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thepersonperson · 5 months ago

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I can't believe it's genuinely canon that Geto was jealous of Sukuna being the one to fill up Gojo.

I know Gojo reassured him but we saw he thought of Toji as the last person who satisfied him. No wonder Geto ended up on a crusade against no cursed energy monkeys.

Geto's insecurity with his place in Gojo's life really was his downfall. (On top of not having access to Karl Marx.) He kind of just assumed that Gojo being in a league of his own after awakening meant they could never be together as The Strongest duo.

That insecurity was so pervasive he initiated their break up by objectifying Gojo for his strength. And he later assumed Gojo stopped loving him too.

But you might be onto something with Geto's jealousy starting with Toji. Though he didn't see Gojo awaken (which was essentially "la petite mort" or the little death), Geto was around to hear Gojo call Toji アンタ (Anta). And that particular usage of Anta was really weird.

(Yeah this is one of those asks that poked my neuroses in just the right way.)

-Content Warning: Brief discussion of teenage sexuality.

-Mangareader(.)to for the raws.

-TCBscans for everything but Vol 0.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Gojo's You Pronouns

I kind of lost my mind over Sukuna's you pronoun usage if you want to know why this kind of thing matters to me. Thankfully, Gojo's you pronoun usage is much more straightforward. Which is why the use of Anta for Toji sticks out a lot.

Gojo usually uses オマエ (Omae—masculine, informal, between peers or to look down on the addressee) for absolutely everyone. Friends, enemies? Doesn't matter, he's using Omae. It's either that, 君 (Kimi—affectionate towards juniors) with his students, or he avoids using you pronouns to be polite. He has only deviated from this pattern with two people—Uraume with てまえ (Temee—hostile and offensive), and Anta with Toji.

Anta is a contraction of あなた (Anata) and both are used in the exact same way. It's an informal you mostly used by people learning Japanese since normal use suggests a familiar and casual relationship with the addressee. That can be rude depending on the context. In the context of love, it's a romantic thing, colloquially called the wife pronoun as its often used by a wife to her husband. The only real difference between Anta and Anata is the indication of class. As a contraction, Anta is seen as more low class/uneducated than Anata.

So what did Gojo mean by his use of Anta with Toji?

Since Anta can indicate the speaker is casual/friendly, uneducated, or flirting, we'll have to infer what Gojo meant with context. Sometimes, it's easier to look at how other characters use this pronoun to get an idea.

For example, Hanami uses Anata for everyone which is why there's nothing flirtatious about them using it. This is just how they talk in general and they aren't singling anyone out in a special way.

A male character who uses Anta for most people in the way Hanami uses Anata is Ike from Fire Emblem. (I'm so sorry this is the only guy I can think of using this as a default you pronoun and he's from a completely different series.)

Ike uses Ore (masculine, informal) as his personal pronoun and he was raised as a mercenary with no formal education, so the Anta in context is more of him being from the lower class and casual. Anta is also less masculine than Omae, so this is also gives Ike that soft edge to his roughness that everyone loves him for. When he uses Anta while speaking to nobles in Path of Radiance Ch 14, they find it extremely offensive and get pissed because they perceive it as him not showing enough respect. (And he does call them out for being dickholes using Anta which makes them even angrier.)

If I recall correctly, (sorry I only really remember Zelgius and Sephiran's pronouns because it subtly confirms them a queer couple), Ike uses Omae (or Temee? The fudging accessible JP transcript went poof.) for the Black Knight and no one else. The Black Knight killed his father and Ike hates him for this. This Omae is not friendly, it's hostile.

I use this example because it shows how for one character these pronouns mean one thing and other characters it the polar opposite. Gojo uses Omae to be friendly, Ike uses Omae to be hostile. Ike uses Anta to be friendly, Gojo uses Anta to...

I don't know.

I don't know why Gojo uses Anta for Toji. It's really fudging odd and he never uses it again or for anyone else. Gojo for Toji uses Anta then Omae then Anta.

First it's confusion over being stabbed. I think in this context it means more of "hey there, buddy" in the way someone might try to talk down an aggressive person by trying to be chummy.

At the time, it probably told Geto something was really wrong because Gojo never uses that pronoun.

The Omae he swaps to is normal Gojo usage. He explains how Toji screwed up with killing him in the way he's been talking at all the assassins that came after Riko.

But internally? Toji remains Anta. This is weird since Gojo usually just sticks to Omae or some kind of nomer when he doesn't know people's names.

Leading up to this internal monologue, Gojo is not angry. He's extremely zen. So much so that he apologizes to Riko for not being upset she was just murdered. This makes me think the Anta isn’t meant to be disparaging.

Anta has always been less harsh than Omae in comparison. It can imply a distance between the speaker and addressee or it can suggest they're very close.

I can't tell if Gojo is trying to express a unique kinship he feels with Toji or if he's putting Toji on a pedestal of strength he idolizes and considers himself separate from. Perhaps it's both and this confusion is intentional. Gojo is a teenager figuring himself out in the most traumatic way possible here. My point is that this use of Anta indicates Gojo feels some kind of way about Toji he doesn't for anyone else.

Toji is very special to Gojo.

Most people are aware of Gojo picking up certain habits and speech patterns because Geto. Rereading JJK after learning about Gojo's history with Geto turns a lot of his silly quirks into things that are really depressing.

Toji is second to Geto in terms of influencing adult Gojo's behavior I think. Not just in the paranoia he experiences of being made vulnerable again, but some of his speaking mannerisms. Gojo asking for last words before he kills someone started with Toji.

He has that same empty look when he does it each time too. This doesn't seem to be like him mourning Toji in the way he mourns Geto by speaking in the way his beloved suggested. It's like he's reliving trauma. And dear lord did Toji traumatize Gojo. The kind of terror in the faces teenage Gojo makes while being hunted and killed are never made again.

But despite this, Gojo as an adult seems to look back on this awful experience fondly sometimes. When Sukuna starts to make him think he's about to lose, Gojo smiles as he recalls this feeling.

Satisfaction? Being killed by this guy was satisfying? I suppose it makes sense, this temporary death did awaken him to immense power that made him feel amazing. In that sense, Toji was Gojo's greatest teacher. And as a teacher, Gojo molds a philosophy from that experience and tries to imbue it on his students in a less traumatic fashion. (I say tries because this still killed Yuji by accident and caused a lot of unneeded stress for the second years in Vol 0.)

As you can see here, Gojo thinks this way because he did die alone despite having strong allies. And because his death made him stronger, he thinks growth can be triggered in a similar fashion. Geto calls him out on how fudged up this “tough love” is.

Gray morally aside, these beliefs and actions are because of Toji. A lot of what Gojo is as an adult is one giant unhealthy coping mechanism for Toji, fondness included.

When Nanami calls Gojo a Jujutsu Pervert he isn't wrong. Gojo is a freak that gets off to fighting in part due to Toji. It's like this horrible little ball of fear, denial, and horny with him. Thinking about Toji being the last person who satisfied him in that way over Geto isn't out of character. The types of blissed out faces he made during that fight do pop up in the Sukuna fight.

We also have to acknowledge that Toji is at the got dang afterlife airport with everyone else. For some reason, despite all the pain he inflicted, Gojo admires him on a similar level to the people who didn't want him dead.

Toji is a lot of Gojo's firsts. His first fear, his first death, his first awakening, and most importantly his first exposure to revolution. Toji is the first person Gojo met that escaped the bindings of Jujutsu Society and obtained freedom. He defied the Zenins and started a life outside of them. His pride and grief brought him back, but for a few years he was the impossible success story.

Though Geto heavily influenced Gojo’s morality, Toji was the basis for Gojo’s revolutionary ideas. It shows in how he trains his students and values the strength of non-sorcerers. He correctly identifies that Toji only wound up this way because of Jujutsu Society, mainly the higher ups, and vows to do something about it.

Is this to prevent another Toji because of fear? Is this how Gojo honors his memory too? Both, probably. Toji basically asked Gojo to be the godfather to Megumi, his son named Blessing, and prevent him from being raised a Zenin. In other words, he gave Gojo his blessing to do better than him and break that awful generational cycle. Gojo has taken that very seriously.

Megumi knows next to nothing about the Zenins until he's made the head after Naobito dies and Maki massacres them. The fact that Megumi being made the head ultimately triggered Maki's massacre of the Zenin Clan is like Toji getting exactly what he wanted from beyond the grave. A mini revolution made possible with Gojo laying the groundwork by providing a space where Maki can exist without hate.

Geto's Jealousy

As Geto was spiralling, he probably thought back on Gojo’s use of Anta with Toji and got a little jealous. After all, Toji was the reason Gojo grew so much as a sorcerer instead of him.

Can you imagine? The love of your life keeps telling you that together you're The Strongest and that's why he's with you. But he goes off with some dude after calling him something he's never called you and comes back a god. He grew more in those few minutes with this rando than the years he spent with you combined. Inadequate wouldn't even scratch the surface of that feeling.

It was always a one-sided admiration—Toji was a bum who leeched off women as you would expect any straight dude would coming from an immensely misogynistic household. He killed children for money and had beef with an 8 year old after looking at him once. But Geto still might've been envious that a non-sorcerer did more for Gojo’s growth than any sorcerer.

Geto’s Coping

The aftermath of Toji put a strain on their relationship in more ways than one. First and foremost, it made Gojo The Strongest. As I said earlier, this caused Geto to become insecure with his place in Gojo’s life. But what I didn’t mention is that the higher ups exploiting this newfound strength is why this never got addressed until it was way too late.

As shown here Geto’s condition gets worse because not only is he mentally isolated from Gojo, but physically as well. A horrible little detail—changes in weight can be very gradual. If you're with someone all the time, you'll likely never notice it. Gojo was kept separate from Geto for so long that this difference was noticeable.

They fall out of sync because Jujutsu Society has decided that their labor is more valuable apart. The problem here exploitation. Toji made it extremely clear to both Gojo and Geto that was the problem. Geto unfortunately came to the wrong conclusion on how to deal with it.

Tags from @nyan-bynary on this post sum up my feelings on this nicely.

#OK OK I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT HOW GETO GOT RADICALIZED BASICALLY INTO FASCISM BC HE ENDED UP BLAMING THE WRONG CLASS FOR THEIR OPPRESSION #LIKE THIS IS SO VERY MUCH THE CASE WITH LIKE RANDO WHITE LIBERTARIANS AND SHIT IRL TOO LIKE THEY NOTICE SHIT SUCKS #BUT THEY END UP BLAMING THE EVEN MORE OPPRESSED PEOPLE INSTEAD OF TAKING THAT ANGER UPWARDS TOWARDS THE ACTUAL PPL DESTROYING EVERYTHING

#like geto saw a man who was so fucking abused and treated like shit by his clan that he basically ran away and started a new life #where he resents the people who were oppressing him but he still had to work for similar people to make ends meet #and in doing so was made a pawn for the internal power struggles of the higher ups #which hurt the other people lower in the hierarchy as well including gojo and geto #but instead of seeing the hand that guided everything here he blamed the toy in the hand instead #devoting himself to destroy every single toy which unknowingly included himself and the sorcerers he wanted to protect so badly as well

#like in his efforts to gather sorcerers he ended up doing a better more inclusive job of gathering sorceres from EVERYWHERE he could reach #he had the true potential to make real grassroot connections with fellow oppressed people but he was misguided on who the target should be #like it's ironic that the only black sorcerer that we see is in the group of the guy that calls non sorceres 'monkeys' #because it says something about him that his problem actually wasn't racism (against non-sorcerers) #it was the high risk terrible lifestyle forced upon every sorcerer in the name of non-sorcerers #WHO DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS EXIST AND ARE BEING EXPLOITED LIKE THIS IN THEIR NAME IN THE FIRST PLACE MAYBE TRY TO FIX THAT AT SOME POINT???

#it's all so sad bc the moment he chose the wrong people to blame his fate was sealed and it sucks bc he could've done real good things #gojo was the closest to doing anything remotely revolutionary but he went the too peaceful route and it cost him everything #he didn't organize or protest with enough destruction or maybe he thought he couldn't until it became a last resort

#like I find it funny that despite everything gojo wanted to do bc his form of resistance was so lax he ended up alienating hakari and kirara #and the elders. the divide and conquerers that they were used it to expel them from the school #just ahhhhhhhhh so many thoughts I wish they could've done more I wish I wish I wish

In that post, I joked that Karl Marx could’ve saved Geto, but that wasn’t really a joke. Trying to address exploitation without the theoretical framework to be productive about it is like swimming against an ocean riptide at night. You can recognize that you’re drowning, but not knowing where the shore is or that you need to swim at an angle instead of directly against the current dooms you.

The really sad thing is that Geto never realized that non-sorcerers were exploited just like him. Nanami worked directly alongside them and realized their exploitation was one in the same.

He realized that this exploitation was a systemic issue. Gojo realized that those in power were responsible for enforcing it. Both of them lacked the drive to be aggressive about that in the way Geto was. Together, the 3 of them really could’ve unionized to obtain the work-life balance they desperately needed.

But that was never going to happen. The higher ups isolated them until their communication skills and therefore relationships deteriorated alongside their mental states. (Notice how even outside of Jujustu Nanami has no friends. He's just as alone as those two.)

Geto's Love

I don’t think Geto ever learned how to love properly after Toji in a very similar vein to Gojo. Though he more outwardly shows affection to his family, there’s this sense of distance he has between them as a cult leader. His children call him Master and do not take his last name. He’s worshiped as a figurehead and for his beauty. And no one really understands him in the way Gojo used to.

And it must also be noted that the anguish from his family and daughters at his possession did not cause his body to stir. Only Gojo calling his name did.

It's not that Geto doesn't love his family, he just loves Gojo more despite having spent less time with him. (10 years with his family vs 3 years with Gojo.) Even Geto himself says that his family isn’t enough for him to be truly happy.

A world where sorcerers are not exploited is what he thinks will fix this. He wants this for himself, his family, and Gojo. Especially Gojo.

Their breakup was caused by Gojo being exploited more than anyone else. Geto has always objected to that. A world of only sorcerers hypothetically gets rid of the labor exploitation Geto hates for every sorcerer. And it also creates a world where Gojo doesn't need to be The Strongest. It's a world where instead of being overworked, Gojo will have all the time in the world for Geto.

This love Geto holds for Gojo underlies his actions. Him setting this ridiculous plan into motion on December 24th is a grandiose romantic gesture. You can feel the resentment and the longing. He tried to fill the Gojo hole in his heart with a new family and hatred only to fail.

Gojo reciprocated. He always did. But neither of them realized the love was mutual until both of them were dead because work came first.

So yeah anon, Geto was jealous. Both Toji and Sukuna got to know Gojo in ways he couldn’t because being an enemy of Gojo ironically gives them more direct attention from him since that’s a part of work.

Jujustu Society vs Queerness

Even if Gojo and Geto realized their love before everything went to hell, I'm not sure if they would've acted on it due to societal stigma.

Like @nyan-bynary mentioned, Kiara's transness is something the higher ups no doubt rejected. The type of conservatism modern Japan is under does not embrace the open queerness of the past that was especially prevalent during the Heian Era, you know the Jujutsu Golden Age. In a reflection of these politics, the Zenins embody the type of sexual hierarchy wanted by the elders—men run everything and women have children. Even though Hakari and Kiara are a straight couple, they're unable to have children together which is rebellion in of itself. Why Gojo didn't do more for them is kind of baffling.

To be fair, Gojo kind of sucks at sticking up against injustices like this. Hakari and Kiara aren't the only failed in this way. When Geto is verbally discriminatory towards Maki, Gojo doesn't refute his beliefs, Yuta does.

This is honestly, pretty fudged up. Gojo just lets Geto be horrible and offers a weak "don't do that" as a response instead of arguing for Maki's personhood. And we know for a fact he is strong enough to do something and be taken seriously. After all, he did threaten the elders to protect Yuta's life. He didn't stop Geto until he became a large-scale physical threat. For some reason, that's the only type of discrimination Gojo will act on—violent acts that will result in death.

I think this is because Geto told him he needed a really good reason to kill other humans before he snapped. It took a lot of convincing for Gojo to slaughter the higher ups as the result of this. His inaction here could also stem from Gojo being so used to dehumanization that he hardly recognizes it as a problem. But Gojo did force Nanami to address Yuji as a human child instead of Sukuna's Vessel later, so perhaps he reflected on this exchange and tried to do better. (Despite allowing everyone else from Kyoto to be weird about Yuji.)

Regardless, it's this passive mentality when it comes to non-violent discrimination that makes me think Gojo wouldn't have acted on his feelings for Geto.

There's probably a lot of pressure on Gojo to have progeny of some kind (aka be straight and have babies). I do find it a bit odd we've seen nothing of his Clan to the point that Megumi also knows nothing about it. (Though this was probably to spare him the politics drama for the enjoyment of his youth.) They did spoil Gojo rotten, but that doesn't mean backwards societal expectations weren't thrust on him from birth. He was raised to be a living weapon you know. Suppression of his own queerness was likely a part of that education.

And though Gojo is pretty rebellious when it comes to challenging the status quo, like antagonizing those older than him and letting those younger than him speak freely around him, he still has some toxic ideas from his youth he hasn't let go of. He prioritizes his strength over bonds and allows himself to be exploited while trying to make sure his students don't wind up like him...by having them prioritize strength through pushing their limits.

In other words, Gojo would likely just repress his feelings for Geto if it meant obtaining his goals. A queer relationship would be used against him by the higher ups since it rebels against the expectations of Jujustu Society in a way he hasn't pushed hard against. (I'm so sorry Hakari and Kiara.)

With that being said, it's not all that surprising that a lot of the curse users are openly queer. They've freed themselves of exploitation and expectations. Their genders and sexualities are theirs to control. None of them are shy about it. Larue openly loves Geto, Sukuna will kill you for not respecting his disinterest in romance and sex, Uraume will kill you for not respecting that, Kashimo will hit on a man as he's being killed by him, Kenjaku is Kenjaku.

I don't think it's a coincidence that Gojo is at his horniest when he's fighting other men. It's like the one space where he's allowed to engage that side of himself without fear of repercussion because at the end of the day, one of them is going to be dead anyways. (His flirting with Nanami when they're alone together not included.) Sometimes queer people want their love with violence because it’s the only way they can have their sexuality without guilt. That punishment absolves the sin.

Jujutsu Society as it stands is not compatible with queerness. Gojo has a really fudged up way of expressing his attraction to men as the result of this. And if you ask me, I think Toji is the one who really got his wires crossed.

#cactus yaps #Yeah this analysis goes all over the place but I will always tie it back to socialism.#I annotated Posadas to write a fic one time I cannot be stopped.#Labor exploitation and queer struggles go hand in hand.#The queerness of JJK enhances the discussion on labor. I think it's a disservice to keep them separate.#Relationships deteriorate under poor working conditions that alienate laborers from their fellow man.#And since queer relationships are an antithesis to the model that generates the most profit for the capitalist they must be crushed.#JJK is a story about queer men being driven insane by Jujustu Society which is an allegory for labor exploitation I swear to fudge.#I apologize to tumblr user nyan-bynary for coming at you like this.#Can you tell I used to fight people on Twitter over Fire Emblem?#I miss it. Someone come try to deny Ike is canonically gay again.#That particular argument got IkeSoren put in a gay museum. Very proud of that still.#satosugu #geto suguru #fushiguro toji #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #asks

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muzzlemouths · 7 months ago

Text

[CW: Death/implication of death]

The clock reads a quarter to midnight when Sun powers on. Too early. He isn’t meant to come online for another six hours, and the daycare itself won’t open for another hour after that. He promptly runs a scan to determine the reasoning behind his premature entrance and when it returns inconclusive he turns to Moon. It is his metaphorical toes he is stepping on by encroaching on the night as he is, after all.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that settles like dust. A quiet that makes one aware of the breath that stirs within their lungs or, in Sun’s case, the gentle whir of an internal fan that perpetually keeps his system from running itself into the ground. A quiet so frequently interrupted by the welcomed voice of his other half…and yet, nothing. His question goes unanswered, left to gather with the dust, and he is forced to proceed as though these strange happenings haven’t disrupted his entire morning routine.

A routine further disturbed upon having to remind himself for the second time already that it isn’t morning, he isn’t meant to be going through the start-up procedure to begin with, and he can’t be blamed for the corrupted sense of awareness he feels as a result. Sure, the lights are on, and his systems, too, return with normal results after a precautionary scan, but there is a discomfort to all of this scratching at the inner plating of his frame. Something is wrong wrong wrong.

“…Moon?”

His second attempt at communication yields no better results than the first, only a vague static answering the call, murmur-soft background noise, as though someone had plucked a phone from its receiver and then walked away. Frustrating is what it was. To ignore him was childish at best, but at worst, it was concerning. His relationship with Moon was reasonably amicable even on the longest of days, he worked better with Moon than without, so the absence was unusual as much as it was alarming.

Alone with his thoughts for the foreseeable future, Sun decides there is little point to sitting around in the midst of this confusion when he could be using the time to busy himself with more important tasks, such as tidying up all the apparent dust around here. Better yet, he can get a head-start in preparation for that day’s activities. Something to keep his mind from wandering into worrywart territory, at the very least.

An ache stemming at the tail of his exoskeleton twinges with particularly horrendous vengeance upon finally convincing his legs to move. He buries the vocalization of a wince and carries on across the carpeted room with little more than a brief mental note to mention the pain to a mechanic if it worsens by tomorrow. No use in wasting company time for what he’s sure is only the result of one or both of them landing wrong after receiving a hug from one of the daycare’s more excitable children (or several).

Still, it makes the process of retrieving a stray toy from the floor that much harder when he sees it lying in wait by the slide. If anything, bending down to reclaim the doll only exacerbates the ache until it grows into a proper sting, now difficult to ignore. Yet ignore it he does, to the best of his ability. There are things to do and he isn’t about to let a pinch of soreness slow him down now. No, sirree! He has play equipment to wipe down, craft supplies to ready, and–

and…

His hand stops just short of reaching the doll, long yellow fingers curling inward, against his palm which is painted with splotches of salt and pepper, as though a bottle of dully colored glitter glue had exploded across his fingers and hand. He straightens again and lifts his other hand, noting a similar stretch of television static, one that carries beyond his wrist up the length of his forearm in smeared blotches and specks like splattered paint in dirty snow hues.

Messy messy messy. What could Moon have gotten up to that resulted in such a mess? He’d have made a face, had he a nose to wrinkle in the first place.

Instead he allows for one small tut of disgust to escape his voice box before turning his attention back to the doll, taking note of the static that stains the carpet beside its head, and just beyond it, too; a trail made up of one scattered drop after another.

Ever curious, he knows not what to do besides follow it, hoping for an answer to the many questions burning through his system. Each continuous speck leads him in the direction of the exit, every patch of static more plentiful than the last, and as he allows the strange color to guide him forward he begins to question not only its existence, but why it all seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before.

There is little time to mull it over. He arrives at the service desk where the trail ends abruptly, and Sun pauses with the toe of his slippers stood just an inch before a stray, black shoe that might have sent him stumbling face first into carpet had he not already been looking down. A shoe isn’t the most bizarre thing to lose in a daycare of all places, and he decides right away that it isn’t anything to worry over, just another item to drop into lost and found, but where there is a shoe there is bound to be someone missing it and, well…

Sun finds the answer he’s looking for just a few inches behind the service desk.

Face down and tucked in on themselves as they are, cloaked in the desk’s shadow, it’s impossible to tell anything about the person beyond their age, and even that is somewhat uncertain — though the size 9 shoe left behind offers a decent clue. This discovery does wonders to quell the anxiety in Sun’s chest. An adult was much easier to escort from the daycare, given the lack of parental contribution it necessitated, and it looked like this one was just sleeping! An odd place to go about it, sure — against the rules, most certainly — but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a purposeful tap to the ankle.

So, that’s exactly what he does. Bending dramatically at the knee, head swiveling to one side, Sun’s fingers dance as though he intends on tickling the trespasser awake before extending his index finger and tapping twice in quick succession against the exposed skin between their pant leg and sock. “Rise and shine, friend!�� He chirps, “It’s time to head home now.”

He’d have preferred the tried-and-true method of rousing someone (that is, a gentle rock of the shoulders), but given that their guest was currently resting in the one area that Sun was not permitted entry to, he was forced to resort to more…creative measures. Unfortunately, this action does not yield the results he is hoping for.

“Friend?” Sun calls again, allowing his voice to raise a decibel from the polite mumble it had been before. The laughter that cuts from his voicebox is nervous and too loud on its own, his anxiety returning tenfold. The points of logic he had used to reassure himself before were now quickly dwindling with each passing second in which he received no response.

With his steps now admittedly growing frantic, Sun tiptoes around the desk to the other side, hoping for a better view of their comatose companion. What happens instead is an almost comical flailing of limbs as his slipper takes to an unseen puddle of static like it were a banana peel, resulting in a scramble to keep himself upright that only comes to an end when he braces against the nearest wall for support. The distraction is agitating, but short lived. A commotion like that would surely have awoken anyone, no matter how deep in slumber they were, and the continued lack of response does nothing to relieve Sun of the stress threatening to fry his circuits.

“Friend, this is n-no time for jokes!” He asserts, speaking at full volume, now, every word drenched in tense frustration. His gaze falls to the puddle of static soaking into the bottoms of his slippers, that twinge of recognition rearing its head once more. “I’m not in the mood for games, right now, so if you’re only pretending to sleep—” his hand comes away from the wall feeling wrong, the familiar sensation of sticky static blanketing his palm and crusting in the grooves between his joints as it further dries. His fingers curl into a loose fist long enough to observe the way each digit smears against his palm and leaves behind a tacky residue that he can feel, but not see.

He looks up. There, on the wall, two handprints interrupt the static. The first is larger, an obvious testament to the humbling misstep he’d only just finished recovering from, but the other…it was far smaller, surely left behind by the same stranger currently snoozing away beneath the desk, and it ran from the lightswitch down down down to the floor, where the accusing hand now rested just outside the desk’s shadow.

How strange, Sun thinks, tilting his head to get a better look. The way the static paints their skin, it almost looks like—

“You’re doing so well, dewdrop, just a moment longer and you’ll be right as rain again!” Sun gives the small hand intertwined with his own an encouraging squeeze as the other, equipped with an antiseptic wipe, dutifully dabs away at a scuffed knee. His young patient, having tripped and burned her skin along the carpet, is nothing less than a trooper as he cleans the static from the shallow wound. Not even a sniffle!

He tucks the wipe into the flat of his palm and trades it out for ointment, smearing a healthy dollop of it along the reddened surface before wiping his finger along the striping of his pants and reaching for a bandaid; Chica pink with pizzas on one side and cupcakes on the other.

“There, now. I’m sure that feels better already!”

Blood. Viscous, cold, pooling at his feet. On the walls, the carpet. His hands. Cherry red like a lollipop and twice as sticky…or so he’s told. Nothing a robot of his nature is meant to see or understand. His censors make sure of it. Rather than allow him to see things are they are, the incarnadine color is suppressed behind a layer of static, as if he won’t care to acknowledge it at all beyond its existence on scraped knees and split lips. As if he is meant to ignore the way it feels in its abundance, caked against his palms and festering between his open joints.

Messy, messy, messy. He feels dirtied beyond repair, filthy in a way that even a deep cleaning won’t fix. The wires in his stomach feel twisted, begging to come undone, shorting like sparklers against their ports and threatening to make short work of bringing him down. His screens are flooded with alerts that warn of an inevitable shut-down if he can’t manage to pull himself back together, but moving feels impossible, an insurmountable task. He can not think past the sensation of someone else’s life soaking into the cotton of his slippers.

And what of their guest? Sun can hardly get himself to look again, pleading with the matter of logic itself as he is forced to reckon with the knowledge that this is a rest they may never wake from. But he does look. He has to.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The brief glimpse he endures before looking anywhere else is more than enough. From this angle, the static – the blood – paints a grim picture. In spite of this, Sun finds himself circling the desk a second time and preparing to draw the body – the visitor – out from under the desk. It is a daunting task, but a necessary one, by Sun’s account. If there is nothing to be done in such a hopeless situation then, at the very least, he owes this stranger the dignity of recognition and an attempt. He can claim to have looked for a pulse. Even so, he hesitates.

There is not one to be found; Sun knows this. He knows painfully well from the static lingering on his silicone that it is already too late. Oil is warmed by the processors it fuels, and similarly, blood is meant to be hot. The soles of his slippers are cold. The pads of his fingers, against even the raging inferno of his overworked circuitry, are cold.

The body is cold.

He perseveres, regardless, dragging the stranger out from under the desk by a shaky grip on their ankle one inch at a time, pausing every few tugs to look away and regather his confidence, trying so, so hard to tune out the ever-constant music as it merrily sings through the speakers.

He begs the underlying silence. “Please have a pulse.” Tug. “Please don’t be cold.” Tug. “I don’t know what to do.” Tug. “I can’t do this alone.” Tug. “You have to wake up.” Tug. “Please.” Tug. “Please!” Tug. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseple—”

He knows this visitor. Not a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. His scanner attempts to process the identification of a man whose head is so thick with static that it returns as an error. His face is contorted grotesquely, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with fear. They don’t look like they’re sleeping.

A security guard whose name fails to ping in his registry. Sun had spoken with him once, maybe twice before. He drank coffee by the mile and hardly stuck around long enough to do more than complain about the weather. Sun hadn’t been in a hurry to befriend the man, but he only wished the best for him. Squeezed a joke in where he could in an attempt to turn his frown upside-down. It had never worked before, but Sun was no quitter. Now he would never get the chance to try again.

“Focus, focus.” Sun carefully lowers the man’s foot back to the carpet again, choking on the sensation of bloodied clothes slipping through his fingers and resisting the urge to tear the rays straight out of his faceplate in response. He is inconsolably panicked and at a loss for what to do, two steps from outright laughing, the complete absurdity of the situation driving him to hysterics.

He needed to call security. He couldn’t call security. Security was–

Management. There were other employees that worked the night shift if Moon complaining about them making too much noise during naptime was anything to go by. If he sent out a general call for assistance surely someone would come and tell him what to do, even at this late hour. It was his best option. His only option.

“Don’t.”

The voice makes him jump clear out of his casings. He has half a mind to swear, but as it stands, Sun thinks the long divots he dragged into the service desk out of surprise are enough damage already. On top of everything else.

“Moon?” He whispers. “Nice of you to finally join us – and by us, I mean me and the deceased guest I discovered a moment ago. Do you have a clue what’s going on here?”

“Don’t?” Sun echoes, agitated, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t.”

If the tether keeping his sanity intact was fraying before, it’s now down to a single thread. “Why not?” He asks with great exhaustion, “Did you not hear me? This is an emergency! There is a dead body in the–”

“Call management.”

“I know.”

Silence answers. Despite having a hundred and one snarky retorts building in between each crackle and pop of his voice box, Sun has nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway. It takes nine steady ticks of the clock for him to recollect his thoughts.

“You…you know?” He stutters, “How could you…” but he doesn’t finish the question, and he doesn’t need to. Realization strikes him with an iron fist for the second time that day and it is no less kinder than the first. “Did… you do this?”

It’s Moon’s turn to go quiet.

That silence stretches on for what feels like hours to Sun, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until he starts to believe Moon had simply disappeared like before. He waits, and waits, and finally decides to interrupt the silence with a repeat of the question, despite already knowing the answer. Moon beats him to it.

The tired sigh that escapes Sun’s throat is thoroughly earned. “Well, it’s too late to figure something else out, I already sent out the emergency ping.”

“Not sure,” he says, and Sun can tell from his tone that it’s the truth. “Blurry. My head hurts.”

A sound like nothing he’s ever heard before tears itself from Moon’s voicebox. A growl, if he were to put a name to it.

“Get rid of it, then.” Moon insists through the noise, “Clean up, clean up.”

“It?” Sun gawks, “Moon, that – that’s a person. He has dignity, a family!”

“Had a family,” Moon corrects, “dead, now. No dignity. Who will they blame?”

The question gives him pause. Surely there was a better way to go about this, a solution that didn’t have his morals (and wires, for that matter) all up in a twist. Yet the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes Moon is right. Management hardly listens when he tries to explain that it was the children who broke a piece of playground equipment, not him! They aren’t likely to give his explanation of simply having found the body any mind, much less understanding. With his counterpart practically admitting to the heinous act, already, informing management of the body would sooner see them decommissioned.

“Running out of time,” Moon reminds him, “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick–”

“Alright, alright!” He wails, “What should I do, then?”

“Clean up.”

“Where?” Sun looks around with the desperation of a teenager attempting to play hooky, rays practically nonexistent with how he’s tucked them away. His eyes search the room from top to bottom before landing determinedly on the ball pit.

“Good enough,” Moon tuts, a rather uninspired response to the happenings around him. Of course he isn’t panicking, it isn’t him who takes the body by its ankles and drags the dead weight across the carpet. It isn’t him who shoves aside enough plastic to carefully hide a corpse in. But it should be him worrying, it should be him panicking, because if management finds out about their secret, it’ll spell doom for both of them.

“You’ll get rid of it – him – properly once there’s no one around, right?” Sun finishes reshuffling the ball pit, mostly confident that the ill deed is successfully hidden from view. “I’m going to have to wash each and every one of these balls before the kids arrive in the morning.”

Right, the kids. When they arrive in just a few hours, will he have things tidied up? Will he be able to carry on as though nothing happened? He’s a brilliant actor – or he used to be, anyway, before the company decided he better fit the role of a nanny – but this is well beyond the scripts he is most familiar with.

“They’re close,” Moon warns him, “Don’t let them see–”

“I know, I know.” No time to dwell on it now, he makes quick work of crossing the distance between the ball pit and the exit, and manages to slide his head and torso through the gap between doors within seconds of it opening, scaring the living daylights of the poor employee sent to greet him in the process.

Unlike Sun, they do swear, clutching a hand over their chest and fitting him with a downright awful deadpanned stare. “Fuck, you couldn’t have waited a few seconds longer for me to come inside?” They hiss.

“Sorry, friend! Didn’t mean to spook you,” Sun chirps. He is careful to keep his bloodied hands safely tucked behind his back. “It’s just a mess in here, is all, and I’m rather embarrassed. There’s still equipment to clean, toys to organize, papers to fold–”

“Sure,” the employee interrupts, “It doesn’t really–” they pinch the bridge of their nose, exhaling with notably less exhaustion than Sun is feeling right about now, “I don’t particularly care. What’s the big issue that I was called down here for?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if the next shipment of wipes had come in, yet. Like I said before, much to do! Always busy, busy, busy!”

Their stare turns into an outright glower. “That’s why you called the emergency line? For cleaning supplies?”

Sun shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Well, that’s an emergency to me. Apparently our standards are not the same.” He watches them roll their eyes with more enthusiasm than necessary. ”Do you know how messy children can be? It’s practically a barnyard in here, every single day, and don’t even get me started on how much of a health code violation it would be if one of them were to pick their nose and then–”

“Fine, I get it,” they snap, “I’ll make sure your damn supplies are delivered before the daycare opens. Anything else?”

“Told you they were annoying,” Moon chimes in.

“That’s everything!” He replies, “thank you a mighty amount, friend!”

“Mhm,” they mutter, waving him off with nothing more than the noncommittal sound. When they do turn to leave, it’s not soon enough, and Sun just barely manages to close the door with a whisper instead of a slam.

His back rests against it a moment later, and he allows himself to collapse from there, sliding down the smooth wooden frame until his tailbone reaches the floor. His knees twinge as they tuck against his chest, and he folds both arms atop, resting his temple against them and taking one long, much needed moment to just breathe.

It had only been half of a lie. There was much to do, much to clean, and only so many hours remaining to get it done. The wires nestled deep in his chest had calmed, yet the tremor in his hands continued, as it likely would until the very last speck of blood was washed clean.

“…Moon?”

“Hm?”

Sun tucks his knees ever closer. “Why…why did you do it?”

“…”

“I w-won’t be mad, promise! I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding, after all – a one time event, no biggie! But…was it out of anger? Fear? I mean, did he hurt–”

“In my way,” Moon replies.

Sun’s head lifts from the dark haven his arms provide, noting with growing exhaustion that, for the very first time, the lights felt too bright even for him. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, “Did he keep you from doing something?”

“…I don’t know.”

Again, Sun’s head falls against his arms in defeat, and again, not two seconds later, it lifts, determined not to lollygag any longer.

His legs creak with vocal effort as he gets back to his feet. “Well, no point in dwelling on it now, I suppose. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He takes in a wide view of the daycare – static trailing everywhere – and deflates with a sigh. “Guess I better get started. The sooner we get the place cleaned up, the sooner we can forget about all of this.”

He takes a step forward, and only that, swiveling on his heel when he catches last night’s roster from the corner of his eye. A single drop of static had landed and smeared across the name of a child meant to go home later in the evening.

Strangely enough, it appears they were never picked up.

Sun shrugs, gathering the paper in both hands and crumpling it into a ball to dispose of the smeared evidence. A simple mistake with the roster, that’s all it is. The parents often forget to sign their name after all. Accidents happen all the time!

The paper lands with a soft thunk in the nearest trash can and is just as quickly forgotten. Sun pivots towards the play area once more and heads for the supply closet, steadfast in his determination to be cleaned up on time, and feeling more confident than he ought to be about how things ended, all things considered.

More than anything, he is just happy to have all of this behind them.

#drabbles #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #no y/n #death cw #blood mention cw #can you believe it? tumblr user muzzlemouths posting a fic that ISN'T y/n related?#I needed an additional example for my app. lmao #anyway! if it isn't obvious this takes place at the very beginning of Moon's glitch #his First Kill(tm) even #hope it isn't too heartbreaking for all my fellow Moon enjoyers out there <3 stay strong

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