another Obamitsu Drabble- Canon divergent. Spoilers for the Hashira Training Arc.
“I won’t live past 25,” Mitsuri said, holding her spoon an inch from her lips. Amane told her the truth of it during the Hashira meeting. No one with a demon slayer mark lived past 25. After the meeting, excluding Tomioka, she invited everyone out to dinner. Now she sat alone with Iguro-San in a private dining room. Everyone else went home. “They say you’ll never know when you’re going to die, but now I have a time frame.”
She stared at the wall vacantly. It was surreal. She had six years left if it was true. What would she do with the rest of her time? She wanted to be someone’s wife and have children. Mitsuri set down her spoon and looked at Iguro-san. His eyes watched her with empathy, closing a bit more than normal.
“I am not sure what to say,” Iguro-San said. Under the bandages his lips seemed to twitch and there were worry lines on his forehead. “It’s a sacrifice I wish you did not have to make. If I could I would switch places with you,” he said, glancing away. “You deserve a happy life surrounded by your loved ones.”
This was why she loved him. His kind words and willingness to sacrifice for her and others. There were rumors he was mean and cruel to the lower ranked slayers, but he would defend any of them. He sought out the tougher missions before he was even a Hashira according to Shinobu. Always willing to risk himself for the corps. She admired his dedication and hard work.
The pink haired woman licked her lips in thought. Her dream was to be a wife and mother. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife, she wanted to be Iguro-san’s wife. There was clarity in the realization. Setting down her spoon in the bowl, she turned her body towards him. Her temperature rose and her cheeks colored as she decided to jump.
“I am surrounded by those I love,” Mitsuri started. He looked up at her. “I love everyone I have met in the Corps. The Butterfly House girls, the attendants, the lower ranked members, and the other Hashira…” her voice trailed off. She had to say something more to let him know how she felt. Words escaped her. Iguro-San shifted in his seat. Kaburamaru stared intently at her in curiosity and curled tighter around his friend’s shoulders.
“You as well, Kaburamaru-San,” she added with a grin and reached up to stroke the snake’s head. He raised his head to meet her hand. The touch forced her to relax and clear her mind.
“Iguro-San, I love you,” Mitsuri said plainly. It didn’t need to be a great declaration of love where she prepared a long poem or gifted him with expensive gifts. No, it was clear cut.
The man beside her was silent, but kept eye contact. He grasped his pant leg under the table, the veins becoming more prominent. She reached for his hand and held it in her lap. “If I only have six years left,” her thumb swept over the backside of his hand. “I want to spend them as your wife.”
The man was stunned and the silence dragged. His hand squeezed hers, so he was not devoid of reaction. Her heart hammered. She could not leave this world without taking a chance.
“Kanroji-San, I cannot offer you anything,” Iguro-San whispered. “My entire family is dead. When I chose to be a demon slayer I swore I would die fighting until Muzan was gone. I would only disappoint you,” he continued.
“You’ve never disappointed me and you never will. You try your hardest in every endeavor you take. Why would marriage be any different?” Mitsuri asked.
“It’s not that-“ he turned his head and looked at the wall. “I’m not good. I am a beast beneath these bandages,” he pointed to the wraps. “My family cut my face for the demon they worshiped. The demon wanted to taste my blood. I was raised to be a sacrifice and I continue to live as a sacrifice. I'm not meant to live long,” Iguro-San said as his jaw clenched.
Mitsuri was not deterred by his words. She brought his hand to her face and kissed his fingers. “I’m not either. I only have one question and please answer truthfully, do you love me?” She asked. His posture was rigid.
“Yes,” he breathed, “I love you.” Thud. Thud. Thud. Her heart fluttered and kissed his hand again, unable to contain herself.
“Then make a sacrifice for me. Marry me,” Mitsuri smiled at him. He twisted himself towards her, eyes wide. “Marry me. Make me your bride. Allow me to love you for the rest of my life at least. Let me love you,” Mitsuri pleaded.
Instead of replying, Iguro-San pulled the bandages from his face and leaned forward. His lips crashed into hers. She didn’t even have enough time to process what just happened until she felt his hand curl under her jaw. Her hand found his neck and pulled him closer. Warmth spread over her body as they kissed.
“I’ll marry you. I will make you happy, I promise,” he whispered against her lips. “Until you or I pass into the afterlife.”
“And in our next life I’ll give you more than six years,” Mitsuri promised, “I’ll give you a lifetime.”
