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evilminji · 9 months ago

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You know what would be both Cool(tm) AND Pants Shittingly Terrifying? Eldritch Space Whale Danny!

Except NOT! Because he's not a whale! Just snoozing and Giganto-Fuck-Off HUGE!

Imagine it! Danny. Joint Custody Child of The Ancients Of Time And Space. Space is SALTY AF because their BITCH OF AN EX has used his FUCKING POWERS, AGAIN, to CHEAT. Clockwork how DARE YOU.

You knew he'd be our Son in advance!

YOU SNUCK IN AND STARTING BONDING WITH OUR CHILD BEHIND MY BACK!

YOU [REDACTED]!

Danny? Sitting off to the Side as a Sentient Everything and Nothing made of galaxies and starlight, howls expletives at their Ex, who is being... REALLY snippy back? WOW, Clockwork. I mean, JESUS, man. Danny's from "oh bless their heart" Nowhere, Midwest. And even HE thinks that last one was both backhanded and cold af.

......he should take notes. *continues to eat his popcorn*

Anyway! APPARENTLY, Space Parent has taken him in the divorce. With much huffing. Tucked under their arm Like The Football(tm). And honestly? This is kinda hilarious, so he's cool with it. Byyyyyy~ Clock Dad! See you on weekends~☆!

*Exasperated Time Noises*

It's pretty cool! He learns a lot. Learns he's probably? Gonna be SOME variation of Space Ghost. Might even take over Space's... well, EVERYTHING, should the unforeseeable occur. So obviously, gonna have to learn The Family Business, as it were!

Which?

UNSPEAKABLY HYPED, YES PLEASE.

SPACE AND STAR STUFF! HECK YEAH!

Unfortunately? Still a Halfa. Bleh, squishy need to eat and sleep. Why they get in the way of Hyperfixation? Why no more space dust? Nooooo, don't drag him away from the controls! He can still learn! Sleep is for quitters! Cowards! *whining in Give Me Back My Blorbos, You Monsters*

But, no. He apparently has to "take care of his body" and "not burn out". Eat "real food". A protein bar counts! He probably ate one of those! Give him back his STARS! He doesn't CARE if he sounds like a toddler! That's DIRECT ACCESS TO THE SECRETS OF SPACE ITSELF! He'll BITE, so HELP HIM-! *Is scruffed like a cranky infant being carried off to beddy bye*

Injustice! D:<

But, none the less, body's require sleep. He shovles down his food, washes up, and flops down in his bed. In the nice lil cozy "Safe For My Half Apprentice Who Is Also My Adopted Son" corner. He passes out in that corner. Starts to float, as he has done countless times before, when agitated before bed. Floats OUT of that corner.

That Safe Little Corner.

IN THE CENTER, THE BEATING HEART OF SPACE.

You know... the place ALL OF SPACE connects too. Where Universe Form and Die. The Grand Recycler. Dust to Dust, from the ashes of old, to the creation of new. Where PORTALS are randomly assigned. So that the Omniversal Ectoplasmic Levels may always be balanced at near to perfect levels, allowing free flow of Souls through the various Reincarnation cycles.

Space, of course, doesn't MANAGE the Ectoplasm itself. Nor the Souls! Different Ancient for THAT, but they DO manage the PORTALS. We live in a SYSTEM after all. Everyone has their "departments" as it were. So really, it's quiet... Danny? Honey? Awful quiet back there! You, uh, fallen asleep, Starlight?

*empty room*

(O.O)

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Meanwhile! He be Snoozin'! And Ghostin'! Ghost Snoozin'! Is extra comfy, cause he weightless and got not booooones~☆!

But! He? Is not a child anymore! Has learned to... for lack of a better term, Let Go. To finally ACCEPT his Death. His inhumanity. His Amortality. Death no longer holds him, can no longer let him go. He is... not immortal. He is disowned, by his own doing and his own choice, at his timeless moment of Ending.

When Life let go of his hand and Death kindly offered theirs, he did not take it.

And that's okay.

It took awhile. Talking to older ghosts. Most vague and vast, near formless. Because it's... it's scary. And it's all you know. All, really, you've EVER known. Inherent to your identity, even after you leave that part you behind.

You are "human". "Martian" or "Xy'xeruian", something else, and you never question it. Even when you've left behind everything ELSE. Your name, your eyes, your history and skin. Yet you fly around and pretend. Still alive, still human.

But is that YOU?

Or just the form you found your start in?

And like? It's okay if it IS! Sometimes, yeah, you ARE. You look down deep and find a "don't know what you were expecting, buddy" sign stapled to a mirror. But more often? It's that last hurdle. The final step in Letting Go.

Everyone mourns at their own pace.

And they are the ghosts of who they were.

It helped. Mourning for the kid he was. Who was fourteen and wanted to be an astronaut. Who died and will never have a grave. The longer he exsists, for he can't technically be called Alive, the more painfully young that child seems.

It was okay.

To cry for Danny Fenton.

Then? To let him go. Let his memory, be memory. And his Past be the grave that child rests in. Loved dearly and remembered, but no longer binding his soul.

He doesn't have to wear that face anymore.

No tributes to the Dead.

He got? Kinda... BIG. Like REALLY big. Spiraling, serpentine, cracking ice, and burning galaxies. Like a fourth dimensional dragon, of ice and stars, somehow forcing its way into a three dimensional space. Atop it all, between two vast, impossible horns? Made of glacial ice coating the warping hearts of black holes, who's shape themselves seem to shift in unknowable ways? There burns, like comet trails, with super novas, compressed to decorative gems beneath glittering morning frost, a Terrible Crown.

He? Thinks? He MIGHT have wings.

He can't tell.

Because APPARENTLY he's a fuckin tesseract! Oh, no, sorry. He might me a Zone DAMNED PENTERACT!!! Is THIS what he gets for hanging out with Clockwork all the time? He just liked the quiet! Now his "true form" is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL for most people to look at!

Clock Dad WHAT THE HELL?!

(You see, now, why Space broke up with him? An ASSHOLE)

So! Danny stays, usually at least, in his "Hi, yes, I am Normal Human Man" Ghost form. But NOW? Now it PINCHS. Because it's TOO SMALL. But hey, that's fine! It's not like he has an ingrained habit of transforming when super tired and stressed! To float sleep for Maximum Restfulness(tm).

Ha ha!

Why does that feel like foreshadowing?

BECAUSE IT IS!

Danny? Snoozing! Space? Has LOST THE BABY! Portals? Have done a Jood Gob in Portalling, something they are vaguely sure they are supposed to be doing! Yay them! They have no brain cells but still enjoy helping! They moved a thing! That's helpful right? Yay! Probably!

And on DC's planet Earth?

They? Just choked on their fuckin coffee. One moment? La dee daa~ oooh~ look! Stars! Deep space! Oh, hiiii~ Watchtower! The NEXT? *every alarm in the building starts LOSING ITS SHIT* Giant World OBLITERATING SHAPE completely takes up the screen.

From near PLUTO.

There are NO WORDS TO DISCRIBE HOW FUCK OFF BIG THIS THING IS, MR. PRESIDENT. It will eat our nukes and LAUGH. Call! EVERYBODY!!!

Obviously? Superman. I mean really, OF COURSE Superman. Frankly, all the Supers. Because we would like to KEEP having a planet, thanks. Only? The more reports that come in? The more everyone is getting "oh fuck. This is a Workd Eater" vibes.

A massive, massive, Sleeping Titan of a Planet Destroying World Eater.

That MIGHT BE MAGIC.

*highly stressed Everyone noises*

And WORSE? Superman? Can't TOUCH it! Oh sure, at FIRST he could! But then he apparently pushed too hard in just one spot! And it felt POKED AT. So now, after flicking superman HALFWAY BACK TO EARTH to make him stop? No one can physically touch it!

But! There is hope!

Because? The creature is GREEN. Bright, luminous, Lantern Green! And Earth's Lanterns have already sent for back up. Combined? The were able to move a... hand? Paw? Something. But! With the combine forces of several nearby sectors of Lanterns? They promise the power to either relocate the creature or at least hold it in orbit until FURTHER forces can be deployed!

They refuse to harm the creature until it proves actively hostile, as it could have been seeking a place to nap and chosen one inconvenient to established planetary life. Frankly? Earth doesn't CARE where you relocate the giant Eldritch Space Dragon. Just NOT IN OUR BACKYARD, PLEASE.

....YES WE ARE SURE! We don't CARE if the scientific community of our planet is begging you to set up an area for them to place an "observation satellite"! No giant Eldritch Space Dragons in our solar system! It might WAKE UP!

Naturally, about half way THROUGH this Highly Delicate Operation?

Danny Wakes Up.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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toweringclam · 8 months ago

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This is a funny comic about clowns.

First we see Jessica happy with her loving parents. She's wearing fuchsia, the color that represents her. Her power, her confidence, her sense of self...

Then tragedy strikes and that is stripped away. She's wearing black in that last panel. It'll be a while before she wears fuchsia again.

Then the first panel of the second page. The only color is the handprint on her cheek. Her aunt is abusive, striking her for things that her parents would have encouraged.

But as shocking as that mark is, it's still *color.* Even as she tearfully apologizes, she knows this is *wrong.* It's an injustice. Just like the atoms, she knows what she is. Tamsyn Muir wrote, "You can't take loved away," and she knows how it feels to be loved. This is the opposite. It's something to struggle against when she had otherwise lost all meaning in life.

The next time we see her face, the mark is there again. But she looks more blasé about it. This has become a routine. She still cries because it *hurts*, but she's just giving lip service to her apology. Her eyes are defiant. There's a colored clip in her hair, another small defiance.

After this, she starts wearing fuchsia again. In her own words, the subject is intact. She's done even pretending to follow the rules. She's not just wearing it; she's creating the color, and using it to strike back in some small way.

Then in the bottom row, she's done even giving lip service. The mark on her cheek is as defiant as any other accessory. She says it won't happen again, and it won't because she's *free.* She's gone to college and escaped. She's operational and powerful.

Now we see her fully in her own power. Everything is fuchsia. The glove is fuchsia. The smoke is fuchsia. The energy is fuchsia. SHE is Fuchsia.

And now we understand the meaning of the star on her cheek. It's a handprint. A symbol of all the times she was slapped as a kid, and she didn't let it stop her.

Livewire, who has just gone through her own series of upsets, literally has Fuchsia in her eyes. She's in awe. The mark on her face is a symbol of what she's been through as well.

This is a funny comic about clowns.

#clown corps #webcomic

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torchwood-99 · 8 months ago

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Eowyn and Gothic Horror

I've ranted about the interpretation that Eowyn's rejection of gender roles was a symptom of her sickness, caused only by Grima's manipulations. An interpretation that doesn't hold to either Gandalf's speech in the Houses of Healing, when he specifies how the liberties denied to Eowyn and allowed to Eomer and her male peers played a crucial role in her depression, or when we see how Eowyn was really vindicated in her decision to ride to battle by her victory over the Witch King. A victory that wins her incredible renown and respect.

I think this reading comes about because people see the significance of Grima's contribution to Eowyn's despair, and think he is the sole source of it.

But Eowyn was not dissatisfied with her role and her enforced position in the house because of Grima's manipulations. She didn't rail against sexism because Grima played with her head and "poisoned" her traditionally feminine role for her.

Grima was able to prey on Eowyn, manipulate her and drive her to despair, because of the sexism that forced Eowyn to remain stuck in the house.

Look at the speech Gandalf gives Eomer about Eowyn's sufferings. The very first thing he mentions is the fact that Eowyn was denied the freedoms and opportunities Eomer had. The suffering that follows stems from that first initial injustice.

Because of that first injustice, Eowyn was rendered vulnerable, and Grima was able to exploit that. That isolation, that limited freedom, that unhappiness about her lack of choices, left her free game for Grima to take an already bad situation, and make it far worse.

Thinking about Eowyn's experience in Meduseld, what the impact of being confined to the domestic sphere did to her, and what is left her vulnerable to, makes me think of Gothic horror, and the role of sexism and domesticity in that genre too.

Eowyn's situation before the novels is that of a classic Gothic heroine. A fair, beautiful woman, trapped inside a decaying house, and preyed on by an awful monster, who hungers after her beauty and longs to possess her. Or else, destroy her.

Domestic settings and isolation are pretty crucial themes in the gothic genre, and for that reason it has historically been seen as a woman's genre. It taps into a pretty universal fear of what happens when home ceases to be a safe space, a fear that historically, has a particularly great resonance for women.

Whereas traditionally home is a refuge and respite for men from the world, the home is the woman's only true acceptable sphere. And yet even there she is subordinate. Therefore, she is vulnerable. With no place in the outside world, she has no escape, no respite, no refuge. If home becomes an evil, she is trapped. And because she has no place in the social sphere, she has no voice either. She is invisible, she is overlooked, her sufferings and her contributions are passed over,

Eowyn is isolated. Eowyn is vulnerable. Eowyn is overlooked. And because Eowyn is isolated and vulnerable and overlooked, Grima is able to get his hooks into her and drive her to despair. She is a wild animal, trammelled and caught in a hutch, a predator's helpless prey. But Grima didn't put Eowyn in the hutch. Eowyn was already there. Grima just took advantage of that.

Even after Grima is gone, Meduseld is still a place Eowyn longs to escape, and while its evil is purged and she does return, it is only for a short while. Grima's defeat is not enough to make Meduseld a place where Eowyn can find real happiness or fulfilment. On its own, it still represents a role for Eowyn that she wishes to move beyond.

The healing counterpoint to Eowyn's gothic castle of horrors, the hutch she was caught in, is in escape, and in a return to nature.

Eowyn's entire romance with Faramir takes place within the gardens of the Houses of Healing, where we see Eowyn start to recover from her ordeal. It takes place on the open, in the garden, on the ramparts, with much notice given to the sky and the sun and the elements around them.

(Also, the Houses of Healing themselves are not a domestic setting, but a public one, and there we see women working alongside men and holding authority.)

Eowyn's happy ending, her great escape, climaxes with her decision to go with Faramir to Ithilien.

Ithilien is the exact opposite of a hutch. It's descriptions are filled with natural imagery, and is known as the Garden of Gondor. It is a place for growth and fresh starts. A place of freedom. A place for a wild thing.

When Faramir suggests that he and Eowyn live in Ithilien, he reasserts again and again that they will go there if it is Eowyn's will. Both Tolkien and Faramir put emphasis on the importance of Eowyn's will, and Eowyn's right to freedom of movement.

In his plans for their future, Faramir talks of "us" and "we", removing the separation between men (belonging to the social sphere) and women (belonging to the domestic), and speaks of Ithilien as a shared dwelling place for both of them. Faramir only distinguishes between himself and Eowyn when he puts importance on Eowyn's will, and at the end, on Eowyn's influence.

At the close of his speech, Faramir says all things will grow with joy in Ithilien, if Eowyn is there. Returning Ithilien to its former glory, allowing it to bloom once more, is to become Faramir's life's work, and still it is Eowyn's influence he puts centre stage. Far from being kept confined to the domestic sphere, relegated to being Faramir's home support while he dominates the rehabilitation of Ithilien, Faramir places Eowyn's work and Eowyn's significance at the heart of their future together.

Eowyn goes from being shut in the house, where everything around her was decaying and falling to ruin, to being freed to stand in the heart of nature, where there is a chance for influence, growth, and fresh starts.

#Lotr #Lord of the Rings #Eowyn #Faramir #Grima Wormtongue #Farawyn #Faramir-x-Eowyn

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chronicallycouchbound · 1 year ago

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Intelligence Doesn't Equal Morality

Intellect is rooted in ableist systems and stupidity and intelligence are pointless social constructs that don't relate to morals or character.

I try to be a pretty good person, I fight for human rights, I regularly engage in mutual aid, and I care for my community. I try to do the right thing and support causes I care about and make positive changes in the world.

But I also am not very smart. I have several neurodevelopmental disorders, as well as cognitive disabilities. I can’t do simple, basic math, it’s hard for me to remember facts or algorithms, I rely entirely on spellcheck and speech-to-text to write, I failed many classes in high school and I barely passed with a low GPA, I had low pSAT scores and I never took the SATs. I moved around a lot all through school starting in third grade, and I missed a lot of basic fundamentals in learning (like how to do division and multiplication) so when I went to a different school they had already passed it and expected me to know. After my TBI, I could barely read AFTER I was cleared from my “concussion” symptoms because letters and words would flip around and I’d get headaches. Which still happens sometimes.

A lot of people see me as smart because I've learned a lot of academic language and can formulate thoughts into cohesive posts. But I lack a lot of necessary skills and rely on my caretakers to assist me. Things like budgeting and planning are extremely difficult for me. If I need to do simple addition or subtraction, even with a calculator, I quickly get confused and struggle. I forget basic information about myself all the time, let alone other subjects. I'm talking, has to check my ID for my birthday type confused. Doesn't know my name or address or what year it is confused. It happens daily, sometimes multiple times a day. Being able to type out posts like this often takes weeks and many adaptive tools to get there. Focusing is extremely difficult on many fronts, severe chronic pain, ADHD, dissociation, fatigue, migraines, and TBI, are just some of the contributing factors. I struggle daily with many things because of my lack of intellect.

I’m also privileged in the fact that I had some access to education as a homeless youth, that I had some supports in place to help me (towards the end of school), that I was somewhat able-bodied at the time and could walk or bike to and from school when the school system didn’t provide transportation. I was fortunate to have a chance to succeed, and I’m proud that I graduated high school because it was a difficult task for me, and others often aren’t offered that chance or get accommodations. I almost didn’t and I dropped out many times before graduation. I passed on sheer luck and what little privileges I had.

That all being said, me being stupid (reclaiming it here) doesn't make me a bad person. I don't hurt people because I can't do math. I may mess up things or get confused but it doesn't make me want to harm others.

We often (wrongfully) equate morals with intellect. Being ‘stupid’, ‘dumb’, or an ‘idiot’ doesn’t automatically make someone a bad person. Plenty of evil, awful, and abusive people are extremely intelligent.

I see this most notably with people advocating for IQ tests to be able to vote. Often from left-leaning people, in hopes it'll make the right (that they view as unintelligent), unable to vote. The reality is, it just hurts some of our most vulnerable members of the community while not actively doing anything to restrict some of the most dangerous members of our community-- those who know what they're doing to harm others and deliberately doing so. My voice matters, and I speak up against injustice and participate in dismantling oppressive systems. Taking away my right to vote won't make the right stop oppressing minorities (which also puts a lot of faith into the two-party voting system, which is a post for another day).

Additionally, legislative measures that discriminate against intellectually disabled people such as IQ tests for voting are also rooted in racism and classism.

Yes, education can be a vital tool when it comes to addressing discrimination and creating safer communities. But the kind of education that is measured with an IQ test (or any test) isn't the same. Building compassion and caring for others can (and should) happen at any IQ level. We can all practice this, we can all participate.

It harms our communities and stagnates our progress when we equate intelligence with high morals.

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mysterywriter2187 · 2 months ago

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Transformers: One - What's In A Kneel?

!!!!!MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!

With the responsibility of leadership and the dangers of pedestals and hero worship being such major themes, it only makes sense that all three of the film's leaders would show their true characters, and in doing so seal their fates, in moments where they have to kneel/bow.

Sentinel Prime essentially sets the entire second half of the film in motion when both the heroes and we as the viewer see him kneel to the Quintessons. It confirms everything that Alpha Trion was just telling them/us about him, and it's also the very thing that ends up getting broadcast to Iacon in order to finally expose Sentinel and turn the public against their False Prime.

For all his superficial charisma and his talk of looking out for the little guys, Sentinel himself is truly nothing more than a self-centred, spineless coward, who couldn't care less for the needs of the many and gladly bends to the will of bigger bullies/oppressors in order to keep himself in power.

After learning of Sentinel's betrayal and being subsequently captured with the High Guard, D-16 makes a point to stand while in custody and adamantly refuses to kneel. Even when Sentinel begins beating and torturing him, D-16 makes it abundantly clear that he has no intention of bowing to him or anyone else ever again.

In better circumstances this could be a heroic trait, a courageous defiance and the willingness to stand up in the face of injustice. But it just as becomes a negative one, and it's one of the last warning signs to the kind of leader that Megatron is going to be.

He may have started out with good and heroic intentions, but because of this Megatron sees himself as superior, and whether by choice or by force, he expects his fellow Cybetronians to rally behind him just as they did with Sentinel. While he sees himself as a revolutionary, in the end he's just going to become another tyrant.

And then we have Orion Pax. For much of the film, he's a far cry from the noble, legendary leader that we know and love from other iterations, but he starts to grow into it as he devises the rescue mission, and is tasked with rallying his fellow miners to help.

Having gotten a major upgrade since the last time he saw them, Orion now towers over his former peers and they're utterly awed by the sight of him. Rather than trying to take advantage of their admiration or even intimidate them with his new size and strength, Orion almost seems frustrated by the new height difference, and before beginning his speech he kneels down to literally speak to them on their level.

Orion doesn't make a point to do this, no one has to ask or prompt him to, in fact he himself doesn't even give that much thought to it, it's just his first instinct for how to best communicate. He may look larger and stronger now, but he still values the miners as his friends and his equals, and nothing is ever going to change that.

Gaining the Matrix later on may have gotten him the name, but it's this moment when Orion truly begins to embody the true core and heart of Optimus Prime. Powerful and inspiring, yet humble and caring. Or perhaps, as the legendary Peter Cullen himself has always said:

"Strong enough to be gentle."

#transformers one #transformers #major spoilers #tf one spoilers #orion pax #d 16 #sentinel prime #optimus prime #megatron #hasbro #paramount #I probably should have waited for screencaps #they really benefitted from having a Pixar director #josh cooley #leadership #symbolism #visual storytelling #in this essay i will

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farfromstrange · 10 months ago

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Sub!matt idea. Sensory deprivation.

It can be common as a way of control, heighten the experiance or even to help calm and sooth to blindfold your partner and make them rely on other senses. But for Matt he already has this to the extreme which can be distracting able to hear three blocks away when all he wants to focus on is you his world in this moment.

After a day of honestly tiring input he just asks for you to take over he somtimes does that wanting someone else to control him for a while and he trusts you. And trusts you enough to fuck you with his hearing either gone or reduced only able to feel, smell and taste you which is more then enough. Esspecially when you focus on the touch lavishing his body with sensory your hands never off him roaming, soothing holding. Your lips almost always on him kissing, sucking biting anything to elicit the sweet groans of him. He keeps a hand on your chest or throat not controlling but to be able to sense your rumbling groans and soft sighs feel the uptick in your heart rate as he focuses on you and only you

I am SO sorry that this took so long! And when I finally started writing it, I got carried away, so it took me two whole days to finish. But I wanted it to be good enough after I left you hanging.

On that note, your smutty thoughts make me feral!! Not gonna lie, I sat in my lecture the other day and I couldn't stop thinking about this, which is why this turned out to be over 4k words. On this page, we celebrate sub!Matt and all that comes with him!

Thank you so much for your request, and I hope I could do it justice <3

Sensory Deprivation | Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: The world tends to get a bit loud, but thankfully, you're there to help Matt focus.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), sub!Matt, use of "good boy", oral m!receiving, swallowing, use of earplugs (sensory deprivation), Matt's catholic guilt, slight blasphemy, (almost) coming untouched, mention & use of safe word/action

Word Count: 4.4k

A/n: I'm so horny for this man, I can't function. Also, even though I did proofread this, I'm not sure if I missed any mistakes. My brain doesn't function as well as it used to. I'm sorry in advance.

More than anyone in this world, Matt believes he has to function, always, and without exceptions. He believes that he has to be useful, always doing something and never resting. His heightened senses make it impossible for him to turn his back on even the most minuscule cases of injustice, and he still beats himself up time and time again because he can’t be everywhere at once. He hears everything, smells everything, and feels the despair in the air, but in the end, he can’t take on the weight of the world all by himself.

Ever since he met you, you have become his reprieve. You’re the haven he returns home to when everything gets just a little too much. When his senses are flooded and his heart is heavy. He crawls to you when he’s wounded, and he would crawl to you if he only had a few more minutes to live. You’re the first person he thinks of when he wakes up, and the last person he thinks of when he goes to sleep at night, preferably holding you in his arms to make sure that you won’t slip away from him. In you, he has found someone who would never judge him for who he is. Someone who will always stand by his side proudly, and someone who will hold him when he’s at his weakest. And he has been hanging off the edge of his breaking point for quite some time, holding on for dear life.

You can tell Matt must have had an awful day from the second the key turns in the lock to your shared apartment. His feet drag over the wooden floorboards as he makes his way inside. You look up from your book.

Matt takes a deep breath, dropping his bag by the door. His shoulders are tense. He folds his cane, places it aside, and removes the red glasses you’ve grown to love—but you don’t nearly love them as much as his beautiful brown eyes, the green specks so distinctive, you could recognize them anywhere.

“Rough day?” you ask.

He opens the first button of his dress shirt with shaky fingers. “Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says.

He hasn’t said hi to you like he usually would. Tonight seems to be one of those nights again. You know Matt well enough to pick up on the subtle clues in his behavior. He’s overwhelmed, possibly even anxious, and the weight he always carries on his shoulders is threatening to crush him. He’s walking a very thin tightrope, and he’s about to fall off.

You place your book on the coffee table and straighten up. He rounds the couch you’re sitting on, his unfocused eyes searching for you. Your heartbeat resonates in his ears. Your breathing is regular. You’re calm. You’re his rock. You won’t let him drown, no matter how strong the current is that is dragging him down.

Raising your eyebrows, you look up at him when he stops right in front of you. “No hello kiss?” you dare to ask. It’s a soft question, a little teasing, but he knows you mean well.

Matt shakes his head. As soon as he breathes you in, he’s done for. His brain cells fry on the electric chair of his mind. His heart starts beating up to his throat. You’re so close yet so far away. You smell incredible; you must have showered after work, and then you sat down with your favorite tea and read your favorite book while waiting for him so you could have dinner together. You’re so considerate, you even used his scentless soap so all he would be able to smell is your natural scent. You consume him. The city moves into the background, and the bricks are about to fall off his shoulders. He’s close to collapsing, falling on his knees and begging you to take control to just make him forget, but he isn’t quite there yet.

A car honks in the distance. The night is calling for him. His hand clenches into a fist at his side while the other rests flat against his thigh.

You slowly rise from your position. “Matthew,” you breathe his name like a siren. “What do you need?”

He sniffs. His fingers twitch. He has to go out, but he can’t. You envelop him in a bubble, and it makes him feel like he isn’t alone. Like he isn’t trapped. Like he can finally let go after holding on for so long.

“Talk to me,” you say.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “There was so much noise,” Matt whispers back. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t focus. I’m trying to stay in control, but I can’t focus, and—” He breaks off into a shaky sigh.

You chase his eyes; they’re glossed over. You reach out to tilt his chin in your direction. His eyes flutter closed. A stray tear slips down his cheek. It’s a tear stemming from months of exhaustion, physical pain, and emotional turmoil. He tried to push through, but he’s arrived at a point of no return. He’s breaking, and you’re the only one capable of catching him.

After another deep breath, Matt’s eyes open again. “You’re here,” his voice is still barely above a whisper, but the smile that starts to grow on his lips speaks the language of relief.

“I’m always here,” you answer.

“You keep me sane.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant.”

“I also know that, but it doesn’t matter. I know how hard it is for you. If you need to be distant for a while and then blow off some steam, I’m okay with it.”

He shudders when your fingers brush his cheek. The faint bruise underneath his eye has turned green. You trace the injury with gentle fingertips.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he says.

You smile back at him, knowing he can feel it, and you guide him toward your face. “You exist,” you tell him. “That’s enough for you to deserve me.”

His nose brushes against yours, but before his lips can meet yours, he stops. He inhales your scent. He feels your pulse under his fingers from where he’s wrapped them around your wrist. Your skin feels so soft against his. He’s no longer on fire. The world is no longer on fire. He can let go. He wants to know that it’s okay to let go, but the voice in his head is telling him to stop. The crossroads he finds himself at won’t let him leave in the direction he wants to go.

You can feel his inner turmoil. He’s holding back. He always does so. You’ve been together for what feels like forever, and he still doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. What he needs. What he deserves. You told him to be primal when he needs to be. You told him to admit when you need to take over. He never does it out of his own free will. He waits until you force him into submission.

Tonight should be the night he finally tells you. Matt needs to learn that his needs matter just as much as yours. His catholicism can go to hell for all you care.

“I need—” He swallows. “I-I need t—”

“Go ahead,” you urge him.

“Ugh,” the sound resembles a broken growl. And then, the barriers finally break. “I need you to take over,” he begs. “I need you to help me breathe again, sweetheart. Please. I need you.”

God, he sounds so wrecked.

“You want me to take control?” you ask to clarify.

He nods. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good boy. I can do that.”

Matt’s lips part in a weak whimper in response to your praise. Calling him a ‘good boy’ always has the same welcome effect. You don’t even have to look down to know that his cock is slowly swelling in his slacks.

All the blood has rushed from his head and his beautiful rosy, stubbly cheeks to his groin. It doesn’t take much to turn him on, especially not in his current state—especially not if it’s you.

Hearing him admit that he needs you like this makes you feel a myriad of emotions. You want to take care of him, you want to love him, and you want to give him a moment of peace amongst the constant chaos, but there is also something so arousingly erotic about the way he begs for you to take control that makes your thighs clench.

Often enough, he is the one taking care of you. Matt is a giver, not a taker. He always puts you first, but on some days, he just can’t bear it anymore. And you couldn’t possibly ask him to take charge in bed in his current state. It would break him. He’s a vulnerable man, whether he likes to admit it or not, and he can be as fragile as an ancient vase. You have to handle him with care on those days, which is all you intend to do as you guide him to your shared bedroom.

You gently urge him to sit down on the bed. “Do you trust me?” you ask.

His unfocused eyes flick from one side to the other. “Always,” he breathes out.

“Good. Lie back for me. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”

He would never doubt that.

You climb into his lap, and finally, you kiss him. His lips part slightly in a desperate groan. Before he can slide his tongue into your mouth though, you pull away. His grabby hands are already resting on your hips, wandering, and wandering, and…

“Nuh-uh,” you tell him, taking hold of his calloused fingers and placing them on your upper thighs. “Patience, baby.”

“Please,” Matt begs. You love it when he begs. He’s completely putty in your hands. You could tell him to get on his knees and pray, and he would, no matter how blasphemous it may be.

He’s holding onto you for dear life. You place his hand against the left side of your chest, allowing him to feel your heartbeat. He isn’t leaving you cold. He never does. Alone the sight of him is enough to make your thighs clench with need, but straddling him, you can’t get the friction you need.

You reach for the nightstand to your right, opening the drawer. You know exactly what he needs. “Turn your head for me,” you murmur.

Matt follows your instructions without questioning them. Finally finding what you were looking for, you retrieve the earplugs from the bedside drawer. This isn’t the first time you have used them on him, or he has used them on you. The specific brand renders you almost entirely deaf and renders Matt’s enhanced hearing almost to an entirely normal level.

You gently put the first plug into his left ear, then the other into his right. Before you push it in though, you ask, “Do you remember our safeword?”

He nods. “Red,” he says.

“Good boy. And when you can’t speak?”

“Tap your wrist three times.” His lips curl up into a weak smile. “Usually, I’m the one asking you that.”

“Not tonight, you aren’t. May I put this in now?” You tap the earplug.

He nods again. It’s all the confirmation you need before inserting it, reducing his hearing completely. He lets out a sigh of relief. He closes his eyes, and you know he’s trying not to cry.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” you ask, cradling his cheek. His stubble scratches your fingertips, but it’s a welcome pain.

He can still hear what you’re saying, feel the vibrations in your chest from where his hand is resting, and he smells you so much clearer now that he no longer has to listen to the city screaming at him in the background. Your arousal gets stuck to the tiny hairs in his nose, and he inhales sharply. Every nerve in his body is on fire.

Matt moans. His tongue darts out, tasting the air. For a moment, he forgets that you just asked for his consent. Everything is so much more intense, yet it isn’t nearly enough.

“Matthew,” you nudge him. “Talk to me.”

“Yes,” he whispers. At least he thinks he’s whispering.

You smile, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and then you lean down to kiss him again. This time, you let him push his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, feeling you, and consuming all of you. He wants every ounce of you ingrained in his mind forever.

His hands slide under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin. His focus is on you entirely. You help him take the pesky piece of fabric off, followed by his own. He’s suddenly so hot.

Your teeth clash when you kiss. His cock is hard as a rock, pressing against his lower abdomen. You can feel it between your thighs. It must be painful for him.

His kisses trail from your mouth, down your neck. He tastes the salt on your skin. Your pulse jumps as he drags his tongue over the vein. It’s a primal need. He needs to mark you. He needs to taste you, all of you, and make you his for all the world to see. An animalistic growl escapes his lips. His teeth dig into your skin. He nibbles just enough to make you moan, your chest vibrating underneath his hand. Matt doesn’t even hesitate to grab a handful of your breast, tugging at your sensitive nipple until it’s stiff enough to rival his aching cock.

You throw your head back, your jaw slack, and he uses the newfound space to kiss down to your collarbone. You’re going to be purple and bruised tomorrow, but you don’t care.

With a demanding grip on his hair that pulls at his scalp and causes him to groan against your shoulder, you push his head toward your chest. He isn’t in control, you are, and you know how much he loves to please you.

Like a man starving, he sucks your nipple into his mouth. No, it’s not just your nipple. He takes as much as he can into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub only momentarily before he moves on to the rest of your silky skin.

You moan. You have to let him know that you’re enjoying yourself. He feels the sound deep within your chest from where his hand is resting, and the way your breast moves slightly when you moan. Matt only becomes more eager when he feels and smells what he’s doing to you.

The scent of you is addicting. Your arousal smells slightly sour, sometimes slightly metallic, but most of all, it is you. And when he tastes your essence on the tip of his tongue without even licking at your slick folds because you are simply that wet, it makes him feral with this insanely primal need to have you.

He wants to spread you out before him and taste you until you’re coming all over his face. Though today, he is too weak to keep you restrained to the mattress. Matt takes what he can get, what you are willing to give him, and he does so eagerly, like the good boy that he wants to be for you.

With the world silenced, he can focus on you. The way your heart is hammering against your ribcage, right against his palm. The way your chest heaves with every labored breath you take as he sucks and sucks at your breast until your nipple is beyond swollen. He can feel how smooth your skin is, smell the remnants of your body lotion that he sometimes steals so he can smell you everywhere he goes, and the slight sheen of sweat that has started to cover your body from head to toe. And he can smell your arousal so thick in the air, his cock jumps at the mere thought of sinking into your tight walls—of being completely consumed by you, body and soul. He doesn’t need to hear right now, all he needs to do is feel you.

You know about his desperate urge to please. You know that, even while you’re in charge, he wants nothing more than to make you feel good. Matt is anything but selfish. But his selflessness doesn’t have a place in this bedroom tonight.

As crazy as his mouth on your breasts is driving you into an oblivion of pure ecstasy, your walls clenching around nothing, you find it in yourself to pull him away.

With his eyes hooded, he looks so delicious. His cock is still straining against his lower abdomen in his underwear. When you pull him away, his expression reads offense. You can’t help but snicker.

“Did you think I’d let you make this about me?” you say just loud enough for the sound to reach through the earplugs.

He exhales. “I was praying,” he says.

Praying. He is too far gone to realize. There are sides to Matt Murdock you love more than others, and when he becomes blasphemous, it does things to you. This good catholic boy turns into mush when you just touch him, and then you are his God. You’re who he wants to worship, and he would pray to you, worship at the altar of your body, and drink your essence like holy water if it meant being all over you and inside of you. And you take your position very seriously.

He trusts you. That is not a small feat. He trusts you with his body and soul, and he trusts you with the most vulnerable parts of him, be it in bed or merely a hug after a bad day. You know what he needs, and he trusts you to take care of him. He wouldn’t let just anyone do what you do to him.

“What were you praying for?” you ask him.

“You,” he whispers.

“You can have me, but first… focus.”

He told you he was losing focus because the world was far too late, so with the noise reduced, you will help him focus on something other than the world out there.

“Feel that?” You kiss his mouth, and from there, you move down to his stubbly jaw. “Focus on that. Focus on me.”

Matt sucks in another sharp breath. While one hand still rests on your chest, the other comes to rest around your neck, feeling your pulse, feeling you, and his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your luscious lips all over him.

Your kisses trail down his neck. You pay close attention to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He moans. His hips buck upward. He’s so painfully hard, his cock has already started leaking pre-cum into his boxers.

Each scar, each indentation on his skin that reminds you of all the good he does at the expense of his health, you kiss. You trace your tongue over the healed wounds, feeling the warmth of his skin seep into yours. He’s so sensitive.

His fingers involuntarily clench around your neck, but you don’t mind. He’s not choking you, he’s simply trying to hold on. You have established a safe word for a reason, after all. He can get carried away the same way you can get carried away.

You wouldn’t dare push him too far though. Not tonight. Not when he’s already this wrecked underneath you. You purposefully leave his nipples out of the equation and move further down his body. His abs tense under your tender touch. You can’t help but smile.

And him? Matt feels like he’s floating. He can feel every kiss against his heated skin, your fingertips tracing his scars after you’ve so sensually pressed your mouth against them, and he can feel your every breath as you move downward. Every kiss leaves a series of shivers in its wake. He’s hot, yet he’s cold. He needs more, but at the same time, you are already close to driving him into overstimulation.

His balls tighten. He can’t believe that the feeling of you is enough to make him want to explode. He knows that if you touch his cock now, he might as well come right then and there. It’s so much more intense like this when he doesn’t get distracted by the world outside. You are his world, and you are all he focuses on.

You move further down until you reach his boxers. His arm is no longer long enough to keep his hand around your neck, so he moves it into your hair. It’s a silent warning, you suppose because he is close. You only kissed him, and he’s already so close to coming undone. You don’t blame him. He’s been so tense lately.

You press a kiss to his hip bone before murmuring against his milky skin, “It’s okay.”

Matt whimpers. Your words make their way into his bloodstream.

You pull his boxers down. The cold air hits his aching tip and the way his back arches makes you almost feel bad. You spit into your hand, but you make sure your palm is warm enough before you reach for his girth.

The moment you touch him, he’s done for. “Sweetheart, I can’t–” he chokes out, but you shush him by placing your lips against his tip.

You lick at the salty pre-cum. It tastes like him. You can’t deny that you missed this while he was so distant from you. This is as much for you as it is for him, that is something you can’t deny either. You’re a little selfish tonight. Just a little.

His words of protest get swallowed by a needy moan, and his fist tightens in your hair. He’s not going to last long.

Matt is not one to come early. The guilt swallows him faster than you can swallow his cum, which is why he always holds himself back. Tonight though, you won’t let him torture himself for your pleasure. You hate it when he does it.

“Ugh!” the moan comes from the depths of his chest. “Fucking–God!”

You take him into your throat as far as you can without gagging, and what you can’t take, you wrap your hand around. He’s so thick, and he’s so incredibly big—you can feel the tears forming in your eyes. But God, he is so beautiful with his head thrown back, brown eyes squeezed shut, and that little drop of sweat dripping down his temple. It’s lewd, it’s erotic, and it makes your thighs clench.

All of his reservations vanish when you take him all in. Your throat is tight, but you’re enthusiastic. Your tongue traces the vein on the underside of his cock, moving back up to the overly sensitive head. Your hands cup his balls. Every time you go down on him, Matt swears he can feel heaven reaching its hand out to him.

He grips your hair a little tighter, his other hand tangling in the sheets. He’s so close. He twitches, painfully so. And when he comes, he instinctively pulls your head upward so you won’t choke. His hot cum spurts down your throat, and you have no choice but to swallow.

You surprise both yourself and him when you fight against his hand and force yourself down far enough so that your nose brushes the base of his cock, and you gag.

Your throat is so tight and hot that it drags his orgasm on for eternity. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. His heart is racing out of his chest as if it has somewhere to be. The fire ripples through him, the inferno turning into a dangerous explosion that tears his nerves apart, putting them back together just to tear them apart again. He feels as though the skin is falling off his very fragile bones, and his muscles collapse in on themselves.

Matt can’t breathe. When he finally manages to untangle his hands from your hair, he lies there. The blood in his ears is obnoxious. He can’t hear. He can’t see. And suddenly, he can’t even feel anymore. He doesn’t exist. Reality slips away into a moment in time. Now, he’s dying. It feels like he is dying.

You pull off his cock, catching your breath. His cum trickles down the corner of your mouth. You wipe it away. Pressing a kiss to his hip bone, you look up through your lashes. At first, he looks blissed out, but his expression quickly changes.

He can’t talk. You take his hand. “Matt,” you coax him.

Not even his chest is lifting in time to accommodate his heavy breathing. His body is shaking as every ounce of stress falls off his shoulders, and his nerves fall victim to the inferno that is still wreaking havoc inside of him.

He taps your wrist three times.

“Okay,” you murmur. You quickly climb back up his body.

“Out,” he manages to tell you, weakly pointing to the earplugs.

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You pull the earplugs out as fast as you can. Matt’s arms wrap around you, searching for a lifeline, and he pulls you against him.

“Shhh.” You cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

You hold him like this for a while. You hold him against you tightly, gently, as if he is the most fragile thing you have ever held.

Eventually, his breathing returns to normal. His heart starts to slow down. His fingertips no longer dig into your back as desperately as they have before. He’s just content now.

You press your lips to the crown of his head. “You okay?” you dare to ask.

Matt takes a moment before he nods. He leans back slightly. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“For what?”

His lips curl into a tired yet satisfied smile. “For helping me focus.”

You smile back at him. “My pleasure,” you say, and you lean down to capture his lips in a loving kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“And I love you, Matthew Michael Murdock.”

“Oh, you love me that much, huh?”

You giggle, “Shut up!” before you pull him in for another kiss.

For now, he needs to catch his breath and pick up the pieces you shattered by giving him this orgasm, but you know that once he does, it is going to be a long night for you. And you won’t be able to find it in yourself to complain. Not that you want to, anyway.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #no y/n #reader insert #daredevil smut #sub!matt #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #charlie cox #lizzi writes #request

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omegalomania · 2 years ago

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people bitching and moaning about fob "turning mainstream" as if that was never the entire point of fall out boy. that's In the goddamn dna of the band, it's baked into the ethos of why the band started in the first damn place. to be accessible to kids and especially to girls, who were often ridiculed and shunted out of the hardcore community. to be a gateway to bands that aren't as mainstream. to comment on the society they live in, as they live in it. people act like fall out boy "turning mainstream" was some kind of "betrayal" when from the start they were seizing on the trends of the time, putting their unique, unhinged fall out boy spin on them, and shooting them back out as a funhouse mirror. take this to your grave capitalized on the pop-punk zeitgeist that was big in the late 90s and early aughts and put their own spin on it: enmeshed catchy choruses with high-dexterity lyrical & linguistic skewerwork. infinity on high was basically a massive critique of the scene they were in - this ain't a scene it's a goddamn arm's race is a fucking thesis statement on what it is to be catapulted into fame in an industry that wants nothing more than a thousand cookie-cutter copycat acts of a successful formula, and fall out boy WAS the formula everyone desperately wanted to emulate. american beauty / american psycho blended sampling and modern hip-hop stylings with polished pop-rock and pointed those songs back at the snapshot of the 2010s we all lived in: commenting on racial injustice and the freeze-frame nature of relevancy. but even then they weren't doing it quite right - because fall out boy never does things quite right, they're never quite conventional, whether it's wentz's darkly confessional lyrics double-bagged in metaphor or stump's distinctive clear tenor or trohman's inescapable rock 'n roll edge or hurley's thunderous hardcore-punk-rock soul.

this band has always been too clever for its own critics, is the thing. but then, they always knew that. they knew they had a thriving fanbase of largely female fans so they were going to be mocked and belittled and ridiculed. they weren't quite right. they weren't quite so easy to market. pete wentz had to have all his hard edges filed off and cut down to size, skin lightened, literally whitewashed ("i feel like a photo that's been overexposed") to hell and back, even as he was marketed as the pretty boy of the band. and the other three members never even bothered with the spotlight: the soft-spoken vegan straightedge anarchist drummer and the wry, wisecracking, whip-clever guitarist who was more concerned with being the connective tissue than anything and the reticent vocalist who sang the words and wrote an awful lot of music but wasn't really the guy fronting the band. wentz's charisma carried the band, because the rest of them were really just some guys and never aspired to be anything else.

fall out boy is too pop. fall out boy is too mainstream. fall out boy isn't the real poster child of the emo movement. other bands are better. even within fall out boy's own narrative, they are repeatedly ignored, sidelined, and belittled, as though they weren't one of the only acts from the big 00s emo-pop movement to successfully not just survive the transition from the aughts to the '10s, and then later from the '10s to the '20s, but to thrive in it without banking on nostalgia. this band was supposed to be a flash in the pan. they weren't supposed to last and they weren't supposed to get big. they started off in joe's parents' attic because joe and pete were sick of how exclusionary and homophobic the hardcore scene was.

i think it's high time that people acknowledge how fall out boy has repeatedly succeeded where most of their other peers failed. cunning, clever, capable, and hyper-aware of the space they occupy in the culture surrounding them. that they are just as powerful, important, and artistic as any of the other bands in the scene that others might deify at their expense. that they deserve a hell of a lot more respect than they get from critics or hardcore punks who think they sold out. i hope one day they get that recognition. because they've earned it, time and time again, and the more i see people pushing back against that, the more certain i become of its inevitability.

#fall out boy #fob #*making poasts #this was supposed to be a pithy 3 sentence post but i kept going #just another Day In The Life of someone who sees a lot of garbage takes and gets tired #mostly i just shrug em off cause you know. what else is new. this has been going on since day 1.#but it saddens me. it saddens me that these guys are ridiculed for this still.#it breaks my heart that patrick isnt taken seriously as a composer in some circles because hes the guy from fall out boy.#it breaks my heart that people won't acknowledge pete as one of the most distinctive lyricists of our generation.#it breaks my heart that andy and joe are discredited and shit on within metal circles specifically because they're in fall out boy.#i hope they know that we get it. we get it and we're proud of them. no matter what.

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 9 months ago

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Dragonfly: Lantern Rite

zhongli/fem!reader

genre: mindless domestic fluff

w.count: 2.2k

a/n: this lil treat is based around the reader/zhongli pair from my fic Dragonfly! (feel free to click through and give it a read hehe) you don't need to read the original material per se, but if you have, then enjoy the immortal couple going to lantern rite together for the first-time! c:

Happy Lantern Rite!

it had been a while since you had migrated from your sealed-off home in the middle of nowhere liyue into the busy liyue harbor at the insistence of zhongli (and shockingly enough xiao). according to both of them, you had spent the last few hundred years stuck in immorality and all alone; you had spent enough time in solitude. now, with your life being revealed to those who mattered to you, it was time to move forward again.

in truth, even with your experience dealing with all sorts of folks from your lifetimes, the move to the harbor was awkward. people would see you practically sticking to zhongli simply because you knew no one else and they would start conversations based soley on the fact that you must be someone he knew. he was much more popular and well-known than you suspected since he was just a mortal man now. it seems his knowledge and need to make things known when they could possibly be told in injustice worked in building his reputation.

the addition of hu tao in your small, new social circle was a burst of energy you had forgotten people had as well. her go-go-go attitude about work and seeming lack of fatigue was almost awe-inspiring. the fact that she was the boss of your archon-turned-mortal lover was just as entertaining; witnessing him try to reign her in as respectfully as possible and sigh heavily when she would flit out of his sight was a pleasantry. it made him feel more well-rounded as a person and not just the age-old archon you had known.

now, it had been about a month.

zhongli had invited you to stay with him since he was absolutely unwilling to let you get too far from him after believing you were dead for so long. he was a collectively calm man with control of his emotions, but any sane person would feel the smallest bit of clinginess- for lack of better terms- in this scenario. perhaps it was his innate instincts kicking in that he usually suppressed; the ones that made him bare his fangs or hiss at intruders on his territory... who could say?

as you sat at the open window of his home up on the second floor, you enjoyed the bustle of noises floating from the harbor and the breeze that greeted you at this height. your night clothes were wrinkled from your night of rest and your hair had only been haphazardly combed back with your fingers. the warm cup of tea in your hand had been brewed just before you took your seat at the window.

even after a month of this, you still couldn't understand how you forgot how peaceful mornings could be when they weren't steeped in lonesome melancholy.

small pads of footsteps invaded your senses and overtook the sound of the harbor before the door to the small tea room opened with a slight creak. one thing you always had zhongli beat at is being able to wake up before him.

his bare feet carry him further into the room before coming to your side and leaning down to kiss the top of your bedhead. the robe he wears slides down his exposed shoulder when he leans and his loose hair brushes against your cheek. his hand cups behind your back and slightly rubs against your shoulders in a warm, welcoming motion before his amber eyes glow in the morning sun mirthfully.

"good morning, my dear." his hand keeps rubbing your back and moves to press into your spine that is still sore from the stillness of sleep. "may i be so bold as to ask to join you?" he always asks the same question as if you'll ever tell him no. you have no doubt he does in simple jest now.

"you may, since i'm feeling generous." with a small chuckle, zhongli shifts his body to sit across from you at the tea table before pouring himself some of your brewed tea.

sitting in the orange morning sun, the veins of gold that run across his body look like rivers flowing on calm land.

"shouldn't you cover up? someone down there could see you," you tease as you take a sip of your cooling tea.

"there's no need," he sips his own steaming cup fresh from the pot. "we're far too high for anyone to take notice of my appearance properly." even if someone did notice his less-than-human traits running over his exposed skin, he'd just blame it on the sun- just a trick of the light.

the mornings were often like this. soft and quiet and slow before he knows he's needed at the funeral parlor and you would soon be needed at your own job. that was one other thing you were insistent on when moving to the harbor with him.

you didn't want to mooch off his paycheck and his home and his space forever, so you were quick to find a job anywhere you could. zhongli wishes you wouldn't have since he strongly thought that you deserved to live lazily and carefree- if not forever then at least for a while longer. still, when you didn't budge on your decision, he was quick to relent as he always was.

you had decided to go with a smaller-scale job and work alongside ying'er and her perfumes at the scent of spring. she was quite the character and when you told zhongli about your prospects of working with her- his slight flash of concern didn't go unnoted. 'she is simply a very... open person,' he had told you. the flirtatious way she often spoke to others was clearly what he was referring to when you got to know her more.

still, you had your pick and decided to stay. odd though she can act, she was a good person and offered you decent pay at easy hours. compared to running around preforming errands along with rites of partings like zhongli and hu tao- this was a pretty safe gig.

you stood outside the perfume shop with zhongli as he was about to start on his way to the funeral parlor. he always insisted on walking you to and from work- the one evening you made it home before he could pick you up was the first time you had ever seen his eyebrows droop in what you would dare to call a pout!

that miniscule pout now dared to tug on his expression this morning too. lantern rite was tonight and when the sun would begin to drop, he would be preoccupied with other tasks and mingling with friends from past and present- he was afraid the social traffic would prevent him from offering you his arm. you had no problem with the circumstances since the shop would be closing early today for lantern rite in the first place. you just told him you'd meet him at the docks before it starts.

it was mostly true; you hadn't found him in time when the lanterns were to be lifted and you instead stood among the crowd of strangers while gaming had performed his wushou dance among the calm waves of the harbor. still, you felt full watching all the festivities firsthand like this- the fulfillment filled you with such warmth. your vantage point atop the long stairs that leads down to the crowded docks gives you a sense of being on top of the world. it felt silly, but so very comforting.

"oh, y/n!" you turn your head to see the traveler and paimon coming your way, paimon waving her arm enthusiastically in the air. she then proceeds to float around you in awe of your attire. "wow! you look so pretty!" her cheeks tint as you feel yourself become the smallest bit bashful.

"well, it's my first lantern rite. i thought i should dress up a little for the occasion." wearing a styled hanfu of soft colors that easily complemented zhongli's color scheme, you picked up the skirt before letting it flutter back around your legs.

this was another reason you were okay with zhongli not being able to escort you. while it would've been wonderful to be with him the whole event, the idea of this small surprise of you all gussied up made your cheeks warm.

"you smell good too," paimon's comment made you burst out a small laugh since it was so unprompted. you clear your throat as she cups he chin with her finger. "why does your perfume smell so familiar?"

"it was a gift from ying'er. she told me it would 'suit my tastes', i suppose."

"ying'er," paimon's brows crunch in intense thought before the traveler placed their arms on their hips.

"remember the rite of parting for rex lapis, paimon?" paimon snaps her fingers and points at the blond.

"that's it!" she turned back to you to explain. "during the rite of parting, we offered perfumes up to rex lapis! this is the one that seemed to really resonate with the statue of seven. what was it- uh, something, something dusk... mist..? agh! paimon can't remember clearly." you chuckle at her.

"it's called golden house maiden. according to ying'er it's favored by the more mature crowd. the gentle scent makes it easier on me to wear since anything too strong really isn't my thing." looking at your wrist where you sprayed a small portion of it on your skin before applying it to your throat and neck, you feel yourself get hot all over again knowing it was favored by rex lapis. "anyway, are you two going to enjoy the event?"

"mmhnn!" paimon hums. "we just got back from visiting xiao, so now paimon's going to eat all sorts of delicious food!"

you shoot the traveler a sly grin before they were clearing their throat and looking away from you. oh, young love- how precious.

"so, where's zhongli anyway? normally he's hovering around you like a fly when you're not working!"

"he isn't that bad," you chuckle. "i'm meeting him in a bit. i was actually on my way down. if you'd like we can walk together?"

"sure!" paimon agrees while the traveler nods and soon you're all walking down the stairs to the warmly lit lanterns and the decorative float of one of the past yakshas. with you walking in front of the two travel companions, they both opened their mouths in silently 'ooo's at the sight of your hair all done up with a single hair stick- one they're familiar with. "they're so cute," paimon whispers to the traveler who easily agrees.

before too long, you're greeted by the bustling partygoers of lantern rite and was even offered a small lantern charm that you happily except from a passing sales pitcher.

"oh!" paimon pipes up before pointing through the crowd. "there he is!" she spots zhongli with hu tao nearby a table of small tea cups. he mentioned that he often watched the fireworks with her during events such as these. "zhongli!" paimon called, parting the crowd while you and the blond followed behind.

zhongli was glad he wasn't holding a teacup or standing up when you finally graced him with your presence. if he had, he knows he would've dropped the cup or lost his footing.

he stared at you in a daze when you offered a kind greeting to hu tao who was fussing over how pretty you looked just as much as paimon did. as if your looks weren't enough, the scent of your perfume wafted into his sense and if he were any less of a man he would've grabbed your wrist and dragged you off by now. the god of old was thankful the night was dark and light dim so no one could notice his blown wide pupils that took you in. when you finally look at him, he swallows hard.

"sorry for keeping you waiting so long. i know i said i'd be here before the event started, but i got a bit time blind... ironically enough." zhongli stood from his spot at the round table and found his voice.

"it was no trouble at all." his eyes catch sight of your hair and gently brings his hand up to cup around the dangling jewels hanging off the wings of your dragonfly hair stick. "it was clearly very much worth the wait."

"aiya, you two love birds sure are something else," hu tao sighs dreamily at you. she was no hopeless romantic or anything, but seeing zhongli so smitten was something was quite the sight to behold. "go! enjoy the festivities and relax!" her soft voice was encouraging as she pushes zhongli's back to get him moving.

zhongli offers you his arm, which you take before showing him your small little lantern charm you received while you both walked off together. the party of three you were leaving behind of hu tao, paimon and the traveler all smiled at your backs.

"they make a good couple," traveler says. the other two agree with no argument.

and although it's a little late, zhongli takes you out to the statue of seven just outside of the harbor and releases a lantern with you in solitude. while you watched it float into the air far behind its other lantern brethren, zhongli was latched onto your back, hands on your hips and his face in your neck.

this perfume really was favored by rex lapis after all.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #zhongli fluff #zhongli fic #zhongli fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact x reader #zhongli headcanons #zhongli scenarios #genshin imagines #zhongli imagines

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codenamesazanka · 4 months ago

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Story has this tendency to add more suffering after the initial horror backstory, as a way to delve deeper into Hero Society/the world:

Shigaraki didn't just have a deadly quirk and was never saved by Heroes - his dad abused him and his family enabled this and then he killed his entire family and was ignored by dozens of bystanders before being picked up by a Villain who gives him his family's severed hands to fuck with him. Then it turns out even his birth was plotted by AFO.

Twice wasn't just a criminal who suffered a traumatic break. He was an orphaned 16-year-old who was kicked out onto the streets and turned to using his quirk for comfort, before falling into crime.

Spinner wasn't just called some names and got bullied and became a hikikomori. He got sprayed with pesticides for daring to walk outside, and admits that he was ready to completely give up.

Toga didn't just had to go to quirk counseling and repress herself. Her parents emotionally abused her and quirk counseling truly was to stuff her into a neat, 'normal' box and even when she was unconsciously biting her wrist hard enough to bleed in her sleep, no one did anything.

Touya wasn't just neglected by his dad and went villains for revenge. He was cornered to the point of a mental breakdown, before being alone when he nearly burned to death, was in a coma for three years, escaped from a shady AFO-ran orphanages, came home to see Enji still beating up Shouto, then became a street kid for the next 8 years.

AFO and OFA wasn't just two siblings with quirks living through a time of chaos where people quirks were considered subhuman. They were born to a homeless woman who died, and so they becoming orphaned trash river rat babies who lived on the streets their whole lives.

Scissors-kun wasn't just tied up and locked away in his own home by his parents. His family and multiple relatives were all involved in the abuse and cover-up, in which he was locked in a basement for years and they even sew his mouth shut (implied because he cried too much), before being purposefully abandoned when the town was evacuated due to it turning into a war zone.

From his latest interview, Horikoshi apparently writes things because he wants his story to be interesting and evoke strong emotions in readers. Fair enough. I think he chooses these absolutely awful backstories as a way to make his villains understandable and sympathetic - so we can clearly understand their anger and pain and know why they would seek out destruction even if those crimes are inexcusable. Also fair. Or maybe it's just the logic of the darker the backstory, the more heartwarming the lukewarm save will feel - if they've suffered so much, they should be grateful they're even getting a bit of relief.

But the thing is. Because these horrors are so atrocious and clearly the results of how corrupted and dysfunctional and cruel Hero/quirk society is, I really have no choice but to loathe Hero society and basically all who upkeep it, and wish for its complete upheaval.

Scissors-kun revealed to be the victim of one of those years-long confinement cases, undergoing years of neglect and social isolation, and then even mutilation, all because his family can't accept his quirk, and no Hero even knowing of his existence to save him from his own family - him being saved by Old Lady holding his hand doesn't bring me joy. I don't see change. I see an injustice that occurred long before the League ever started their terrorism and continued even after they were defeated, and only recently alleviated partly because the League lashed out and forced some reckoning, and even this help Scissors-kun received is the lowest of bars.

It makes me want the society that allowed something like this to happen to him to be utterly destroyed.

#nalslastworkingbraincell

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literary-motif · 2 months ago

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Public Eye

Zaros Atha'lin x Reader

You humiliate Zaros in front of a crowd.

Warnings: social anxiety, panic attacks

Zaros grew up with the knowledge that practically everybody and their dog hated him. His family was unpopular, he understood that, and despite every effort he made to make an ally of the rest of the Serulan population, somehow his unpopularity with the nobles always made him out to be the villain.

He liked to think he was quite good at hiding how much it affected him. His mother used to tell him that he should not care about other people’s opinions and that he needed only his sense of what was right to lead him on the way of his life — but that did not mean that their words did not sting.

You grew up in the spotlight. Your mother’s politics painted you in a favorable light to everyone — because criticism of her would be criticism of you, and truthfully she was rather well received. You could part a crowd effortlessly, getting people to avert their eyes and whisper words of awe. You never learned to care for the harsh whispers of strangers because you already had everything you wanted in life.

You were at the top, looking down on all the common folks whose only way of feeling a part of your grandeur was by talking about you — and you never passed up a chance to remind Zaros of that.

When you walked through the streets of Serula together, which was not an unusual occurrence now that you were preparing for the trials, he was keenly aware of the awe-struck glances you received from everyone — including the people who your mother seemingly forgot in her politics for the upper classes, including the people who he so desperately wanted to make heard — and the looks of contempt thrown his way.

“Is that Sarl Zaros?” he heard someone whisper. “He’d do better to crawl back into whichever slump he came from. Nobody wants him and Nira here!”

The venom with which the stranger spat his mother’s name made his fists clench, but he would not have survived as long in the public’s constant sneers and insults if he had been half as hot-headed as you. Zaros took a deep breath, keeping his gaze straight ahead, and continued walking. He was too caught up in the simmering rage this injustice invoked in him to notice your triumphant grin.

You had won the public’s favor long before his mother entertained the idea of contesting the throne.

What you did not know, and what he had tried to keep from his mother for years, was that Zaros performed utterly horrific before a crowd. The people gathered around him made his heart thunder, their disdainful glances made him want to shrink into himself and hide from the harsh judgment he knew they were casting upon him. Zaros hated crowds. He hated social interactions with people who saw him as an evil threat.

It was only his luck that you loved to get under his skin.

“Sarl Zaros, how convenient seeing you right now,” you greeted, fake cheer coloring your tone. The two nobles you were conversing with in the courtyard turned around to look at him, their eyes on him enough to make Zaros tense. “Why don’t you join us? We were talking about your political ideas.”

He cleared his throat, his mind racing for an excuse. “How kind of you, Earis,” he said, holding your gaze for only a moment before letting his eyes wander to the bush of roses next to you instead. “My mother is expecting me, however. Perhaps another time.”

One of the nobles snickered. “Like mother like son,” they said. Zaros vaguely recognized them as belonging to the Ponvillus family. He bit his tongue, the sneer causing anger to overshadow his anxieties.

“Pray tell, what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, holding the noble’s gaze.

“He talks,” you said, nudging the other noble’s shoulder. She only laughed, as if remembering a private joke between you. “Watch out. Once he starts, he won’t shut up.”

“I don’t think this conversation is fruitful at all,” Zaros said, giving you a bitter glare. “If you want to insult me, please go ahead. There is no need for me to join your circle of conversation, however. You’ve never had a problem talking ill of me behind my back, why would you need to say it to my face now?”

“How sensitive, Zaros,” you said, stepping closer to him until you were face to face. You clasped your hands behind your back, standing before him as if inspecting a very particular flower.

He did not like the triumphant smile on your face. He did not like the two nobles behind you, watching your every move, waiting for the right moment to chime in with laughter and insults directed at him.

You always commanded a crowd so effortlessly. He was envious of your talent. It seemed like a natural byproduct of your upbringing, and his terror a natural side effect of his.

“Sensitive?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on you.

He could debate with you. He could argue with you — only you. It was so much easier to get under your skin when you two were alone — when there was no biased audience to tear him down without listening to a word he said. At least you never disregarded him, no matter how much his words annoyed you or made your blood boil — you always listened.

“Sensitive like the— the time I found you crying over your brother’s grave?”

Your face fell.

Perhaps that had been too much.

The thick silence made Zaro’s breath hitch. His palms were sweaty. He felt his heartbeat picking up. This conversation had taken a horrible turn. The noble’s faces were frozen in an expression of shock and disgust. How was he supposed to rule over a kingdom if he could not even hold a discussion without crossing a line?

You clicked your tongue. “How eloquent, Zaros,” you said, a chilling coldness in your eyes that turned his mouth dry. “I find it interesting how you spit the most hurtful things in private, but you always trip over your words whenever we’re not alone. I wonder why that is?”

He swallowed thickly, giving you a warning look. When had you caught up on this? How closely had you observed him?

“I’ll tell you why that is,” you continued, making his heart seize painfully.

He did not dare raise his gaze to look at the nobles behind you, no doubt listening attentively to gather more fuel for the venomous image they had of him.

“I think you know exactly how much everybody hates you. It eats away at you, knowing they will never listen to you, no matter how brilliant you think your ideas may be. They won’t care, because they can’t stand you. They look at you and see nothing but a waste of space. They wait with bated breath to find fault in everything you do. They are observing you, not because they care, but to remind themselves of why it is that they hate you so much. You are nothing!” you spat, “and if you think you will ever keep yourself on the throne, take a walk around the city and remember how much the people you want to help actually despise you!”

Zaros was frozen, looking at you with wide eyes. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

You were right, that’s what hurt so much. He knew you were right.

Your words would have made him pause at any time. Now that you delivered them in front of an audience — and their taunting laughs registered only now that he thought of them, hearing their mocking chuckles as if from underwater — he could not help feeling utterly destroyed by them.

He was helpless, caught like a deer in headlights. Not a single thought came to his mind in retort, he would not even find the breath to reply if he tried.

The laughs were drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears. He felt sick, nausea churning in his stomach at the public humiliation you had put him through — at the truth you had said aloud. He took a step back, his eyes darting across the courtyard numbly. He felt ready to collapse any minute.

He was unsteady, the feeling of frozen shock steadily bleeding into the panic he knew so well. His mind began screaming at him to run, run, run— get away, find a private spot before he fell apart in front of the pitiless eyes of the public.

Zaros turned away from you. He could not breathe, he could not think. There was a sinking feeling in his chest that made him hover on the line between numb shock and panic. He was holding himself together with every last shred of his iron will, but with every step that led him towards the library, he felt his throat burn more and more. His chest felt tight, and when the heavy door shut behind him — blocking out the laughs and taunts that rang in his mind regardless — he felt the scale finally tip, and he collapsed to the ground with a breathless wheeze.

He was dying, you had finally done it. He could not breathe, and no matter how tightly he gripped the books to ground him, he could not get your words out of his head. They tore him apart over and over again, the knowledge that you had said them for all the world to hear made him want to dissolve into dust.

He banged his head against the shelf behind him. The hurt did not even register in his panic. His cheeks were wet with tears, but Zaros did not feel them falling from his eyes. His blurry vision made him panic more. He could not see. The world around him did not feel real anymore. He was slipping through the cracks of this reality, slowly bleeding into the ground beneath him until there would be nothing left of him at all.

At least that way he did not need to face anyone ever again. At least that way he never had to endure their taunts and disgust and hatred ever again.

A loud bang echoed through the library, making him gasp. Gods, he did not want anyone to see him. What would it matter if he was going to die anyway?

“Zaros?”

The thought of feeling anyone’s eyes on him made his stomach drop, a sickness running to his very core and making him retch.

“Zaros!”

The voice sounded familiar. Through his blurry vision, he saw your approaching form. Zaros squeezed his eyes shut. He should have locked the door. Out of all the people, why did it need to be you?

“Come— come to— glo—gloate?” he stuttered breathlessly, biting out the words with as much venom he could muster.

Why could you not leave him alone? What more did you want? Had you not humiliated him sufficiently? Did you need to twist the knife in an already fatal wound? He had never thought you to be cruel, perhaps he did not know you at all.

You dropped to your knees before him, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. Zaros flinched back, the touch burning and making him want to crawl out of his skin.

“Breathe,” you said calmly, retreating your hand.

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. If he were not currently drowning in his panic, he would have shot you a glare so dark it would have haunted your nightmares.

Breathe, you said. What did you think he was trying to do? Where were the other nobles? Were they lingering in the doorway, mocking him quietly? Did you follow him here to gather more ammunition to use against him later?

‘Sarl Zaros?’ you would say with a mocking smirk, giving him a dark glance, ‘He can’t rule a kingdom, he can’t even face a crowd! Zaros? Do you mean the pathetic mess I found hyperventilating in the library? He would break in a single council meeting!’

“We’re alone,” you said, shifting to sit next to him instead. You did not try to reach out again. “I took the different entrance, they don’t know I’m here. Can you try to take a deep breath?”

He shook his head, drawing his knees up to his chest. He buried his hands in his hair, tugging at the blonde strands. This was all too much. He was slipping, freefalling into nothingness. “Can’t— can’t—” he panted. He could not calm down enough to breathe the air he so desperately craved.

“You know,” you began, keeping your voice calm, “back when I was younger, I thought the palace was haunted. There was a time when I did not dare to walk the halls at night, because I was afraid that the spirit of my brother would appear before me, and somehow blame me for being dead. I know it had nothing to do with me, but it always felt wrong to be alive when he wasn’t. Even now, I feel I am trying to take what is rightfully his. I used to attribute every little thing to his presence, the rustling of the curtains at night when there was no wind, the weird scratching I heard on my door at night, and the steady footsteps on the stone floor of the halls.

“It was ridiculous, of course,” you said with a shrug, “but I always thought he was there. One day, when I could no longer take it, I went to his grave. I told him to leave me alone, that I was sorry he was dead but that I could do nothing to bring him back and that the injustice he felt was justified, but that I was innocent of fate’s doing.

“My mother heard me, and she sat me down and told me that it was not him being envious of my life, but rather watching over me, making his presence known despite no longer being amongst us. I found the sentiment hard to understand at first, but then I thought of it less as a haunting, it was him checking in on me from time to time. It was just an unusual way of doing so.”

You glanced at Zaros. His breathing was still elevated, but it had evened out considerably. Your distraction had worked.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” he told you, leaning his head against the bookshelf and closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I— I don’t know why I said it. I suppose I was panicking. I wanted to lash out before you did. I know how much he means to you.”

“I know,” you said, catching his gaze and giving him a comforting smile. “I’m sorry as well. I was not anticipating this. I knew you struggled with publicity, but I never thought it was this extreme.”

Zaros hummed, closing his eyes. He was exhausted. The sun had already set, and the library was only illuminated by the glowing torchlight streaming through the large windows.

“Can you make it to your chambers by yourself, or would you like my help?” you asked, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge to keep him awake. “You know I don’t mind.”

“Fine,” he replied, begrudgingly blinking his eyes open again, “and thank you.”

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zaros x reader #zaros atha’lin #zaros atha’lin x reader #zsakuva zaros

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alltimefail · 2 months ago

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This song, "For Forever" was on George's Edwin playlist (he said so in a Cameo) and holy fuck it's perfect for Edwin and Charles.

Knowing the current fate of our beloved show it stings a little extra hard to talk about, but not in a bad way and I want to talk about why that is. Warning that I'm going to wax poetic here, maybe definitely cry a little along the way, but please stick with me. 🖤

These boys have a bond that is special; it defies hell, rejects heaven, scoffs at the classic tragedies with a molotov cocktail in hand, rewrites the expected "bury your gays" trope (surprise, the gays came back as ghosts!), and says fuck a soulmate - I willed this, I chose this, I chose you, fate may have brought us together but I stayed with you and I'd do it again. No one can change that they are together for forever, two friends having a perfect day every day because the other one is there. They'll always have each other in every universe, they'll be together until the end of time and not even death herself can (or would) split them up. For Charles and Edwin it's just sky for forever, inside jokes, silly dance sessions, late night games of cluedo, reminiscing and confiding, puzzling cases, paperwork, infinite backpacks to organize, spells to master, books to read aloud (Edwin doing the reading of course while Charles enjoys), and long walks to wherever, whenever, because they've got nothing but time.

These two silly ghost boys will have the promise of endless possibility, content with the life they've made in their death, just letting the world pass them by for forever and it's everything, better than a life either of them could have ever imagined. Charles and Edwin have known so much tragedy and injustice in their respective lifetimes, they know loss intimately and are constatly fighting tooth and nail against the many forces that try to separate them along the way, but they still choose to do good, to help others, and they are happy because the reward is enough: the ability to bask in the light they've found in eachother is more than enough. Regardless of how you interpret that love, it is truly eternal and pure... so much so that it honestly makes some of the greatest love stories and epics pale in comparison.

All that to say, every time we talk about these two and tell their stories (through another television adaptation, through rewatching season 1 and analyzing every little detail, through fanart, through the comics, through their appearance in doom patrol, and so on) we only add to that cosmic universe that they'll exist in forever. Their story doesn't end with the Netflix adaptation, just like it didn't really start there either.

"You say 'There's nowhere else I'd rather be, and I say me too... we just talk and take in the view."

That line ⬆️ is the essence of the boys whole dynamic, and you know what? That is really fucking beautiful. The whole drive in this song - its steady, epic build and sensational crescendos that convey excitement, awe, a little bit of uncertainty, and an abundance of unbriddled emotion - is exactly how Charles and Edwin's dynamic feels and it's a goddamn treasure, a fucking whirlwind, a blessing to witness. Frankly the love they share is worth celebrating, it's worth honoring and creating for because it's breathtaking, pure joy, warmth, and unyielding devotion. It's a one of a kind story with two boys who will always come to each other's rescue, who will do everything in their power to make sure the other is okay, who will accept each other and pick each other up every time and love each other enough in death to make up for all the people who dared to not see the brilliant light they shined in life.

Netflix may not want to tell their story any more, but we can. We can keep making art, writing fics, supporting Jayden and George who brought our boys to life - and Kassius and Yuyu who gave us their sensational living counterparts as well. I know I love these dead boys and their alive girl companions and that their story will always mean the world to me. I love their love, the found family they've created, and all the residual joy and inspiration it causes; but most of all I love that they've brought us all together in our own little found family. No one can take that from us, nor can they take that from the writers, cast, and crew who put everything into starting this legacy.

So let's do what we do best and get back to our work...for forever, yeah? Maybe another streaming service saves our show (and that would he fucking mint, aces, BRILLS!!!!) but at the end of the day, fandom can immortalize this story.

There's still cases to solve, rights to wrong, jobs to job! No reason to stop just because Netflix mucked this up royally. 🔎💀

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iambicpentameterhamster · 3 months ago

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Every umbrella academy character ranked (seasons 1-4)

After that shitshow of a fourth season, i felt it necessary to redo this.

#36 -The Sparrows (Jayme, Alphonso, Fae etc.)

The show had no clue what to do with these characters. They sit around being evil for a little while only to promptly die within four episodes. Also one of them is a fucking cube?!? Whats up with that?

#35 - Sloane

How come she disappears in season 4 but not sparrow Ben? So much of this makes no sense.

#34 -Sparrow Ben

I hate this character with my whole being. He goes around calling people emo as if HE DOESNT WAKE UP EVERY MORNING WITH A SCOWL ON HIS STUPID FACE AND EMO HAIR ON HIS STUPID FOREHEAD. He's so rude and awful and i'm given no reason by the show to give a shit where he ends up.

#33 -Carl Cooper

This one speaks for itself.

#32 -Reggie's wife

The two of them annoyed me so much.

#31 -Viktor

Moochy emo sod. Elliott Page's acting got progressively worse throughout the series (and i like Elliott Page, but this wasnt his best work.)- season 1 Vanya was tolerable, beyond that i couldn't stand this character. All his jokes land flat and he has the charisma of a piece of cardboard.

#30 -Season 4 Five

For the sake of this ranking, i am treating seasons 1-3 Five and season 4 Five as seperate characters. Seems like the writers were doing the same. What the fuck, guys? How do you bulldoze a character this badly?

Season 4 Five was unfunny, selfish, cowardly, and most of all on a different plane of being from the Five we all knew and loved. Screw you, season 4 Five, you're not canon.

#29 -Season 4 Lila

I'm treating Lila the same way. Season 4 Lila was an injustice to seasons 2-3 Lila.

#28 -Harlan

Couldn't care less about him. He represents to me when the umbrella academy started going to shit in season 3.

#27 -Jennifer

Again, we are given no reason to care about her.

#26 -Pogo

He was just there for the exposition. They never explained why Reggie was doing experiments on monkeys??

#25 -Reggie

He was quite a good villain but i still hate him. Really goofy at times, too.

#24 -Jean and Gene

They were quite good actually. If season 4 wasn't a dumpster fire, i reckon they'd have been able to really shine.

#23 -Cha Cha

This is getting into better territory. I liked Cha Cha, she was badass, but not well developed.

#22 -Detective Patch

Again, i liked her, but she wasn't given much time to develop as a character.

#21 -The Swedes

They were funny, whimsical villains that were fun to watch on screen. Funny and whimsical are two adjectives that TUA used to embody.

#20 -Elliott

My guy just wanted to eat fish and be a conspiracy theorist 😔

#19 -Sissy

Welcome back, Sheldon's mum.

In all seriousness, she was well acted despite Viktor's actor giving her nothing to work with, so props to her.

#18 -Dave

WE GOT ZERO MENTIONS OF DAVE IN SEASONS 3-4?!? DESPITE HIM BEING A HUGE PART OF KLAUS'S CHARACTER?!?! WHEN I CATCH YOU WRITERS-

#17 -Destiny's children

I am in fact an active member

#16 -Luther

I have bumped Luther up my list because in seasons 3-4 he sort of embraces his goofiness, but in seasons 1-2 he is an insufferable, incestuous moron. He is up here for good character development and i wished he could have ended up with Sloane.

#15 -Agnes

She was really cute and sweet, i liked her a lot. RIP season 1, you were peak.

#14 -Herb and Dot

They were sweet and funny too, and i miss the whole idea of the time commission.

#13 -Kenny's mum

An honourable mention

#12 -Grace

Grace was super well performed and poignant. I have no issues with Grace.

#11 -Stan

Live, laugh, love Stan. I hate that the trauma of losing him was never mentioned in season 4 for Diego or Lila.

My top 10

#10 -Lenoard Peabody/ Harold Jenkins

I stand by him being one of the best-acted and most cleverly written villains of all time. He is not only a well-executed surprise villain, but a scarily accurate one, and the actor plays him to perfection. We even start to like him before the cracks show. Also he looks like a creepy version of Lin Manuel Miranda.

#9 -Ray

Season 4 did Ray DIRTY. It was completely out of character for him to just walk out. They could have at least have him die in a tragic accident or something. Season 2 Ray is the perfect, most charismatic, ideal man and i hold him in my heart forever and in my head Alison and Ray ended up together.

#8 -Hazel

He had one of the best arcs on the show, period. Continues to represent everything good about the first two seasons of TUA. He was flawed, he was human, he was loveable.

#7 -Umbrella Ben

He seemed like he could have been a brilliant character with more screen time. His sacrifice in season 2 was a genuinely moving moment. The backstreet boys moment is SO FUNNY and his and Klaus's dynamic is something i really miss.

#6 -The Handler

We don't appreciate The Handler enough. The show started rolling downhill as soon as The Handler was gone. She was the glue that held the show together, one of the best villains/antagonists in TV history.

#5 -Allison

Yes, season 3 Allison made some stupid choices and did some terrible things, but a lot of it came from grief and she redeemed herself in season 4 imo. Seasons 1-2 Allison was one of the most charismatic, endearing and empathetic characters on the show.

#4 -Seasons 1-2 Lila

I love you. I miss you. Come back to me.

#3 -Diego

Bumped up the list for being a CONSISTENTLY good character who is flawdd but still extremely loveable and hilarious.

#2 -Seasons 1-3 Five

Seasons 1-3 Five would shoot season 4 Five in the face. He is the daddy here, and season 4 Five is the creepy uncle.

Original Five is a masterfully crafted, hilarious, unique, intelligent character and i will not let season 4 ruin it for me.

#1 -Klaus

This needs no justification.

What do you think? How far do you agree?

#the umbrella academy season 4 #the umbrella academy season 2 #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy cast #the umbrella academy season 1 #the umbrella academy season 3 #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #reginald hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves

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