#iromuji | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovedrunkheadcanons · 8 months

Text

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Rated M

Morning had not yet broken when they descended the flight of stairs, headed underground to the basement of Jujutsu High. Electricity had not been installed in this part of the school. Paper lanterns flickering with candle flame were the only source of light. It smelled like mildew and old earth. The walls were all grey concrete and gypsum. And as Satoru led them down the stairs, Hannah couldn’t decide if the shapeless splotches on the walls were the beginnings of oncoming mold, or blood stains they hadn’t managed to wash off. When they reached the bottom, the basement was no more than a cave made of the same concrete borders and wooden flooring, bare of all furnishings except hoards of paper lanterns and a raised podium like a judge’s bench, teethed with five chairs.

Hannah made sure to look especially done up today. How she dressed would reflect on Satoru, not that he particularly cared what others thought of him. Arriving together, Hannah wanted to make a decent impression - a pale yellow iromuji with an apricot sash brocaded in shimmering peonies - though she was left feeling confused. Satoru hadn’t explained what business they had walled inside Jujutsu High’s basement at 6 AM, except that their presence was mandatory and backing out wasn’t an option. She rustled the silken sleeves of her kimono, growing a little hot under the fabric. No yukata this time.

There were a lot more people than she initially expected. Thirteen…Eighteen….Twenty-seven…. They kept filing in the dimly lit room. Satoru and her had the courtesy of sitting at the very front. Hannah noted how the women arriving with their husbands, fathers, even sons, kneeled at least one step behind, never beside, like they were household servants and not prominent ladies. It wasn’t how she and Satoru sat. Satoru had her sitting right next to him, their thighs practically touching.

Hannah’s kepting checking over her shoulder for any sign of a familiar face. Lady Tomoe entered the room with her husband. The Inumaki matriarch caught sight of her and the two women nodded amiably. However, Hannah thought the woman would rather be somewhere else. Absolutely no one seemed delighted being invited.

Everything, including the candle flames, came to a standstill when a new group made their presence known. A austere looking man of middle age, dark hairline showing small signs of receding, with a large round nose, came walking past. He was flanked by another, perhaps slightly younger man, and two impeccably dressed women, both of whom wore kimono like Hannah, but whose colors were equally serious as the man leading them inside. (Cheery colors were apparently verboten, as were prints.) Their footsteps were almost in perfect unison and the way the woman walked looked as though they were gliding across the wooden tile, making little to no sound. It was so effortless. So elegant. Hannah couldn’t help but watch and be amazed.

They made their route up the aisles of people and stopped next to where Hannah and Satoru sat. They came on Hannah’s side. She saw the man leading the small brigade stop and give a curt bow of acknowledgement to Satoru, who made no effort to bow back, keeping his hands folded in the sleeves of his haori. The man kneeled down to sit. The other man then followed suit, as did the women, waiting until the men had fully seated themselves before doing so. Folding their legs underneath them, Hannah's eyes landed on the trifold holly tree leaves below their naps and shoulders, joined to look like the head of a three-leaf clover. It was the mon of the Kamo. These were members of the Kamo clan.

One of the women flitted her eyes to Hannah, artfully giving her a perfect profile. Her brown eyes were reminiscent of an adder, poised and calculating, with straight obsidian black hair fashioned in a smooth chignon. She was aged and no longer young, though still a beauty, with tiny crows-feet scratched at the corners of her lids. Hannah had seen this woman once, but at that moment could not recall when or where. They looked each other down for a moment or two, neither wanting to be the first to blink, until the Kamo woman glanced at Satoru, then back at her and how they were sitting. She pursed her lips and snorted a low “hmph,” before whipping out her fan and turning towards the front of the room. Hannah felt her face grow hot by the interaction. What exactly had she done wrong?

Whispers dispersed amongst the crowd, along with some stray coughing and the flap of paper fans to keep cool. She could hear what they were saying. She could feel their scorn on her cheeks and neck. The wait became too unsettling and the blood in Hannah’s legs were starting to lose circulation. She was about to lean over and ask Satoru for an explanation but was thwarted by a rowdy, slurred voice entering the fray.

“Oi, is this powwow gonna start, or what? I’ve got shit to do today.”

Everyone affixed their eyes towards a cantankerous older man stomping his way up the middle, clothed in hakama and haori like his other male compatriots. His slate colored hair was slicked back and the mustache on his upper lip pointing outwards in such a way it reminded Hannah of a shrimp. She couldn’t decide whether his age hovered around sixty or somewhere older. Like everyone else, he hadn’t arrived alone. At his six trailed a slim, lanky looking man wearing dark blue hakama and white kosode, a ribbon tying his black hair in a high ponytail. He had a long nose and a hardened, wrinkly face with eyes like shadows. Had he ever smiled a day in his life, Hannah wondered? A single katana was kept sheathed near his hip. She saw the mon on their sleeves and lower necks: a circle with three maruichi slashed horizontally across. The crest of the Zen’in clan.

As the Zen’in sat down, Satoru couldn’t help but get a word in edgewise.

“I see the fruit of your loins isn’t here, Naobito?” he taunted, flashing him a superior, beaming grin. “Failed you yet again, has he?”

The Zen’in head smirked. “Annoying brat,” he said and reached inside the sleeves of his haori for a small silver flask. He unpopped the lid and brought it to his lips, partaking in a long swig. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“Ooo, so defensive.” Satoru let out a low chuckle, not at all scared by the man’s threat. “Ya know, you should really lay off the booze, Naobito. I’m told alcohol makes you age faster,” he held his chin between his fingers, “But on second thought, maybe hitting an early grave would be a stroke of luck. Certainly would make life easier for me.”

“Son of a bitch,” the Zen’in head growled. “That mouth of yours never stops flabbin’, does it?”

At this Satoru laughed, Six Eyes glittering behind the dark frames bridged along his nose.

“I say nothing that isn’t true, Naobito. You of all people should know that.”

The Zen’in leader snorted and swilled more of his flask. Hannah watched. Truth be told, she didn’t like this side of Satoru, even when the receiving end had it coming. She wasn’t given the opportunity to inquire him about it.

Five elders came through another set of doors from the front; four men, one woman. They stepped onto the judicial looking bench and took their seats. The lights grew dim, lantern light waning, save for the very front of the room where the elder’s sat.

“Let us begin,” one of them bellowed.

The doors opened. Hannah heard the rattling sound of chains. Something small and unassuming stepped forward into the light and Hannah’s heart went very still. It was but a young girl, five or six years old, though it was hard to tell when she was wrapped from the waist up in prisoner’s chains, rustling and clanging. Covered in spell-tags, they looked almost too heavy for her little body to bear.

“Satoru, what’s going on?” Hannah whispered. “Who is she?”

Satoru didn’t meet her eye, dark tinted shades obscuring those beautiful turquoise blues. She felt his hand reach over and grasp hers, running his thumb along her knuckles in a soothing gesture, saying nothing. His face was alarmingly stoic like a statue, holding none of the carefree, easygoing emotion she found comforting. It set a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Watanabe Keiko,” announced one of the higher-ups. “You have been brought before this Court so that you may be tried on accusations of trespassing, theft, and supposed murder. Should this hearing find you guilty of these crimes, corrective measures will be promptly taken without further delay, according to the special auspices granted by the Director of Jujutsu and the provisions constituted under Article V of the Memorandum on the Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers, clause B, as in keeping with the law.” The higher-up licked his finger to turn the page, speaking in one full sentence as though breathing were optional. “The charges brought against you are as follows: That you did unlawfully, deliberately, trespass and disturb the final burial place of a feudal lord of which strong paranormal activity has been reported. That you did unlawfully, deliberately, steal a special-grade cursed artifact from said burial place, thus resulting in you becoming afflicted by a special-grade curse. And that you, through possession of this curse, took the lives of thirty-three people, including your mother, father, and young sister, before jujutsu sorcerers were able to arrive on the scene and subdue the danger. No survivors were found, nor has the curse which remains within you been exorcized as of yet.”

Hannah’s mouth fell slack. She was shocked to hear this. News of a horrible accident in Aomori leaving over three dozen people dead had been aired all over Japan. But to think this girl was the actual reason…

The higher-up speaking readjusted his thin readers and wove his fingers together ruminatively and eyed the girl in chains. “Tell me, child. Do you still live on,” he squinted back down at his paper, “2-2-53, Towada-shu, Aomori?”

Too afraid to say anything, Keiko swallowed the limp in her throat and nodded her head.

“And you are seven years old?”

The girl did not glance up from staring at the floor and again nodded. The higher-up continued.

“Can you recall where you were the night of July 11th, 11:31 PM standard time?”

The girl raised her head. “I don’t know. I…I can’t remember,” she said lamely.

The higher-up grunted and picked up a thin slate of tin on his podium; a red circle slashed diagonally in the center. He held it high for all to see.

“Do you know what this sign means?”

She took a tentative glance at the sign before quickly looking back down.

“It means ‘do not enter,’ sir.”

“Very good. We were told by police that several of these signs bordered the perimeter. Did you see any of them upon entering the burial place?”

“…I don’t know, sir. I don’t think so.”

“Really? Security footage showed you walking the grounds in the dead of night, unaccompanied by an adult. You passed several of these signs along the way. So then, why did a smart girl like yourself trespass the area despite the warnings?”

Keiko did not answer and kept her eyes trained to the floor. The higher-up moved on to a different question.

“Why did you steal the cursed artifact?”

Once more, she did not answer, scanning the many faces around the room with wide desolate eyes, terrified. Hannah wondered when the girl had last eaten or slept. Her eyes were veiny red, hair unbrushed. Her legs were wobbling from either freight or the heaviness of the chains or possibly both. She spoke in a soft, trembling voice.

“It told me to.”

“It?” the higher-up unattractively stitched his brows together. “What is it?”

“The monster,” the girl replied.

“You mean the curse?”

“Hai,” she whispered pathetically, drawing her shoulders further inwards as though to appear smaller. “The monster told me to.”

Hannah glanced behind her shoulder. Some of the spectators around them were murmuring in each other’s ears; a few nodded, others frowned and shook their heads disparagingly. One of the attendees sitting two rows behind Satoru and Hannah began barking in howls of laughter, dry and coughing indicating he smoked too much tobacco, dismissing Keiko’s claim at face value.

“It talked to you? It talked to you?!! Why that’s the most outlandish thing I ever heard. Curses cannot talk to people. The words they espouse are nothing more than gibberish. You stupid girl.”

Some of the people began joining in the man’s jeers, while others commenced to more head shaking, not the least bit ashamed of the fact they were laughing at a helpless child’s expense.

“But it did!!” Keiko cried, lifting her head and raising her voice as though sensing how dire the situation was, frantically scanning their unsympathetic faces. The crowd only laughed more. “It did talk to me. It told me to — “

“Silence,” said the first higher-up to the girl. “Do not speak unless spoken to.”

Hannah turned slightly to Satoru for a reaction, his large callused hand enveloped over hers, thumb tracing her little pale knuckles. She noticed that his jaw was firmly locked in place, not smiling, not amused like he was with Naobito earlier. It had her concerned. Why was he being so quiet?

Then a elderly man with a long white beard, his many gold piercings jangling from his ears and nose, voiced his own question amongst the gathering. He reminded Hannah of an old rockstar that hadn’t lost his sense of self, but age had made him wise.

“Has it talked to you since?” he said, stroking his beard ponderously. He had not joined in on the others’ laughter. “Does it try to converse with you?”

With no greater argument to be had, the girl nodded, and bowed her head, face shadowed by her long unkempt hair. Hannah thought she saw tiny tears trickle to the floor. “I’m sorry,” the girl sobbed repeatedly. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, that settles it then,” said the first higher-up. He turned to his fellow elders, all of whom nodded their heads. With this gesture in mind, the entire Council rose from their positions to declare their verdict. “Based on the case presented here today,” the first higher-up started, “and the amount of irrefutable evidence, we the Council find the accused guilty of all charges, and sentence you, Watanbe Keiko, to death.

“What?!”

“Hannah,” Satoru warned.

Ignoring the sharp prickling in her legs, Hannah shot up. She was a little lightheaded from the sudden movement and her heart was thumping widely beneath her ribcage, but her knees didn’t give out. It had taken her a few short seconds to realize she had been the one to shout the question and not someone else. Satoru refrained from letting go of her hand and was tugging, encouraging her to sit back down. He had withdrawn from looking at the trial and was now looking at her. They could hear the crowd whispering behind them; “Gojo better learn to control his wife.” “That’s not how a lady ought to behave.” “Of course it would come from a foreigner.” Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm and faced away, not giving them the satisfaction. Her only focus was on Satoru and little Keiko-chan.

“They can’t do this, Satoru,” she said.

“Hannah, there’s nothing we can — ”

“Who in their right mind executes a child?”

“I know, but…”

“Is your wife well, Gojo?” one of the elders said. “Does she need some air?”

This was unforeseen. Hannah understood now what she had witnessed. In a fair trial there would at least be a defense attorney and a jury, but this trial had none of those. It was no different than a formality, a means of performance. Seven year old Keiko never stood a chance. She was practically dead on arrival. The decision had already been made long before those present took their seats.

“Perhaps I could help with that,” came a familiar voice from amidst the crowd, and then it spoke English with a distinct Irish accent. “Lass, would you mind stepping outside with me for a walk? I would appreciate the company.”

“Fr. O’Malley,” Hannah said, recognizing the Capuchin friar’s brown eyes and woolen habit instantly. He had been there amongst the crowd the whole time, laying low. “But what about…”

The priest hastily beckoned her to him with a warm, pastoral smile. “Come, come. Let’s not borrow any more trouble.”

Hannah quickly whirled herself around, attempting to evade eye contact with the many whispering strangers, avoiding them all in search of her husband. Her gaze froze on the Six Eyes, whose focus was aimed solely at her and no one else, asking for his blessing. The notion was granted. He gave her a jocular flick of the chin.

“Go.”

Hannah reached for his hand, clasping it dearly.

“I-It’ll be alright, won’t it, Satoru?” she stammered, wanting to convince herself. “Everything will be alright?”

There was a pained faltering to his expression she could not discern; a tightness, an unease. He was smiling, but not with any sense of promise or assurity, gently nudging her towards the Christian priest.

“Go,” he repeated.

Hannah shared with him a sad-ended look, turned to the friar who had his arm outstretched wide, and followed him out the doors, away from this hellish nightmare and its blind enablers.

Father O’Malley lead them outside to the gardens, past the crowds of buddha statues and red torii gates, one after the other after the other. They approached a bench underneath an old willow tree next to a pond garden. An impressive display of shakkei (burrowed scenery) was used from the mountain wildlife. There were stepping stones along the waterfront and miniature tiered pagodas. Gold and white koi shimmered in the early morning sun, opening their mouths, prowling for insects. Hannah watched an Asian house gecko scurry to a safer brush as they approached the bench and sat down.

Hannah looked up and could see the gibbous moon behind the willow branches and stratus clouds, barely visible in the middle of the day, but ever present, ever watching. You forget it’s there half the time.

“Is there anything we can do, Father?” she said. “Can’t the Church — ”

“No, my dear,” Fr. O’Malley blatantly interrupted. “The Church must avoid the temptation to step in. Getting involved would only exacerbate the problem.”

Hannah shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand it. How is this legal?”

The priest hummed and twiddled his thumbs, thinking of what to say next. These were delicate matters. “They said she was cursed, didn’t they?” Hannah nodded and the priest grumbled and shook his head. “Not good. I’m not sure there’s anything that could save her.”

“What do you mean? Curses can be broken, can’t they?”

“Most can, yes,” he said. “But when a curse latches itself onto a human soul, other than say a vessel, I’m afraid the damage cannot be so easily undone. Either the host is killed, thus eradicating the curse, or the curse continues feeding off the host’s life force like a blood-sucking leech until it dies. In both cases, early death is assured.”

Hannah felt her heart plummet even lower. “There isn’t a third option?”

“No, lass,” the priest sighed. “There is not. It’s in God’s hands now.”

They sat in silence, observing the willow leaves land softly on the pond surface like little curled rafts. The wind blew peacefully. A Japanese nightingale warbled on a niwaki tree.

Hannah looked up to see Satoru strolling over to them.

“Has there been any change?” she said, rising from the bench. She was met with a frown.

“No,” he replied.

“When will it happen?”

“She’s being led out now. They don’t see the use in waiting.”

“How will they dispose of the body?” Hannah asked.

“She’ll be cremated,” he answered with little emotion. “The remains will be sent to her next of kin. I’ll be called back to excorcize the curse.”

Hannah nodded and bowed her head, auburn hair shrouding most of her face. Her lips trembled. Her shoulders started to shake. She had put up a good front, but could keep it in no longer. Satoru opened his arms and let her tears fall on his chest.

Watanabe Keiko was beheaded at 8:00 AM, on Tuesday, August 26, 2014.

…

Hannah had a light lunch and barely touched her dinner that evening. She trained with Satoru like normal; he had her learn a new kickboxing move, which she flailed at spectacularly. After a shower and dinner, she and Satoru played the English card game “Snap.” They each took turns picking a card from their decks and flipping it up, shouting “Snap!” if the flipped card paired with the card before it. Satoru had never heard of the game and yet won all five matches, insisting it was beginner’s luck and he hadn’t cheated. Hannah didn’t mind. He seemed to enjoy it.

Soon the big grandfather clock next to them struck ten and it was time for bed.

Satoru always made it so Hannah got the bathroom to herself first. She did her business. Brushed, rinsed, and flossed her teeth. Lathered her face with cleanser. Washed it off and patted her skin dry with a towel, then looped her hair in two long braids. She filled a glass with water, drinking two-thirds of it, leaving it on the sink to use later. She checked herself in the mirror, saw nothing odd, and walked back to her room. Bidding goodnight to Satoru, she slid the door closed behind her. She changed into some comfortable pajamas, and settled in her futon for the night.

She would try to sleep. Her mind kept flashing back to Watanabe Keiko chained from the waist up. Killed her family without knowing. No, the curse killed her family and then thirty-three others. It wasn’t her fault. She was innocent. Seven years old. Executed. Hannah felt numb and empty at the thought. The darkness of her room pressed all around her. She tossed and turned. Go away. She pretended she was in one of the convents in Germany near the coast where she could hear the channeling waves of the Baltic.

She tried thinking about the many times as a child she would sneak out in the early morning twilight, or late afternoon, and race to the beach without the nuns knowing. She walked a sandy path through brown grass to the lip of the shoreline. The feeling of soft, gritty sand between her toes, turning to mud as she approached the water, eddying around her bare feet. She tried picturing the curling waves, crashing onto the crenelated rock formations further up coast. The hissing sound of ocean spray mixed with the yelps of scavenging seagulls. The smell and taste of fish and salt hitting her tongue. Using her hands like a trowel, she’d already pilloried a fine treasure of bivalve and gastropod shells. Baltic tellins. Blunt gapers. Cockles and conches. Later she came across a pearl oyster, snapping open its slippery clasps to find it inlaid with enough golden pearls to string a necklace …and finally sleep came.

But she woke an hour later, breathing heavily and sweating. She saw their eyes shining in the dark background on the walls, their shadowed silhouettes. One was Keiko, her neck slashed from a sword, the other was Ami with half her head mawed off from the curse that killed her, and who knows how many others standing there. All of them stared at her. They were dead of course, but their dull, soulless eyes were wide open like birds, and so they stared, saying nothing. She could smell the slaughter. Blood seeping into the walls. The amygdala part of her brain seemed to give out a jolt and she jumped, sitting upright in her futon. Having reacted, the ghosts dispersed without a sound - another vision, a nightmare, whatever they were - it brought her no relief.

Hannah rose from the covers, legs shaking, and wobbled blindly to her closet in search of dry clothes; a plain tee shirt, underwear, and shorts. Nearly tripping, she quickly changed and glanced at her dresser for the digital clock. He probably wasn’t awake, but it was worth a shot. She was tired of these haunts.

Checking to see no dead children down the hallway, Hannah slid her bedroom door ajar and walked three small steps to Satoru’s bedroom door. His lights were out. She rapped her knuckles twice.

There was no reply at first. Then she heard the rustling of covers, the thud of footsteps, and his door slid open. It was dark, but his white hair stood out to her like blank paper against ink.

“What’s wrong?”

Hannah didn’t speak right away. Even to her the request sounded silly.

“Hannah, what’s wrong?” he asked again, a little spooked by her muteness.

She swallowed. Her voice came out so tiny and small.

“Will…Will you stay with me?” Her eyes were glued to the floor. Her cheeks felt like they had blushed into flame. “I don’t want to be alone.”

She wasn’t met with a rebuttal, or a laugh. Or a wise-crack joke about being “a big girl.” Satoru took her by the hand and together they re-entered her room. He laid down on the floor and crawled into the futon, holding the cover open for her to join. It was plenty big enough for two. Hannah slipped in and snuggled up to him like it was routine. Their bare feet touched. He recoiled.

“Are you cold blooded, Princess? Your toes are freezing.”

She winced and gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckled. “I’ll warm ‘em up.”

He slipped an arm underneath her to help bring her more towards him, her ear pressed to his heart so she could hear it beating. Blood rhythmically pumping from one ventricle to the other. Strong. Alive. Her lids began to close. She felt her braids tug and unravel, large callused fingers roving gently through her hair. She breathed in vetiver and laundry detergent. No coffee since he had changed his shirt and hadn’t eaten breakfast, nor lit incense. She was enveloped in his safe warmth. Sleep came again, and this time when it did, it came easy.

As Satoru watched the woman he loved with all his being fall asleep in his arms, her soft little breaths puttering on his neck, he thought of the day’s earlier events. His hatred for those scumbags burned hotter.

He couldn’t save Keiko, but he vowed the next cursed child to stand trial would be spared. He swore it.

If not for their sakes, then for his wife’s.

Chapter Contents

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x oc #satoru gojo #gojo takes a wife

14 notes · View notes