#I know how to prioritize

[imakemywings]

This Shadow will not Endure

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Amarie, Finrod

Summary: For the first time since Finrod's rebirth in Aman, he and Amarie are intimate.

Rating: E

Length: 5.4k

AO3 | Pillowfort

___________________________________________________

There were times still that Finrod struggled to anchor himself in the moment. Moments when it felt he was watching or hearing things happening to someone else, not to himself. In the worst of these moments, he could hear instead the echo of Sauron’s voice in the back of his mind like nails scraping through his flesh, feel the coarse weight of chains against his wrists, feel the wetness of his men’s blood against his hands; in these moments, he flailed mentally to grip something present to reassure himself that he was not still a prisoner of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, simply being tormented with a vision of peace he would never know again. In the less extreme, he felt only adrift, curiously watching a scene play out in front of him without actually being a part of it.

He had a sense Amarië was beginning to draw on this. She had a knack for touching his hand whenever he was sitting or standing there, nodding along, appearing—or doing his best to appear—attentive, while his mind distanced itself from what was going on around him.

“Ingoldo?” she said, her fingers delicate against the back of his hand. He experienced these things: first, the touch of Amarië’s hand, breaking through the fog around him; second, the sound of her voice, suddenly clear where before it had been as if spoken through a door; last, the rustle of the leaves beyond the window, drawing him back into the world as if he had been holding his breath but now drew in again.

“Yes?” he said, refraining from shaking his head, as if that would make his voice sound more like his own.

“What are you thinking of?” she asked. Atya had called him “distracted.” He didn’t mean it badly—and it was true. But it felt like such a light word for the preoccupations of Finrod’s mind, even now, years out from his return to Aman.

Finrod observed the room.

Amarië’s front room faced the garden with wide windows and the flowering bushes she had planted outside offered just enough privacy from passers-by; the sunlight filtered through the playfully waving leaves to throw dappled shadows over the front room floor, reaching up to where they sat on the couch to speckle their feet and illuminate the side of her face nearest to the window, lighting up the port wine mark that darkened nearly half her face. On the shelves were a mix of Amarië’s things and gifts from friends—if he had cared to, Finrod was sure he could have placed certain gifts with certain friends merely by the mark of their particular artistry. Behind him, behind the side door that connected Amarië’s apartment to the rest of the house, where dwelt her parents, along with her older brother and his husband, the rest of the family was being too quiet to hear. The room was warm, almost perfectly so—he felt entirely comfortable in his light robes.

“You,” he said. A smile twitched on Amarië’s lips. Today she was dressed in pale pinks and yellows, which complemented her complexion and made him think of the tulip beds laid out around the Fountain of Falling Stars downtown.

“I am interested,” he insisted, looking at her once more. “Tell me again.”

“Oh no, it was dull enough to go through it the first time,” she laughed. “Even I don’t care to share it again. Suffice to say one of my friends is terribly upset about nothing, but it will pass quickly.”

There was a moment then when he looked at her and debated pressing the issue, insisting she should share anyway, while Amarië considered whether to press the issue of his distraction and insist he tell her what he was really thinking about.

“Do you remember that time we went camping with Turukáno and Elenwë?” she asked instead, and was rewarded with the smile that tugged at Finrod’s lips.

“I assume you mean the time Elenwë got us lost? How could I forget?” he said.

“The same way you forgot the cover to our tent, I imagine,” said Amarië, which earned her a deeply wounded and awfully exaggerated look.

“The weather was supposed to be clear,” he said, as he had said all night through the hail as they huddled the four of them in a tent made for two. “Do you remember how you traded places with Elenwë in the night?”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” she exclaimed. “I only got up in the night and she must have rolled over when I was out…I do remember Turukáno’s face when he woke up in the morning holding me instead of her!” They both laughed and Amarië felt something light and tight in her chest at what seemed to her to be the clearing of clouds off Finrod’s face.

“I do think if it had been anyone but you, that response would have been quite a bit more energetic,” Finrod snickered. Amarië never would have been so well-acquainted with Turgon but for Finrod’s bringing them together so often.

“I think the tent might’ve taken a tumble. You and Elenwë could’ve been more help,” she pointed out, as she had before.

“We thought you two could sort it out,” Finrod said with a smile closer to the loose, easy manner he used to carry before the sky had gone dark. But just as readily, there slipped into his gaze a drop of sorrow that had not been there before and Amarië’s heart sank. Mentioning Turgon was always a gamble—Finrod delighted in memories of his oldest and dearest friend, a cousin who was like a brother to him, but he also grieved their long separation and that he no longer knew Turgon’s fate in Middle-earth. She shifted nearer to him on the couch, laying a hand on his leg, crooked under him so they could sit facing each other.

“I haven’t been camping in quite a while now,” she hinted.

“Perhaps we should go,” he said.

“While the weather is nice!” she agreed.

“The weather is always nice here,” Finrod said with a faint chuckle that was somehow wearier she would have otherwise expected. He fell silent and Amarië took his hand and rubbed it between her fingers. He squeezed her fingers in response and after a moment, his gaze returned to her. He reached out and smoothed a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear and Amarië caught this hand too, and turned to press a kiss against his palm.

“Only if you wish to go,” she said. “There are many things for us to rediscover here; I would not be terribly picky.”

“Neither would I,” he said, feeling his heartbeat more acutely at the touch of her lips. “I will go anywhere you like.” As long as I am permitted, he didn’t add. He didn’t need to—not when his own mother was still avoiding him on the basis of the slaughter at the Swanhaven. No one in Valmar or Alqualondë wanted to see him; a great many in Tirion didn’t either, but they didn’t have the option to refuse him entry, certainly not when Finarfin sat the throne of the high king.

“Always so accommodating,” said Amarië with a playful smile, leaning in nearer. “And if I wished to remain right where we are? Right here?” She watched his expression.

“Then I would wish to remain here as well,” he said, curling his fingers around her hand. He wanted to say he would always prefer to be where she was, but it seemed like a hollow sentiment after he’d spent nearly six hundred years apart from her by his own choice. So he said nothing.

“Good,” said Amarië, and she kissed him.

They had kissed since he had been home—since they had realized neither of them had ever moved to break their engagement—but it had not gone much further than that. Finrod’s recovery had been a slow process and neither of them wished to rush anything, and there were moments he simply found being touched at all intolerable. He hated that—hated that Sauron even now could make his skin crawl at the touch of his beloved.

Now, though—now Amarië’s kiss chased away the last of the shadows muddying the edges of his mind and he leaned into it, breathing in with delight the smell of her hair and the perfumes she wore. She had no plans to make it a quick affair either—she moved nearer, pushing him back against the seat of the couch so they were clumsily piled half on top of each other, and her mouth parted against his. He opened too, readily welcoming her and one hand moved up to brush over her face and delve back into her strawberry blonde hair, though he made an effort not to make a mess of her braids.

When finally she drew back for air, she gazed down at him and Finrod felt tremulous: as though she made him into some delicate, wobbly thing which could be crushed with no effort at all. He wanted to throw himself at her; he wanted to hide under a quilt; he wanted to stop feeling that his emotions were some runaway cart perpetually out of his control.

“My sunshine boy,” she said softly, stroking his cheek. This was something new—she had not had the notion of sunshine before, when the had been first engaged. It would have been more appropriate then, he thought with chagrin. But before he could let these doubts dig in, Amarië was kissing him again and he made a sound in his throat like an animal whimper. Amarië pressed closer to him, warm and heavy on top of him and he gripped her waist to keep her there until she shivered and he could feel that she was becoming aroused.

“Amarië,” he started when they broke apart again, catching their breath, their lips flushed and swollen.

“Yes?” she said. Finrod looked stupidly at her, wondering what the devil he had meant to say, if anything. He was grateful these days for a single thought in his head he could put to words. Was it out of place to tell her he wanted her never to let go of him again (impracticalities aside, of course)?

“I missed you,” he said at last. Amarië’s face broke into a smile.

“I missed you too, silly thing,” she replied, and when she pounced on him again he surged up to meet her, heat welling up in his gut and sinking lower. Amarië shifted again and he pulled her to straddle one of his legs, where he could clearly feel her growing hard. She drew her knee up further and Finrod could not help but moan as she brushed against his groin. Amarië responded by pressing down more against his hip and he nipped at her lower lip, aching, aching.

“Findaráto,” she said breathlessly and the sound made him throb; he grabbed the back of her head and dragged her into another kiss; if she had something that must be said, she would have to make more of an effort—but apparently she did not, for she simply sank greedily into his kiss.

He was present, he was here; there were no voices; there were no sounds but his own increasingly desperate noises of arousal and Amarië’s heavy breathing; there was nothing but her hands on his chest, and—and—

Amarië’s hand had found its way between his legs and he gasped sharply as she palmed against him, unable to control the instinctive jerking of his hips towards her hand. It felt—perhaps it was an effect of the Halls?—it felt as if it had been lifetimes since anyone had touched him. Encouraged by this response, Amarië wriggled her hand down the front of his undershorts and drew out his cock, stroking him breathless, turning him incoherent with half-stifled whines and whimpers.

“Amarië,” he implored, for what he didn’t know. “Amarië.” He was shivering. “Oh.”

“Do you want me to?” she asked softly. She had not offered up ‘til then; she had wished to let him take everything at his own pace, once she had seen how delicate he was on his return.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, yes, please. I need you.” That he felt bone-deep, as if for that moment, she was the only thing holding him together. Her hand stilled and she fell on him in another kiss; Finrod pulled her firmly into his lap and her weight on him was something divine; how could he think about anything else now? “Do you have…?”

“I do,” she panted, drawing back. “But not here; I haven’t locked the side door.”

This revelation resulted in Finrod immediately snapping his head around as if Amarië’s mother and father were like to burst through the door at once, and Amarië laughed.

“Remembering our close calls?” she teased.

“Do not make me think of that now,” he reprimanded her feebly, with no desire to relive young adulthood and the handful of times his up-until-then flawless image in the eyes of her parents had nearly been shattered by catching them necking somewhere in the house. Not that it had been much prior to their engagement, but still. Finrod, as a prince of the Noldor, had an image to uphold (a notion all the more bitterly amusing now).

“Come on,” she said, rising to her feet and pulling him along after. He pinned her against the wall near her bedroom door and kissed her senseless; Amarië put her hand between his legs again and he couldn’t stop himself from rutting into her touch, his face flushed, ready to fuck her hand if she would let him; he was not in a position to be choosy. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to finish before they got to do anything more.

But Amarië, this time, had the more sense of the two of them, and herded him into her room (and locked the door) before she started peeling his clothes off like he was a particularly delectable kind of fruit. Her hands roamed over his ribs, his chest, his shoulders; he wanted to press her fingers through his flesh and wrap them around his heart. Instead, he got to work on the fastenings of her robe, making relatively rote work of undressing her. For a moment then they just stood and looked at each other, as if walking onto a long-remembered road and trying to recall exactly where to go. Finrod was relieved that his hands did not tremble when he reached for her; when his hands slid over her pert little breasts and cupped them; when his lips met her throat, her neck, her collarbone; when he drew her against him and felt her squirm with her growing arousal it felt so simple, so easy: easier than walking through the front door on his first day back in Tirion.

One hand slid down over her hip to stroke her, rewarded with her hot hardness in his hand, with the way she twitched into his touch with a soft noise of satisfaction, a kind of sigh, as if she was receiving something she had been waiting for, leaning just a touch against him until he let go of her.

“Look at you,” he sighed, drawing his fingers from her throat down to her bellybutton. “Many wonders have I seen the world over, and all would I trade for a last look at you.”

“Then sound a little more joyful about it,” she teased, scratching at the nest of brown curls around the base of him. “Or have I not earned a portion of your joy?”

That brought a wry smile to his lips.

“I am duly chastised,” he said. “My joy in Valinor has most often its source in you. Let me make it up to you.” His hands moved almost reverently down her sides, then back to her ass, to squeeze and pull her nearer; he wanted to trace over every inch of her with fingers and lips and tongue, but he knew he would not last long enough for that, not now.

We have time, he reminded himself forcefully. We have time, we have time.

“Lay down,” Amarië instructed, pushing him back towards the bed.

She got the oil from where it was tucked coquettishly behind various creams and perfumes on top of her dresser and took in the sight of her beloved on the bed, Finrod the Fair, all golden hair and golden limbs and a shadow in his eyes she had never known before his return. She wanted to shout it away; to chase it out of this space that should be theirs, that should be sacred, and not a shelter for Finrod’s torments.

He had not told her how he’d died, not yet. Only that it involved a promise he refused to break.

She was gentle with her fingers; she was always gentle, and Finrod could weep about it (and once, when he’d been drunk, he had). Nevertheless, she was quick, guessing correctly she could not string him out much at all that day. Even so, he was writhing impatiently on the bed as subtly as he could manage by the time she got herself in position. (She knew him well enough to recognize both his impatience and when he was trying to hide it.)

“Are you ready?” she asked and he nodded quickly, looking up at her with those big brown doe-eyes for which she’d been weak since she was ten years old. There was a helpless vulnerability in him there, like he would not or could not hide that he was putting himself so much into her hands; it was a kind of courage, she supposed, but she and Finrod had always made these gestures so easy between them it had never seemed to stand out before.

Amarië smiled and took his hand and kissed his fingers, and then she entered him. Slow, slow, even though she had prepared him for this, because it had been a long time for him, and she didn’t want even a hint of pain. Her breathing grew labored and she restrained herself to the pace she had set; she had forgotten how good it felt to be inside him. She didn’t know if there was something particular about Finrod’s body, or if it was just that her affection for him rendered her particularly sated by his hröa. Looking at his face didn’t make it easier to control herself: he had a knit between his brows and his blush streaked vividly across his cheekbones and he was making these tiny noises as she pressed in like she was cracking him apart at the seams. When she bottomed out he let out a moan, reaching up to bite on his knuckle and Amarië drew in a quick breath, her fingers twisting up in the sheets.

“Alright?” she checked. “Are you ready?” Finrod made a high-pitched wordless whine and nodded, his hips twitching, his cock flushed and achingly hard. “Do you want this?”

“Please,” Finrod begged, a slight arch in his back as if he could urge her deeper. She leaned down to kiss him and he gasped at the pressure of her weight on his need; she swallowed that noise into her kiss and stroked his thigh.

“I’ve got you,” she promised softly, drawing back enough to look down into those warm brown eyes.

Finrod gave a shaky nod and cupped her cheek and gave her a quick kiss.

“I’ve got you too,” he murmured. She let them stay that way a moment, putting aside the animal need whining in her flesh, before she repositioned and began to thrust into him. The breaking cry that Finrod let out at that first thrust made her dizzy and she had to fight the urge to move faster, harder. She kept it slow and deep for now, and it seemed to be right, for Finrod was shuddering apart already, whimpering and moaning under his breath, his hips jerking clumsily up against hers.

“Do I need to make you turn over, Ingoldo?” she teased when his juddering motions interrupted her rhythm. He only gazed wide-eyed up at her and she kissed him gently, raking her nails lightly down his chest. “No, I would see your face today,” she declined quietly, stroking his cheek. She kissed him again and picked up her movement until Finrod was gripping the sheets as if trying not to fall from a great height, his breathing coming trembling and uneven, his cock leaking as desperate little noises spilled endlessly past his lips.

The world was Amarië and her sparkling eyes and the wobble of her breasts and her cock striking at his core again and again and her hand caressing—on his thigh, on his hip, his chest, his shoulder. The whole of Eä was condensed into how she looked at him as if—as if—as if she were in love still, even now, with him as he was. Without warning, Finrod climaxed, punctuated with short little gasps as pleasure rolled over him in shockwaves, leaving him limp and dazed on the bed.

Amarië thrust a few more times, but she saw how he flinched at this contact, over-sensitive now that he had finished, and she pulled out, using her hand instead. Finrod pushed himself up with one hand, and the other curled over hers, so together they brought her off until she too, spilled her seed across his belly with a low moan. The room was filled with the sound of their panting.

Amarië leaned in and kissed Finrod back down onto the mattress and then curled up against his side, laying her head on his chest.

“I will tell you,” she sighed, “my dreams did not recollect you nearly as well as I imagined they did.” They’d made rather a mess of dear Finrod, but she made no move to peel away from him to trouble herself with any cleaning; the sound of Finrod’s heartbeat was a blanket pulled around her shoulders she had been too long without. She rested a hand against his sternum, her thumb stroking the warmth of his skin.

There was a noise he made, which wasn’t quite right, and she knew it at once, before the shudder went through him and his breathing changed, so when she pushed herself up on one elbow and saw that he was crying, she was alarmed, but not surprised.

“Findaráto?” she asked, at once all anxiety and trying not to show it too much. “Did I hurt you?” she fretted. Choked, Finrod shook his head vigorously, covering his mouth with one hand.

“No,” he whispered, strained. “I—no, you did nothing wrong.” He struggled upright, wiping aggressively at his eyes. “I don’t know—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” she exclaimed. “Is—is something wrong?” The question made her feel like an idiot, when Finrod was in tears in her bed; her stomach twisted in the way it did when she stepped off the stairs thinking there was one more step than there was. It was the first time they had—since he had been back and—Eru, had she been awfully, awfully selfish? Amarië reached out to touch his back, and then thought maybe Finrod would not want to be touched by her then and drew back.

“I should apologize,” she said softly. “Perhaps it was too soon for this.”

“No!” Finrod burst out, rubbing his forearm against his eyes like he could scrub the tears away. “I wanted this. I wanted this with you.” He looked over at her, glassy-eyed, with that worried furrow between his eyes she saw too often anymore and a tightness in his jaw.

“Still,” she said, carefully placing a hand on his arm. “Perhaps we were…too eager.” Finrod shook his head again, breathing slowly and deliberately, trying to regain a semblance of calm. “Do you want to talk about it?” she suggested after a moment.

“I can’t!” The frustration in his voice struck at her heart. “I don’t understand. Everything was fine—it was—but then—” He made a wordless sound of aggravation and doubled over, covering his eyes with his hands.

This time Amarië did put her hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. It rent her heart: her sunshine, her daffodil, her shoot of Laurelin to be so aggrieved and bowed with woe and haunted by phantoms and ghoulish memories she couldn’t begin to understand. Sliding an arm around him, Amarië leaned against his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay, Ingoldo.” She stroked his hair awkwardly from her position and kissed his bare shoulder. “I’ve got you.” When they had paused there a few moments, she said: “Why don’t we lie down a while, hm?” She scratched her nails lightly over his back and re-arranged the pillows so she could lay comfortably back against the headboard, then gestured him over. Finrod lay down alongside her, head somewhere between her chest and her shoulder, and she carded her fingers through his thick golden waves. Frustration and embarrassment lingered in Finrod’s silence. She was not used to his having things to be embarrassed about around her.

“Tell me something about Endor?” she said. This was a prompt she used often when he lapsed into brooding silence or wistful looks; if she had to guess, she would say he was homesick. He had a whole (growing) journal of notes on his time there, for a purpose he had not yet revealed, perhaps on which he had not yet decided. It pleased her to see him with a project; it was good to have his mind focused on something.

Finrod considered her question as he usually did, careful in his selected response. Amarië guessed he painted a very pretty picture of Middle-earth—she did not understand, how he could speak so lovingly of a place which had left him shattered into so many pieces. But maybe she didn’t need to understand—maybe it was enough to listen.

“In many places in Endor, there are four seasons, very distinct and much harsher than here,” he said at last. “In winter, most of the plants die and many animals go to sleep—” There was no word for ‘hibernation’ in Quenya, “—during the coldest parts. There is snow, sometimes many feet deep even away from the mountains, and it falls like a blanket so that when you walk outside, the world feels almost silent. You must rely on stockpiled food or you will be very hungry. It is a time of danger for mortals especially, as they are more susceptible to cold than we are. Every year many of them will perish. So when the weather warms and spring comes, and the plants and animals return, there is much rejoicing. The peoples of Middle-earth, particularly the Atani and Quendi, have many celebrations for the changing of the seasons, and we did not wonder why, when we had seen them for ourselves.”

“You liked spring there, then?”

“I liked all the seasons,” said Finrod. “Each of them has its own risks, but also its own beauty. I liked to ride out into the woods during the winter and see the snow-laden branches of the trees and the places where ice covered the river. I liked coming back to sit by the fire and have mulled wine and take stock of our reserves.” He snuggled against her and she felt their combined fluid wet against her side. He did not say that he disliked traveling more than a few miles from home or over the plains in winter where the snow seemed to stretch out endlessly or staying out until his toes grew numb because of what it made him remember. He did not mention Elenwë then.

Amarië scratched her nails against his scalp, cradling his head against her.

“I wish I could have seen it,” she said honestly. Finrod hesitated.

“There is much in Endor I would have shared with you,” he said softly. ���But there is much else I am glad you never had cause to suffer.”

“Still,” she murmured, and they both lay unhappy in their choices. Finrod’s arm tightened over her and he pressed his face against her breast and Amarië held him closer. Then he said:

“You should not have waited for me.”

Once, she would have said she had a good guess at what was going on in Finrod’s head at any given moment. Not for certain, for no one could ever be certain of Finrod’s mind but Finrod himself, and he had more control over himself than most gave him credit for. At times now she felt she grasped at that closeness, but too often it felt there was a shade between them and sometimes it seemed to her that he was crying out to her about something she couldn’t hear.

But her thoughts on this particular statement were the same no matter what had brought it on.

“Findaráto,” she sighed, “I am sick to death of being told what I should and shouldn’t do, so don’t you start. I have made my choices, the good and the bad, and I will live with them as I may. You worry about your own choices. And,” she added, “if you think my parents did not already make a titanic effort to convince me to put you aside and choose another betrothal elsewhere, you are as optimistic as anyone has ever given you credit for.”

“Did they?” Finrod asked, sounding sweetly, naively surprised.

“Of course they did,” she said. “You remember how upset they were about the rebellion. I couldn’t have been too quick about it.”

“Mm.” Finrod made a chagrined noise. “That does explain a few things.” Amarië cringed.

“I will give my apologies for whatever it is they’ve done,” she said.

“You needn’t,” Finrod said. “I will be the last to advocate the necessity of apologizing for the actions of family members; I would never stop.” Amarië snorted and then wondered if perhaps he hadn’t meant that to be funny, but Finrod huffed as well and made some watery noise of amusement. He drew back from her to look on her face and she tried desperately to read his eyes. I knew you once as I knew myself, she thought. I will know you again. No shadow of Endor nor evil of Moringotto will keep you from me.

She had made a vow once, at twenty-two, that someday she would have Finrod Finarfinion to husband, and to that vow she held still (though Finrod had been asleep at the time she declared it).

“I missed you,” he said very quietly. Amarië bit her lower lip, her throat tightening and it seemed to her those three spare words carried a great deal.

“I missed you too,” she said. For several moments, they said nothing else, and then Finrod drew a hand up her thigh, too soft to be suggestive.

“I want you to know that I—please don’t take my response today as—I wanted to be with you. I still do. Right now everything is…” Again, the furrow of his brow, this uncertainty so unfamiliar to her in his manner, “…complicated. But complicated does not necessarily mean bad,” he added quickly. “If there was a problem, I would tell you. You…you know how you ease my fëa. Home isn’t home without you.” His voice grew softer still. “I trust you with all things, Amarië.”

Amarië nodded, finding herself unexpectedly reassured.

“I trust you,” she said. “Don’t let me hurt you, Ingoldo.” He nodded and lay back down, and Amarië resettled so they lay face-to-face. “Tell me more about the spring celebrations,” she said, tracing her fingers over his chest.

A smile crossed over his face.

“In some of the Mannish villages, they would crown the most beautiful youths in wreaths of flowers, so I am certain if you had been born a Man you would have received many such crowns…”

Amarië smiled too, and let Finrod talk until she could almost smell the cider and taste the honey-cakes of springtime, and they lay under the comforting blanket fortress of their stories as when they were children, and for a beautiful while, there was nothing else outside of that.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Gravity Falls doodle dump!! Mostly Gideon. He's my favorite if you can't tell immediately, lol. I have zero time for drawing outside comms, but I had some time yesterday, while my mom and I were out and about doing errands. I had some spare printer paper on me to draw on. The first three of dipper and "canon" human bill, I actually drew when I was visiting with my cousins last week. And the last one of gideon flexing is a wip, I'm planning on making that a print. That wip sketch has been on patreon for a month or two actually :'D

But all this GF resurgence stuff has gotten me thinking about how I envision older gideon, again. I love him so much!!!!! I headcanon that he's a vampire, there's a little bit of that in here. Maybe more on that in another post??

[bacchuschucklefuck]

while teen while goblin while aroace while injured while doing your best

[agendercryptidlev]

Thinking about how Riz is the one who first used he/him pronouns for Baron & what it's like being AroAce is a queer space. Thinking about Riz seeing the kinship that Raugh and Kristen formed over both being gay and wanting that connection, that sense of community, but holding himself back because while he wasn't "normal" he also wasn't like them. When you're gay you're family and when you're straight you fit in but what happens when you're neither? How do you categorize that.

Riz isn't afraid of his orientation because he's different by societal standards. It's not being queer that scares him no, it's the isolation of not knowing if anyone else feels the way he does. He knows that if he were gay or bi or pan his friends would understand, he'd be like them and be surrounded by people like him. But he's not like them, he is different in a way that seems entirely unique to himself.

So maybe he kind of wished he was gay, and that Baron existed because that was what he was afraid to admit. It'd be a lot less lonely than the truth.

[notherpuppet]

I understand people being curious/excited about when you’ll release your comics but demanding anything from you is unfair and I can only imagine makes you feel unmotivated to continue. Thank you for all you do and props for maintaining your boundaries 🫶

Aw thanks doll ♥️

Luckily I feel like I’ve got a good sense between real life and internet life. And even though I’m online like all the time, I know how to prioritize real life’s demands, duties, and fun times.

Even if those comments are a bit annoying, I am really grateful that the vast majority of the folks who like my fanart are kind and gracious 🥰

I still don’t really understand how I get all this interaction (ty algorithm?) but making fanart is my favorite pastime and I’m glad there are fellow fans who appreciate it! It’s all very sweet. Makes this corner of the internet a happy place for me 🌷

I’m also totally addicted to seeing fanart of hazbin hotel and I love fanfiction, cosplays, and the like. Fandom is so fun, and it’s great to see people be creative. So I try not to pay much mind to the “not-fun and not-helpful” aspects 😂

[werewolfhooligan]

it is halloween

[dykedvonte]

Curly's attempt to prioritize the crew's happiness over safety is very in line with the internal struggles he is going through with wondering if he is happy in his life and path or should he forfeit that security.

It's upsetting cause while as understandable as that projection is, the want to be happy in something you don't feel secure in, he can't see past it and allows it to clog his judgement. This is no longer a matter of happiness but safety, but he in the end was the safest member of the crew in practically every aspect. It's not something he's going to understand the weight of from his position.

His current state is also a reflection and inversion of his mindset at the beginning of the game as well as a metaphor for the exact type of endangerment Anya felt. Where as with Jimmy, he gets to feel that "safety" Curly felt with the position but the lack of happiness he perceived he had.

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna’s Loneliness Part 4 (Sukuna’s Negative Rizz)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Some warnings before we start.

1) This analysis deals with sexual topics.

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans because of their accessibility. Raws are from mangareader(.)to.

3) This was written as of JJK 262 266. (I'm just going to keep updating this until I stop finding things I should've noticed earlier.)

4) The raws broke me in ways you cannot possibly imagine.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Fighting as Communication

Baki the Grappler. This is a manga where men destroy each other’s bodies as a test of strength. It’s poorly written but the art is terrifying and I love it so dearly. Between fights of extreme violence and body horror the characters eat. And that’s it. That’s the manga.

I bring Baki up because Gege is a huge fan of Fujimoto Tatsuki, the creator of Chainsawman. Fujimoto is a fan of Gege too, but more importantly, he is a huge fan of Itagaki Keisuke, the creator of Baki. (His daughter made Beastars btw.) In a way, this means Jujutsu Kaisen has been influenced by Baki. But that’s not a surprise, a lot of manga is.

Itagaki’s work is so massively influetial on Japanese media that it’s kind of hard to grasp since it’s not as popular overseas. When listening to interviews from various Japanese creators, Baki will often be cited as a major influence. And the thing is, you can tell when a creative has read Baki. There’s nothing quite like it. If you’ve read Baki and consume Chainsawman, you will see its bones everywhere. I feel the same about Jujutsu Kaisen.

The main antagonist in Baki is Yujiro Hanma. He is the strongest creature alive. So much so that he has no one to call a rival. He’s bored. He causes trouble. He kills his wife to motivate his son, Baki into becoming stronger. His son, Baki, who he grooms into becoming a fighter that might beat him in combat one day. Kind of sounds like Sukuna, right?

But that’s not my point here. My focus is how Baki doubles as a discussion about strength and manhood. It’s aggressively bisexual. Men love each other with their fists. Straight up the main character says having sex with women is the same thing as fighting men.

And it just doesn’t stop there. The homoerotic nature of the fights is never shyed away from. Here’s an example of my favorite.

He grabs his balls and compliments their size. That’s pretty gay, right? Well there’s this reanimated prehistoric caveman called Pickle that fights Baki’s brother Jack. And how do they fight? They kiss.

I didn’t call it a kiss. Itagaki did. I didn’t say they melded together. Itagaki did. This mangaka overtly calls attention to the homoerotic nature of men fighting men, and how men communicate their love for each other through violence. And yes, it’s sexual. Itagaki wants you to read it that way.

But sometimes he doesn’t want you to read it that way. Sometimes the fights are a dialogue, an emotional conversation. Like one between father and son.

Itagaki is a master of narrative framing. When he wants you to feel a certain way, you will feel it. He also tells his readers that there’s more to the fights than just fighting.

Those are the ideas that help me see the bones of Baki in other works. Men loving men with violence. Men communicating with men through violence. I see these ideas in Jujutsu Kaisen too.

Jujutsu Communication

I’ve gone over how Yuji commucates with other people on their own terms. And a lot of it is through fighting. A conversation without words, learning how someone works. Yuji is good at using fights as tool of communication.

But he’s not the one who tells you that there’s more to the fights than just fighting. Maki does in her spar with the sumo guy.

Just like Baki. Fighting is a means of communication. Gege has told you that there can be more to the fights than fighting. It's a tool used to understand the self and others.

With that in mind, I want to reexamine a particular fight under the lens of Baki rather than Umineko.

Sukuna vs Gojo

Baki tells you that homoerotic readings of its fights are intentional. If you ask me, this probably stems from historical stances on masculinity and homosexuality in ancient Japan. Men loved men and women differently, but both were ok. That’s how Baki can have a girlfriend and his gay fights. Peak bisexual optimization.

What does Jujutsu Kaisen have to do with this? Well it has been extremely queer friendly. We have a multidue of canonical trans characters, non-binary characters, and other flavors of queer characters not disparaged for their identities, Gojo Satoru included. It may not be stated outright, but Gojo and Geto do love each other in a gay way. The subtext is so persisent it’s basically text.

In other words, Gege has already told us, yes please have queer readings of this text. It’s the same way Baki tells you, yes this is straight up convoluded gay sex. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to reread the Sukuna and Gojo fight as some ridiculous mating display between two men who are fighting over can miscommunicate their intent the hardest.

Framed as Courtship

Let’s start with the framing. The pre-fight set up. How does text tell you queer readings are allowed?

Kenjaku does. It’s romantic. It’s a date. This reading has been made valid explicitly. And if there’s room for doubt because of the sarcasm? There’s still additional support for it.

We already know how badly in love Gojo is with Geto. The fight is on the 24th of December, the most romantic day in Japan. And in a fun little Geto parallel, who declared the start of war on this day, violence underlines this new romantic venture.

That doesn’t include Sukuna who recalls Yorozu’s words about teaching love in the context of marriage.

Gojo never heard that conversation which is why the next point is absolutely insane.

The outfit Gojo initially is in resembles that of a groom at a Shinto wedding.

Shinto weddings were implemented after the Heian era. Part of the ceremony includes a priest and a shrine maiden who respectively stand to the right and left of the altar. A purification ritual will occur, lead by the priest, to cleanse the shrine before vows are exchanged. Gakuganji is the priest and Utahime is the shrine maiden. To the right and left of Gojo respectively.

The bride at a Shinto wedding wears mainly white. After the 200% Hollow Purple cleanses the area, the dark shawl is removed and Sukuna remains in mostly white.

How interesting that this battle has been framed as one between groom and bride.

The thing is, marriage in the Heian era was far more lax. There were no major ceremonies. If a man was interested in marrying a woman, he would visit her for 3 nights after receiving approval from her father. Upon the passing of their 3rd night together, the family would have an informal celebration of their union in private. Even after marriage, multiple partners were allowed and sometimes encouraged.

Yorozu’s big celebration proposal to Sukuna and banning of concubines was quite improper by Heian standards. Though it is in line with modern marriages. If Sukuna did not consume any Shinto wedding literature, he probably didn’t recognize that Gojo was dressed as a groom.

But did Gojo dress this way for Sukuna intentionally? The Toji fit served an entirely different purpose. It’s the robes and pre-fight ceremony that catch my attention. So I propose the following:

1) Gojo dressed up as a groom to die and be wed with his one and only Geto in death.

2) Gojo dressed up as a groom in part as an offering to Sukuna. And because Sukuna is from the Heian era it went over his head entirely.

3) Gojo intended for both of these things at the same time and left who he would end up with to fate.

Regardless of what Gojo was going for here, it’s a visual cue combined with the knowledge of it being Dec 24th that encourages the reader to perhaps consider the fight as something other than just a fight. A date perhaps? Kenjaku made the connection and neither Gojo or Sukuna really denied it. Gojo gave the weak excuse of a death anniversary confusion. But much weirder, given how hostile he was to Yorozu, Sukuna did not object to the romantic framing in any capacity.

Am I reaching? Is this reading intentional?

When I start getting this confused by how a translated work wants me to read it, I try to refer to the original language text and anyone who knows it for missing context. Sometimes localizations add things that weren’t there or push readers towards one interpretation. So for the rest of this analysis, I’m going to be focusing on the raws.

I’m going to be honest. My Japanese fudging sucks. I can barely read kanji and can’t reliably translate anything. Feel free to correct me if I got something wrong. That being said, with what little I do know, I have discovered something interesting.

In this post I talked about how weird Sukuna’s manner of speech is. I focused on his you pronoun usage of お前 (Omae) for everyone else and 貴様 (Kisama) for Gojo since this is a strong indicator of how a character views their relationship to someone.

Here's a summary of the two points I made in that post:

1) Omae is informal and either a casual thing amongst peers or indicates the speaker's higher status. Since Sukuna is arrogant, we can reasonably assume he's talking down to people.

2) Kisama historically was a formal show of respect, but in modern times it is a hostile insult, much more rude than Omae. Since Sukuna is 1,000 years old and hates Yuji (who he uses Omae with), we can reasonably assume Sukuna was being friendly to Gojo when he used Kisama.

With that pronoun usage in mind, while examining the raws for the infamous “You Cleared My Skies” speech I found this:

Kisama. Sukuna is very happy and lavishing Gojo with praise. The assumption it was formal from the start seems to be correct. It's hard to read this any other way.

Though Japanese can easily be dubious in its interpretation, there are instances where context can cut off all other readings. I truly believe this one of those cases.

Now, to confirm Sukuna is still only treating Gojo this way I started looking at his you pronouns as he got excited post-Gojo death. Maki is the person he seems to admire the most.

He’s still just using Omae. What does that mean? Gojo is in his own fudging category for Sukuna and he has been there since the start of the manga. (For more on why this is significant, refer to this post.)

Wow ok. That’s pretty intense! We’ve got Gojo dressed up as a groom on December 24th and Sukuna treating Gojo different from anyone else. I read their fight again under the lens of explicit courtship and focused in on these specific panels.

Satisfaction. Now that’s a word that can easily carry a sexual connotation. Love as well. The parallel syntax fascinated me in English. So I decided to look at the raws and see how close they are.

Pretty much the same except for "the one who will teach you love" and "the one satisfying him now". Since the one being satisfied is Gojo by Sukuna, it really seems we can assume the one being taught love is Gojo by Sukuna.

Time to learn some Japanese again!

Kanji has multiple readings. Most have at least two. The Onyomi (Chinese) reading typically used for nouns and the Kunyomi (Japanese) reading typically used for verbs. (This is not always the case but it’s the basics.)

That’s probably why 満 is read as まん (man) when Gojo and Geto are talking about “satisfaction” using the On version and み (mi), the Kun version, when the narrator is talking about who “satisfies” who.

However 満 on its own does not mean satisfaction. It means full. To be filled. Or fullness. 足 (zoku) is added as a modifier after 満 to be read as satisfaction 満足 (manzoku). 足 usually means feet, but it can also mean to be sufficient. Manzoku therefore has a direct translation of being sufficiently full. It’s not a surprise a lot of food places in Japan use Manzoku in their names or advertising.

But what’s this? Why is this sentence written as 満たして or Mi(tashite) instead of 満足して or Manzoku(shite)? The addition of Zoku is what transforms Man into "satisfying". Without the Zoku, it’s just "fill". The means this sentence can be read as “The one filling him up now is—”

We’ve already established that the blank is Sukuna. The new problem is that he’s filling Gojo up. And boy, does that sound homoerotic to put it lightly. But perhaps I am reaching.

So I did what any sane person would do in this situation. I read hentai.

Surely if the phrase 満たして (mitashite) can carry a sexual connotation I will find it in hentai.

...

I immediately found a yaoi doujin called Fill me with your Big Love aka おっきな愛で満たして (Okkina Ai de Mitashite). Honestly, I found too many doujins about creampies specifically. (You have internet access verify this yourself.) When you search Manzokushite the results are much more in line with life satisfaction than sexual satisfaction. ...So Gege decided to use the more frisky phrasing.

Manzoku is also the name of an active sex toy manufacturer (I’m not linking them use a search engine.) and a discontinued adult entertainment news company. So the satisfaction Gojo and Geto talk about, along with Geto using 妬 (ya), the jealous kanji often used between lovers, is definitely probably carrying a sexual connotation too.

So, I’m not reaching. What the fudge did Gege mean by this?

Now that we've established that I am NOT reaching. What do we do with this information?

Well, we ruminate on the fight with the knowledge that Sukuna, of his own volition, decided to get Gojo off, probably.

I have forgiven Nanami for calling Gojo a pervert. If I watched someone bust a nut after being cut in half by his sworn enemy instead of saving the country, I too would be like what the fudge.

Anyways, the typical phrase used for an orgasm in Japanese is 行く(iku). It translates as to go. And yes it can mean to die, as in going to the other side. To die and go to heaven if you will. Which is what Gojo did with a big old smile on his face.

There’s also the term 心天 (tokoroten). It refers to a dish were a semi-opaque white substance is pushed through holes to create noodles. Literal translation using the kanji for heart 心 (kokoro) and the kanji for heaven 天 (ten). (Don’t ask me why them being smack together turns the Koroko into Tokoro. I don’t know.) Which in slang refers to prostate orgasms. This has nothing to do with this analysis I wanted to drop this fun fact in here. …And this image of Sukuna clutching his heart while looking at someone he sent to heaven.

(This is a reach but the idea of this being an elaborate gay pun amuses me greatly.)

I have another fun slang term: 賢者タイム (kenjataimu) which directly translates to sage 賢者 (kenja) time タイム (taimu). This refers to post-nut clarity sending someone into a meditative-like state.

Oh that’s a bit familiar. Sukuna was giving sagely advice to Kashimo and reflecting on satisfaction and love.

And what’s this? Mitashite has made a reappearance! Sukuna is saying “I’ve never thought about needing another person to fill me up.” Which 1. further supports the 'The one satisfying/filling him (Gojo) now is—Sukuna.' reading and 2. suggests Sukuna is a top suggests Sukuna really doesn’t have sexual interest in people. (Since the context of this convo is relationships and love.)

By the way. Acts of eating in Japanese can be modified to carry sexual meanings. It’s a bit more suggestive than English, but it carries over pretty well I think? 肉食系 (nikusokukei) refers to someone who aggresively pursues romantic or sexual relationships. Composed of the kanji 肉 (niku) for meat, 食 (ta) for eating, and 系 (kei) class. If you noticed, 食 isn’t usually read as Soku. It becomes Soku when paired with Niku for some reason. (I don’t know why someone please help me.) Side by side the kanji 肉食 (nikusoku) means meat-eater.

食 is still interesting on it’s own. The 食べる (taberu) reading is normal eating. The 食う(kuu) reading is an innuendo. It can mean to devour someone, like a cannibal, or devour someone sexually.

Sukuna has made it very clear that his eating of people is literal. There’s no innuendo. In fact, if you read into it, he’ll kill you (rip Yorozu and Kashimo).

Gojo, however, appears to be his sole exception to this rule. When Sukuna tells Kashimo not to spoil his pleasure he uses the kanji 興 (kyou). This of course can be directly translated as pleasure, but the Chinese reading of it can also indicate intense excitement or sexual arousal.

Sukuna is pretty good at double-entendre wordplay if his earlier stunts with the kanji for Enchain doubling as Megumi Activities if read a different way is anything to go by. He's a fan of Chinese literature. It's not a stretch to assume there's more going on here.

And if notoriously homophobic Reddit dudebros are posting things like this. Maybe there's a lot more merit to this reading than I can currently grasp.

I’m still pretty convinced Sukuna is aroace. That of course doesn’t bar him from pursuing romantic or sexual relationships. Sometimes there’s the one exception. Sometimes the desire to be with and please an allo partner allows for engagement of activities they aren’t into. Sometimes the actions are pursued without the emotional attachment because they physically feel good. There’s also the gray-scale and demi labels to consider.

With that in mind, I want to emphasize this all points to how important Gojo is to Sukuna regardless of sexuality. He tried to engage with and understand Gojo on terms he won’t for anyone else. And he’s been pursuing this connection relentlessly since the start of manga.

Sukuna’s Negative Rizz

Ok I established that reading the Sukuna vs Gojo fight as unhinged courtship is supported by the text. That doesn’t really say anything about Sukuna sucking at it.

But, my dear reader, that in of itself is proof of his negative rizz. I had to sit down. Learn about Heian era and Shinto wedding rituals, learn more Japanese, splice seemingly unrelated manga panels together, read hentai, and know that Gege is into yaoi to come to this conclusion. I had to rip every little shred of characterization and context apart and rearrange it into something comprehensible.

You know who can’t do that? Gojo.

As far as Gojo is concerned, Sukuna hates him. Kisama is an extremely hostile you pronoun in modern times. And if Gojo can’t tell Shoko (his closest friend after Geto) is stressed over him being used like a meat puppet by her visibly falling back on her addiction, he’s going to default to the assumption Sukuna hates him just as much as everyone else.

And Gojo does just that. He assumes he failed to reach Sukuna. Despite how often they did hand to hand combat and weaponized their knowledge of each other, Gojo believes they never had proper conversation through fighting. He dies not understanding Sukuna, convinced the other was not trying to communicate with him at all.

And if you recall, all of this fight occurred while Sukuna was wearing Megumi’s face. That boy is pretty much Gojo’s adopted child. From my experience, most single parents do not go looking for clones of their kids as partners.

If someone wore the skin of my family member I would assume they were trying to torment me. And torment Gojo Sukuna does. He draws attention to Megumi’s soul being used as collateral and attacks him with the 10 Shadows. We as the audience know this is all for the sake of getting past Infinity using his Shrine. Gojo doesn’t know that. He’s fighting an evil dude who is puppeting the body of his son for god knows what reason.

Seriously, Sukuna sucks at communicating intent.

In Part 3 of my examination of Sukuna’s loneliness, I said Dismantle is a tool Sukuna uses to understand. And that him upgrading it by making Gojo the center of his world was indicative of his desire to reach him. I also said his refusal to use it on Yorozu was him expressing how little interest he had in her.

Yorozu is pissed by this. She sees it as Sukuna rejecting her and I don’t think she’s wrong. Sukuna saved his special Cursed Technique (CT) for Gojo while turning Yorozu down. If we’re considering all the wedding imagery and references that started with Yorozu, I’m certainly allowed to read that as him saving himself for Gojo. (Think of how he lied to Gojo about being the first one he killed.)

There’s also the fact that Yorozu saw their battle as an expression love and lust—that the usage of CT is a type of foreplay under certain circumstances since it is an extension of the self. Combine that with the established premise that fighting is a type of a communication thanks to Maki vs Sumo Guy and you can start to see the courtship logic behind Sukuna’s treatment of Gojo.

If we are to read “The one who will teach you love is…Sukuna” there’s another adorable caveat. Yorozu uses the you pronoun ��なた (Anata) for Sukuna.

It’s an informal you pronoun used by people learning Japanese. Native speakers try to avoid using it as it can come across as rude. But in the context of love? This is colloquially called the wife pronoun as its often used by a wife to her husband.

If you wanted to localize its usage in the way Yorozu means it, Anata might become “you, dear”. So here we have Sukuna dressed in white, like a bride to Gojo’s groom, thinking of him as Anata.

The problem is, Gojo doesn’t know that. Sukuna never bothered to open his mouth and say this was an act of love. Sure he told Kashimo in the most roundabout way possible, but Gojo was the one who needed to hear that. If a courtship is going to be this diabolically complicated, there has to be clear hints for the other party. JJK is not Umineko where there’s a witch that can revive the dead over and over until the idiot finally understands this was all for them.

Gojo also doesn’t have access to the kanji Sukuna uses to describe certain techinques or words. He hears the phonetics and runs with whatever best fits the context. This means there’s no way for him to catch the double-meaning unless he’s a certain type of lingust, which he is not. His manner of speech and personal interests don’t line up with the flowery language of the Heian Era. The types of written works Gojo is into are historical war politics from the Sengoku period (known for violence more than the fine arts), Shonen manga, and physics/math.

And what's this? According to CFYOW (the canon light novels): JJK Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 3 Asakusabashi Elegy, Gojo doesn't even like ancient poetry. You know, the thing Sukuna enjoys and tries to communicate with.

The Kokin Wakashu Gojo off-handedly disparages is a compilation of Hiean Era poetry known as Waka. This was the primary means of communication amongst the noble class and spiritual leaders at the time. And the thing is, this poetry is supposed to be read into. Down to the quality of stroke and paper, not just the kanji written. Especially for courtship.

It’s not that Gojo is stupid. He just doesn’t specialize in the studies that would give him a more critical ear to Sukuna's words. And Sukuna doesn’t seem to understand that no one in the modern era communicates like this anymore.

If you didn’t know, this is why Japanese characters introduce themselves they often describe what kanji their name is spelled with. Take for example: Satoru. He uses the kanji 悟 meaning enlightenment. This kanji can be read as Go instead of Satoru. Additionally, the name Satoru can be written in kanji as 聡 for smart, 智 for wisdom, 知 for knowledge, 了 for understanding, 哲 for philosophy, 聖 for virtuous, or 暁 for daybreak. That’s 8 different kanji possible if you hear the name Satoru.

This is why Sukuna’s wordplay for everything else can be easily missed by other characters. They hear the words and cannot read the kanji like us. Context decides what Sukuna means for them. And since Sukuna’s context for most is violence and insults, it’s very hard for them to think about his words in any other way.

And boy howdy does Gojo miss it. Sukuna straight up calls him his husband and it took me several rereads to catch it. While mocking Gojo for being unable to open his domain, Sukuna calls him "painfully ordinary". This is localized from the word 凡夫 (bonpu) which can also be translated as unenlightened. (A layered insult! Sukuna is pretty much saying Gojo's sorcery is so boring he shouldn't even call himself the Honored One.)

The thing is...Bonpu is comprised of the 2 kanji 凡 for mediocre, and 夫 for husband. (Please note that there are many other ways to call Gojo a ditz without using the kanji for husband.) And an update from the Replies: Turns out there's layers to the gayness too.

It's come full fudging circle. Gojo came dressed as a groom for a wedding and Sukuna thinks they're already married. The miscommunication is off the rails.

But wait! There's more...

Earlier I mentioned that the kanji for Enchain doubles as Megumi Activities. Let's break that down more. (Unfortunately the Twitter account of the person I referenced may or may not be nuked so here's this screenshot I've doctored.)

So we have the translation of Enchain from 契闊 (Keikatsu), which might be better localized as Separation.

This term comes from a Chinese poem about lovers who are husband and wife in The Book of Odes, Section I (Lessons from the States), Chapter 3 (The Odes of Bei), Poem 31 (Banging the Drum). (Here's a link to the full poem and context of it.)

In summary, it’s about a soldier who is on the brink of death, having lost nearly everything after being abandoned by those in power, lamenting the happiest days of his life with his love are ones he can never get back. (Hey that sounds just like what Sukuna did to Yuji!)

Keikatsu specifically comes from this passage:

“Our vow is beyond death and life”, I and you are together I always remembered. I will hold your hand, And together we grow old.

Too pitiful we are faraway apart, The distance separates us to meet again! Too miserable this takes forever, And it does not let us fulfill our vow!

Keikatsu is used to exemplify how the physical distance between the husband and wife prevents them from fulfilling their wedding vows. And that's just what Keikatsu/Enchain does to Yuji and Megumi, it causes painful separation neither of them wanted.

Keikatsu also tells Yuji exactly how Sukuna plans to do it. 契(kei)闊(katsu) can be written as 恵(kei)活(katsu). The kanji 恵 can be read as Kei or...Megumi. (It's the literal kanji used for his name.) The kanji 活 (katsu) can mean "activities", which is how we get Enchain=Megumi Activities.

A two for one special! Sukuna mocks Yuji for being so close with Megumi while telling him exactly how he's going to destroy their relationship.

It seems this has nothing to do with Gojo until you consider the 3rd possible reading from wordplay with 契闊 (Keikatsu). The kanji 契 when read as Kei refers to a promise, pledge or vow. When 契 read as Chigi? It can refer to sexual intercourse, especially between husband and wife.

So we have 契闊(keikatsu, separation), 恵(kei Megumi)活(katsu, activities), and 契(kei chigi, spousal sex)活(katsu, activities). It's no wonder he erased Yuji's memory of it.

Keep in mind, that when Sukuna uses Keikatsu, the only vow that he has made at this point is his promise to kill Gojo. He eventually does that using Megumi's body during a fight framed between groom and bride. And for reasons beyond their control, Sukuna and Gojo have been unable to fulfill that vow through lengthy separation.

Notes from poem "Banging the Drum" Sukuna references include the following:

"And during the operation, he lost his horse, which was a desperate situation (horses in ancient time carried soldier supply and weapons, are life companion for soldiers in advance or retreat), he lost his horse, his supply, maybe his armor and weapons, and the road he was facing that we may lose his life so he may never go back. In all these mess, he started searching, and somehow at this hopeless moment he started to revisit his happiest moment, when he together vowed in marriage ceremony with his wife, and he was even afraid that he might never see his love again."

"And His last statement for his true value is his home, his love, his fulfillment of his vow is his true duty. Hero's duty is to pursue love."

In Buddhism, which JJK is heavily influenced by, horses are a pretty big deal. Horses can represent the path to enlightenment, especially since The Buddha's horse is what takes him on this journey away from his wife and children. They separate in the end though, the horse dying of a broken heart.

Remember how Sukuna called Gojo unenlightened? He sort of guided Gojo to enlightenment using Mahoraga, whose Eight-Handed title is a reference to the Eightfold Path to be followed for enlightenment. Buddhist enlightenment is centered around liberation from suffering. (Just check the wiki entry to verify this.) Infinity was the source of Gojo's suffering and Sukuna cut right through it.

Sukuna has been running around with a broken heart for a good chunk of the post-Gojo fight. And if you take that into consideration with this poem and all the other symbolism, he's somehow a Buddha, a Bodhisattva, the dying husband, the widowed wife, and the heartbroken horse all at the same time. Not unlike his wordplay taking on every possible meaning at once.

But my point here is that Sukuna might’ve seen his fight with Gojo as consummation of their marriage. (There's probably a joke in here about the husband reaching climax while leaving his wife unsatisfied.) Remember in the wise words of Itagaki Keisuke, "Fighting and sex are exactly the same!"

In Conclusion?

This is possibly one of the most bizarre and elaborate expressions of love I have lost my mind over. Sukuna gave everything Gojo ever wanted from Jujutsu violently. He did it in such an unpleasant and cruel way that the target of his affection thought there was nothing between them. Sukuna also hid his intent under social norms that no longer exist. Unless Gojo happened to be into ancient literature, there was never a scenario where he would catch onto this. Sukuna's failure is critical on multiple levels.

It’s impressive. It really is. No one knows how Sukuna’s strange little brain works so he’s stuck being loner without anyone that fully understands him. (I’m still thinking about how Uraume didn’t know Sukuna was a twin for over 1,000 years.) He’d have to let people in and tell him outright, but he’s just like Gojo so I guess that’s never happening.

[trobeds]

i know the hunger games isnt about romance i know it isnt a love story but. theres just something so beautiful in the way peeta is the personification of what it means to heal and he /is/ the dandelion and the bread and the hope that things can be better even if they wont be fixed. even if the nightmares dont stop he will still hold her. wake her up and tell her shes alive. shes safe. and when its over and done and theres no more saving or protecting or trying their absolute hardest to die if it means keeping the other alive, the horrors dont stop. but katniss will still find that comfort in peetas arms.

[apollos-boyfriend]

the jaiden-roier-cellbit dynamic is so important to me because like. cellbit treats jaiden and roier's relationship with the same level of respect and importance that jaiden treats roier and cellbit's marriage. which may not seem like that big of a thing but like. platonic relationships are often seen as "lesser" than romantic ones, and that your romantic partner should come first before all other bonds in your life. and seeing cellbit treat jaiden and roier's bond and relationship with the same respect that jaiden treats his marriage. as an arospec person it genuinely makes me want to sob

[aeb-art]

note: the following is three (almost four) years post-game

okay fine i'll just draw comics for my au since writing is so dang hard smh

anyways welcome to two coins! where loop shows up again but siffrin only got the one hat ending

edit: part two

[sorrelpaws]

no offense but i genuinely fear that their potential dynamic will go severely underutilized

[kinokoshoujoart]

oops all rock (springtime edition)

i’ll be able to draw digitally again soon! ;w; in the meantime i’ve been scribbling a lot on paper…

could not wait for Soon, so i resorted to coloring it using the markup tool in default iphone photos app (don’t do that ever again)

[wombywoo]

hello! do u draw the maps and diagrams in the backgrounds on ur art by urself or do u use pre existing images or smth :0?

(like the map in ur most recent gaz work)

Haha, hell no! I could never have the patience or skill for that 🙆‍♀️ Most of my backgrounds for the latest COD art have been collage work. So for the Gaz one--I found a bunch of images through google and rearranged them how I wanted through mostly trial and error. yeah, if I had to draw a whole map of London by hand..💀

All these ones have backgrounds made through collage:

[bunitivity]

Do they? Yes

[genderisareligion]