I accept all fic requests, rants and headcanon reqs :3 my inbox is always open!
✴︎ what i don't do : noncon, incest, underage, or romanticization of SA. I personally am not ready nor want to write under that, so please do not bring up the topic
٠ ࣪⭑ i'm just here to improve my writing, and write about my interests, lol
synopsis: in which toji meets his little sister for the first time, and it's on the ledge of a bridge, and the few times after that, he decides it's time they both leave
tags: older brother!toji, suicidal themes, reader stands on the ledge, selective mutism
masterlist
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
toji was 12 when his sister was born.
one surprisingly from his own mother. honestly, he had assumed she was too old to have more. but she did. and it was a girl.
from what he has heard his old man was not happy about that. it didn't matter that she had an exceptional amount of cursed energy, apparent even from birth. he did not want a daughter, he had a few of those with the servants of the zenin clan. but the difference between them and her was she was born to his wife.
he overheard the others wondering if his father was cursed, one son born with no cursed energy whatsoever, and one a girl. the only balm on that wound for the elder zenin was his other son, jinchi.
toji couldn't really be bothered by any of it, if he were honest. a sister or not. his sister or not. he couldn't be too bothered. and so he never visited his mother or went to see the girl.
but news travels within the clan, and by the girls fifth birthday, it was known she had a technique valued by many.
reverse cursed technique.
a technique even the strongest of the bunch had trouble learning.
toji knew what that meant. the girl, whoever she was, whatever her name was, was going to be forced into a life of slavery. she would never know peace now.
toji stuck to his room and the hallway to the dingy room where he would eat, and during that small trek. he had the glorious gift of hearing all about how the young girl was being trained.
servants brought to near-death states and being miraculously brought back to perfect condition. he would let these claims pass from one ear to another.
so, the girl had talent. wonderful. anything could be better than the reject of the zenin clan, even a young girl.
toji was 18, when he first met his sister. for the first time in weeks-maybe even months- he had ventured out to the gardens.
it was sometime after 1 in the morning, prime time the clan house and garden calmed down. no one was out.
his pace slow, one foot trudging behind the other. it wasn't until he was some ways from the bridge to the canal, that he looked up.
a young girl was climbing the ledge of the bridge. the girl lifted her body carefully, unsteady, and slowly sat on it facing the canal, before she slowly manoeuvred her body to stand.
still, toji made no move. until he noticed her slowly lifting her foot in the air, towards the canal. she kept it up and seemed to be in thought.
toji didn't rush towards the child, he walked towards her, soundless.
"what are you doing?"
his voice hoarse from disuse. the girl who's head was tilted down looked up and over towards him, before looking back at the canal down below.
she didn't move for a second and toji thought about repeating his question, when she turned away from the ledge, jumped down onto the bridge, nodded her head a single time without making any eye contact, and walked away, in the direction from which toji assumed she came.
toji did not follow her, but his eyes did. it wasn't until she was gone that he looked down at the stream below. it was deep. perhaps not enough to kill him, but enough to kill a child as small as the one that left.
you should've known better than to leave your quarters at 1 in the morning. it wasn't nearly late enough for everyone to be asleep. you did not think this time, but next time you would know better. you'll come later than this time, perhaps not tomorrow, a few days later.
tomorrow, though, you'll have to wake up at 5, and practice on more people. the smell, you thought, the smell would drive you insane. but it will be for a little longer before everything will be fine.
the next time, toji sees the little girl, it's on the same ledge. this time, she's sitting on it, kicking her feet in the air, still looking downwards intot he canal. toji appraoches slowly and just as quietly as last time.
he leans on the ledge with his arms crossed, looking down. he raises his brows and hums. he doesn't need to look at the girl to know she's tensed up.
"long way down."
and once again, the girl does not speak. she turns around, still sitting, before jumping off. he watches her throughout this motion, still leaning. once again she nods at him, and scurries back from where she came.
this happens a few more times over the span of a few months. no words shared by the little girl.
but toji only realises she's his sister, the day he comes with a bleeding arm.
toji doesn't care about the blood dripping from his arm. he's had worse, and as long as he lives here, he will continue to have worse.
his only intention is getting to the bridge to make the girl is on it. he doesn't know why he cares about one little girl. but it's certainly providing a welcome distraction. the thought that there is someone in this accursed place as miserable as he is. even if the person is a tiny little girl.
as he reaches the bridge, he sees her already standing there, about to make the leap at least. toji clears his throat, and for a second he wonders if he's too late. if the girl will have already taken the leap, and his voice has done nothing but scared her into jumping. but she doesn't, she turns around and faces him.
smoothly, as this is now a semi-regular occurrence she jumps off and is about to leave, when her eyes fall on his arm.
its not a pretty sight, he knows. his forearm is slashed deep, and despite it having been enough time for it to have clotted. he knows it is too deep to have stopped bleeding.
"yeah, it's something," he tries consoling, as the little girl looks at him with an unsettling stare, "don't worry about it, kid."
what he doesn't expect is her to walk towards him and pressing her hand into his wound. he hisses under his breath, about to push her away.
all these zenin bastards are the sa-
before he feels it. the wound stitching itself back together. muscles and sinews attaching to one another.
a beat.
and then the girl steps back, looking at it with a disinterest that toji cannot replicate.
his brain immediately supplies that the girl is his sister. the only one in the zenin clan who can use rct.
toji does not know what to say for a minute, should he thank her?
but the girl apparently satisfied nods and turns around and walks away once again.
this might be the first time toji's felt troubled. he's seen her before, on the edge, contemplating her death. that didn't make him feel as troubled, as he does now.
he can't figure out, if it is because they're related or if he's grown to care for the girl. or what reason, there might be, but he feels as if there is a disturbance in the air.
perhaps its best, he no longer comes to this ledge.
toji chooses to put the incident behind him. he will no longer interact with the girl. whether she lives or dies, it doesn't matter. a few days go by like this, and toji's almost forgotten about the girl. he hasn't heard of her death, either, so he assumes she's alive.
its on the fifth day since figuring out who she is, that he hears the servants talking in hushed whispers.
the kid had attacked their father. left deep scratches in his face, the details are far and few, but he knows this, the girl is about to face hell. you don't attack the head of the clan. but you, especially, don't if you are a woman.
toji decides to visit the bridge again.
this time it's different to the last time. the girl is shaking and wiping her face aggressively. she stands on the ledge.
"oi kid-"
she looks at him, face blotchy and red, and doesn't hesitate before her body is no longer on the ledge.
toji doesn't know what happened next. doesn't even comprehend what he's done, but the girl is in his arms, and he's held her tightly to his chest.
the girl doesn't seem to realise either, her heart racing and eyes wide open. before she flails, nails digging deep into toji's forearms, legs kicking.
it isn't until he feels his skin break, that he releases her.
the girl lands on the floor, and looks at him, distraught.
toji gets a good look at her face then. so much like his. but at the same time not. he's about to reach for her, help her up, when they hear angry yells from the direction she usually comes from.
the kid looks over, and in seconds gets up and runs towards it.
he stands there, wondering what he should do. this is the first time in a long time that he's bothered to act.
he stands there for a while.
toji is 19 when he decides to leave the zenin clan. but he doesn't go alone. he decides to take his 7-year-old sister too.
I spent a few minutes writing a toji fic only for it to not save because it had a format problem on tumblr. Literally all my work went to waste i hate my life
Is Invincible Fascist Propaganda? (the comic) *major spoilers*
Or: Why I Don’t Like the Ending
I love superheroes. I grew up on them. But no genre is without it’s flaws, and this one has a very particular, very insistent flaw: it keeps flirting with Fascism. Sometimes knowingly. Sometimes with the bashful innocence of a golden retriever goose-stepping by accident.
At the heart of the superhero myth is the strongman fantasy: the Übermensch in tights. The “special” who stands above the ordinary, waging endless righteous war against “evil” others to protect “the innocent.” It’s baked right into the DNA.
If you doubt me, take one of the most beloved superhero films ever, The Incredibles. I adored it as a kid, but let’s be honest: it’s basically Objectivism for children. One of its central messages is that some people are just better, and it’s unfair to ask them to dim their brilliance for everyone else’s sake. Cue the iconic line:
“If everyone is super, no one is.”
Sounds inspiring until you realize it’s one step away from “some are born to rule.”
Now, I’m not saying The Incredibles was designed as propaganda. But propaganda doesn’t need to announce itself with a swastika flag. It can seep in through structure and payoff. There’s a brilliant breakdown of this in a long (but worth it) video essay on fascist media, which explains how propaganda can masquerade as its own critique.
The gist:
A film can appear 90% anti-fascist, and still end up completely fascist by the last act, if the final moral turn flips sympathy toward the ideology it claimed to reject.”
The example given is Hero (2002). Most of that movie follows a man trying to end tyranny by killing the Emperor. The narrative trains us to root for him, until the ending, when he decides, actually, the Emperor was right all along. His submission is framed as noble. The title itself tricks us: Hero isn’t about defiance, but obedience.
That’s how ideological sleight-of-hand works: by seducing the viewer first, then quietly swapping the moral cards while the audience’s guard is down.
Which brings me back to Invincible.
For most of its run, Invincible looks like it knows exactly what it’s doing. It seems to get the fascist subtext baked into superhero stories, and to be actively deconstructing it. The Viltrumites are portrayed as what they are: space fascists. Eugenic, imperialistic, obsessed with purity and domination.
Mark Grayson, our protagonist, is the moral counterpoint, the boy who rejects his father’s genocidal worldview. For almost a hundred issues, the comic insists that empathy and humility are stronger than brute force.
And then comes the ending.
Mark becomes God-Emperor of the universe. Okay, technically “benevolent ruler of the Viltrumite Empire,” but let’s not kid ourselves. The empire isn’t dismantled, it’s rebranded. Colonization doesn’t stop, it just gets a PR glow-up. And the story treats all of this as progress.
Let’s break it down:
• Nolan’s Restoration. Mark’s father is “restored” to his rightful place as ruler through bloodline, literally a return to monarchy framed as moral resolution. The comic treats this like healing the galaxy’s wound, as if the problem wasn’t the system of hereditary autocracy itself, just the wrong guy in charge. Once the “good king” returns, the empire can be great again.
• Mark’s Succession. After Nolan’s death, Mark inherits the crown. But instead of dismantling empire, he leans into it. His rule is “benevolent,” sure, but it’s still imperialism with better manners. He becomes the cosmic equivalent of a colonizer who insists he’s bringing peace, not subjugation. Planets are still being folded into an expanding empire, they’re just doing it with smiles and handshakes now.
• The Destruction of Democracy. This is the kicker. Mark literally destroys a functioning intergalactic democracy, wipes it out, because it’s “corrupt” and “inefficient.” And the narrative frames this as the right thing to do. The democracy’s biggest crime? Being slow. Debating too much. Not acting decisively enough. The comic rewards him for choosing decisive strength over collective deliberation, textbook fascist logic dressed up as heroic pragmatism.
• The Language of Benevolent Strength. The final chapters drip with that “we rule for your own good” rhetoric. The empire is now “peaceful,” the conquest “orderly.” The Viltrumites are still an occupying force, but one that talks about unity and harmony. It’s space colonialism in moral cosplay “saving” the galaxy from chaos by ruling it. The same narrative logic that justified European empires, now projected onto alien worlds.
And because we’ve spent so long sympathizing with Mark, because the story built him up as the moral heart, we buy it. We’re told this is the good ending. The problem isn’t power, the comic whispers, it’s who wields it.
That’s the same ideological sleight of hand Hero pulled. The anti-fascist becomes the fascist, and the story calls it growth. It begins as a rejection of tyranny and ends up reinforcing it.
By its final issue, Invincible doesn’t dismantle the strongman myth; it crowns him king of the cosmos. It doesn’t reject empire; it canonizes it as destiny. And it doesn’t defend democracy; it vaporizes it for daring to be slow.
Dunno if this take is unique or a common critique. The ending really bothered my ever since I read it. I just couldn’t figure out why.
Then I stumbled across an interview with the creator Robert Kirkman, calling Jeff Bezos a “great man” And I was like huh the politics in Invincible being against strong-men, cult of personality leaders does not seem to line up with that statement. Plus it just really skeeved me out.
It didn’t click for me, for years. Until I read Watchmen and saw how it dealt with the baked in conservatism in comics, (and masterfully deconstructed it) it still didn’t completely click though, until I saw that video, stewed on it for a few hours and then a lightbulb went off in my head.
But hey, I’m completely open to critique. I know this is a fairly out-there take and I’m writing this at almost 2 A.M. while the idea is still fresh in my mind. So who knows whether this even turns out coherent.
Anyway, I hope they change the ending in the cartoon.
Besides that, the ending sentiment of answering that question posed all the way back in the very beginning about what Mark will have in 500 years, is beautiful.
Ultimately, this is just an observation and I don’t want to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of either the comic or show.
(And when I say the Superhero genre has baked in fascist elements, I am in no way denying, how it has also been genuinely used to critique those very systems, it’s complicated.)
So a problem I've noticed starting to arise when it comes to how people talk about the Viltrumites is one I've seen show up in other discussions about media.
People will often think it would be nice to live under Viltrumite rule, that the Viltrumites aren't that bad, or suggest Oliver asking if Mark thinks Omni-Man had a point is somehow valid. Alongside some people not necessarily calling the Viltrumites what they are by merely calling them imperialist, and by extension downplaying what they are.
The Viltrumites are clearly and blatantly fascist, and because of this the claims that they aren't that bad or it would be nice to live under their rule is dumb to say.
This is something that I have seen in other discussion about media whether it be Starship Troopers or Helldivers. Where people either miss the point or are drawn in to liking certain fictional groups because they agree with what they are saying, regardless of satire or if the character is meant to be a bad person.
A similar thing has happened in Warhammer 40K, where people miss over the fact that almost every single group is overtly meant to be a variant of fascist, and that Space Marines are included in this.
Or how people are drawn in to liking someone like Homelander and Rorschach thinking they are actually good people.
Heck this has even happened with Star Wars when people have claimed the Empire did nothing wrong, ignoring who they blatant represent. They aren't called Storm Troopers for no reason.
The Viltrumites are no different, they are fascist plain and simple. So far we have seen them straight up perform eugenics on their own species, in a might makes right mentality. Such practices is more than likely the reason why there are less than 50 "pure" Viltrumites left.
The Viltrumites as view themselves as having a right to rule over other species, because they are somehow "superior." As often the perform a specific Undertale route on those they subjugate.
This is further seen in how they are selective in what alien species they will have relationships with, as they need to look like Viltrumites. This ties into their practice of eugenics. Because of their elitist mindset they have contempt for those they perceive as weak.
They are also militaristic, you have how they treat resistance, and a kind of of cult of heroism. In others words, they meet a lot of the points.
Written by Eris
ok, the other day i said invincible tries to be better than the comic w some social issues stuff, but it actually still keeps the making fun of progressives by making them villains thing, even in 2025, before things started getting conservative again. which normally would be... whatever, but it notably does not have the same types of jokes for the opposite side of the political spectrum. i just kinda noticed it after rewatching invincible and then watching creature commandos which opens with this:
which kinda makes it clear which side they're on. even flag here, who was one of the misogynistic characters in the show, doesn't approve. meanwhile, i dont think you'd see any villain like them in invincible
ok but like I feel like we need to talk about the internalized ablism in the background of Rudy's entire character. like the fact that he specifically choses a clone body based on an able-bodied conventionally attractive person to connect with other people under the assumption that it would be impossible to form bonds in his original body.
have to wonder if my old friend's abusive husband (the reason we don't talk to any of those friends anymore) knows that the character in invincible he's most like, being a big fan of the comics and the tv show, is literally nolan grayson
invincible is a genuinely good series and part of what makes it so good is that like. it is a horrifically genuine and impactful exploration of abuse and fascist ideology, and esp like. the desires of abusive men to "punish" those who they believe to be their inferiors for "weakness"
omni-man is so self-obsessed and so desperately concerned with his own superiority that whenever his selected few - his friends, his son, other loved ones - don't immediately bow down to his "correct" opinions, he either shuts down or flies into a violent rage
Here is a brief snippet of the current fic I am working on called Prisoner's Dilemma. A fanfiction where Cecil is a little more broken after everything he’s been through. He never accepts Radcliffe’s offer. Never gets out of prison. Somehow, he still manages to get dragged into the Grayson family drama.
Life in prison made sense. It was easy and simple. Everything had structure and Cecil ensured it stayed that way. When Cecil first arrived here over a decade ago, Payton Penitentiary had been a chaotic hell hole where any day could be your last. A place where the powerless didn’t last long. Hell, he’d taken the bed of someone whose remains had to be scrapped away into a bucket. It was still a hell hole but at least you weren’t gonna get your head caved in for looking at the wrong person funny.
Cecil accepted his life here. Radcliffe had stopped trying to convince him to lead the GDA years ago. He wasn’t interested in that life anymore. He couldn’t be responsible for people. Not after those seventeen people. He thought about them every day, repeating their names in his head like a mantra. Cecil knew he would never be a hero not like he dreamed of when he was young wrapped in a threadbare blanket in a too-cold and still house, his head buried in comics and papers telling the real stories of heroes like Immortal, War Woman, and Brit. Back when he still believed in good and evil. Heroes and Villians. Back when the world was black and white and not the monotone greys of Payton Penitentiary. But that didn’t mean he was willing to become the person Radcliffe claimed the world needed him to be.
He was willing to carry out the rest of sentence in the only way he knew how—by keeping order in the place where order had no right to exist. Becoming top dog of this place hadn’t been easy. But Cecil wasn’t going to allow a bunch of superpowered criminals push him around.
Cecil had learned early on that prison wasn’t about strength, not really. Strength helped, sure, but it wasn’t what kept you alive. What really kept you alive was control. Knowing who to push, who to pull, and when to let things settle on their own. Payton Penitentiary had been a place where people died for the smallest things—a misstep in the yard, an insult thrown in the cafeteria, a wrong glance at the wrong person.
Cecil had changed that.
He built something here—not a kingdom, because he wasn’t that vain, but a structure. A system. He made sure people who followed the rules lived, and those who didn’t? They got put down fast. It took years, but eventually, people listened. Even the ones who shouldn’t have.
Titus was proof of that.
"Boss," a deep voice rumbled from behind him.
Cecil glanced over his shoulder at the massive light blue-skinned man looming in the doorway. Titus barely fit through the damn thing, ducking his body so his massive frame didn’t crack the top of the doorframe. He had been a monster when Cecil met him—pure rage packed into a body too strong for its own good. Back then, Titus killed without thinking, without reason. But now? He wasn’t exactly soft, but he followed Cecil’s rules.
That was the thing about monsters. You could teach them to listen if you spoke the right language.
"What is it?" Cecil asked, dragging his cigarette from his lips.
Titus crossed his massive arms, shifting his weight with a grunt. "New fish comin’ in."
Cecil flicked the ash off his cigarette. "Since when do you care about fresh meat?"
Titus shrugged, the motion making his massive shoulders roll like shifting tectonic plates. “You’ll wanna see this one.”
Cecil sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn’t give a shit about new prisoners anymore. Once, maybe, he would’ve scoped out fresh arrivals, decided where they slotted into his carefully maintained order. But after years inside, after clawing his way to the top of this hellhole, after turning chaos into something resembling civilization—what more was there to do?
Still, if Titus thought this was worth his time, that meant something.
“Alright,” Cecil muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “Let’s see what poor bastard they’ve tossed in today.”
They made their way through the cell block, the heavy steel doors groaning as they passed. Other prisoners saw them coming and stepped out of the way. Even the ones with powers, the ones who thought they were untouchable, kept their distance.
Cecil had earned that.
He had earned all of it.
Titus led him past the cafeteria, through the back corridors where they kept the new arrivals before processing. Cecil expected to see the usual—some bruised-up thug with too much mouth and not enough brains, or another idiot who thought they could take over what he had built here.
Instead, what he saw made him stop cold.
Because standing in the dim light of the processing area, small and terrified, was a child.
A kid.
A kid who couldn’t have been older than eight, wearing clothes too big for his small frame, fists clenched at his sides as if pretending he wasn’t scared when everything about him screamed that he was.
Cecil felt something settle in his gut—something dark, something sharp.
He turned to the nearest guard, voice like ice.
"The fuck is this?"
The guard—a young recruit, probably fresh out of whatever hellhole Radcliffe had picked him from—stammered, shifting under his glare.
"Orders from the GDA," the guard mumbled. "Director Radcliffe’s orders."
Cecil’s jaw clenched. Of course it was. Radcliffe’s games had always been cruel, but this? This was something else.
"Who is he?" Cecil asked, voice low.
The guard swallowed. "Mark Grayson."That name meant nothing to Cecil. But it would. Because even though he didn’t know it yet, this kid was going to change everything.
Y'all ever see like a premise with so much potential, and then you read it and they sold tf out of it💔 Shit makes me so mad, like MOVE Imma write it my damn self. Lemme show you how its done 😭
Uncle Toji comes around once in a blue moon at family gatherings, but never staying for long. Each visit, you remember seeing him wear the same black shirt and sweatpants over and over again, as if he didn't have another pair of clothes. Not to mention that you'd always find him either eating or drinking. Or even having both in hands.
No one really talks to Toji, and Toji doesn't talk unless spoken to, either. So when interacting, it's usually a miss. Even as a kid you've always wondered why everyone ignored him, or how some of your family members weren't keen on inviting him. He looks scary, sure, but the one time you spoke to him he just seemed like any other person. Like someone who just wanted to be acknowledged. But maybe not.
Despite Toji's looks and how he acts, he doesn't drink anything with alcohol like the other adults. When he's drinking something, it's juice, soda, or water—pretty much anything that isn't alcohol. You have seen him take a smoke break or two at the side of the house before, though, far away from the kids and everyone, really. You caught him once, and he had jokingly offered you to smoke as well, then immediately declining when you actually wanted to.
He's also surprisingly well versed and knowledgeable on certain subjects and topics, and you would've never found out if he hadn't seen you studying. He's good at math and history, and helps you understand the terms by using short, simple words. One time, he had given you information on history for your project after just one look."I didn't know that happened," you'd say, and he would provide you with a low chuckle, amused. "Pretty bad, huh?"
He doesn't look like the type, but he remembers things easily. Except for names. And it's weird because he remembers a lot of movies, new and old, their titles and the actors that starred in it. You started to suspect that he either doesn't put the effort to remember other people's names, or just purposefully forgets. Either way, uncle Toji is confusing.
Like everyone in your cursed family, Toji is nowhere near a good person. He feels cracked, forever in shards, unable to fit back together. Everyone seems to notice. And everyone seems to ignore it.
He's intimidating and strong, but at the same time he can look the opposite, even with his physique. Everyone seems to ignore it. To look away, to whisper and judge. To laugh and mock what they created.
And sometimes it hurts you, too, knowing you could never say the things you want to. You were, after all, still a mere child. And words from someone so young wouldn't do anything, no matter how comforting you could be.
Speaking of comfort, Uncle Toji brings comfort to a lot of the kids in the Zenin family. Which was weird, because the adults do not trust him with a lot of things. All they do is ridicule him, either behind his back, or subtly. Yet even though Toji was confusing, he was more comforting than the fathers and mothers the children belonged to. You could see that he never really minded, gaze softening ever so slightly despite his hesitance.
"You should be a father." You told him out of the blue, causing the man to cough, choking on his spit. "What makes you say that?" A hum. "You're nice." Then a pause. "I wish you were my father instead."
Those were one of the rare times his gaze softened in the Zenin household.
OP, this is genuinely a masterpiece, three poems in one, moving and well craft. Please tell me you have submitted it to at least some poetry contests, and if not, please do so.
One of my favorite things about the middle school flashbacks is that they firmly establish that Yuji isn't made scary because of Sukuna. He's always been that mildly terrifying child.
I absolutely love when fics portrays Yuji as a kind person, but also... there's something off about him. He's a great guy to br around! But he also put people around him on edge
