#their relationship is the definition of 'complicated'

[4denthusiast]

Obviously "comutuals" just means mutual mutuals, but what if we deliberately misinterpret "co" as being in the category theory sense of the prefix? Mutuality is already a symmetric relationship so we can't get anything new with just the reverse relationship. Let's instead do as the category theorists do and make a new more complicated definition where it's a morphism and reverse that instead. A mutual is a morphism from the complete directed graph of 2 nodes to the follower graph, so a comutual is a graph morphism in the opposite direction, which can be interpreted as a partition of Tumblr's users into 2 sets such that at least one member of each set follows at least one member of the other. This definition of comutuals may not be useful but it's surprisingly fitting.

To fit this back into the theme of bad ideas for Tumblr features, how about Tumblr lists a selection of comutuals and where you fit into them somewhere in the UI. Not all of them, because there are far too many. Trying to compile a complete list thereby crashing the website as it runs out of memory would be another way to make it worse at least. Probably.

Feature ideas I have to make tumblr worse

Unfollow notifications. When someone unfollows you, you receive a notification about it. The notification includes the last post of yours that the unfollower saw so you know what the final straw was.

If the unfollower was a mutual then this notification comes with stats about how long you were mutuals and a list of comutuals who have to pick sides in the divorce. The comutuals receive this notification too

Ability to edit other people's replies.

Ability to edit other people's blog themes.

The ability to gift debuffs like those cooking competition shows. Pay $15 to make someone you hate only be allowed to post 20 times a day. Pay $30 and they can only make posts out of the set of pre-approved family-friendly message options like the Webkinz chatroom.

De-blaze. Halt someone else's post right in its tracks by removing all impressions. The more a post is circulating the more expensive this is.

30 Day Trial Follows. When you follow someone you can't unfollow them for at least 30 days because c'mon, don't you wanna at least give them a chance?

Obligatory "Tumblr houses". You have to act really really excited for the yearly sportsball tournament or risk being shadowbanned. Your blog is forcibly themed after your Tumblr house.

Obligatory name, face, and address when you sign up. This isn't for verification or anything this is explicitly for doxxing. Hopefully you'll think twice about posting your rancid My Little Pony take now that you know the whole fandom can be at your doorstep in an hour.

[misseverandever]

I CAN READ THIS, AND I WILL! LET’S GOOOOOOO!

omg was not on my 2024 bingo that I’m actually gonna read Melinda’s set for Anya

FRIST CARD: FOUR OF CUPS (the past)

that’s symbolizes Anya past implicating on her present, the cart indicates a need to experiences something new that brings joy and fills this empty space, something we see in our little girl eyes and i’m happy to see she’s doing good cuz in the past she certainly was a person that spends their days with their head down.

SECOND CARD: DEATH (the present)

The upright Death tarot card symbolizes transformation and the beginning of something new. It represents closing a chapter, leaving past experiences behind, we can think about Anya maturing and liberating from the trauma! Well in relationship (anya question) suggests that your relationship may be stuck in a stagnant or unproductive dynamic, what we definitely can see, she tell his mother that he bullies her

THIRD CARD: THREE OF SWORDS (hidden influences)

The unseen problem huh? There’s a lot of them, well Donovan, Twilight, Operation Stixs… etc etc….

Whenever this card appears in a reading, it indicates conflict, disappointment, and misunderstanding (Well that’s definitely is the case), maybe Damian is definitely gonna be sad about why her approach to him, we know this is real cuz Damian already say before about people approaching him just because he is a Desmond and we know Anya have the same goal, but no worries is gonna be difficult but it can be resolved (they need to talk about this) !!!!

FORTH CARD: THE STAR (ANYA)

The Star in the upright position symbolizes hope, inspiration, and peace for the future. BUT is in the reversed position, so Anya reflects the feelings of hopelessness, confusion, and doubt as you navigate life's challenges and question your circumstances. We see Melinda like that, and surprisingly Anya feel empty for her!

(So cute Anya being the star)

FIFTY CARD: TEN OF PENTACLES (the influence of others)

What kinds of external influences are dominating the situation? Well all of them! This card is important because it influences how others close to the Querent feel about the situation. AND GUESS ITS ALL RIGHT! This is a very positive card, and its positivity indicates that the path of challenges and difficulties has already been traveled, and now is the time to reap what is deserved. INNN THE RELATION WAAAAY (remember Anyas question not just because you know… i’m a shipper) is gonna be an harmony between them, whit a lot of happiness, cuties!

SIXTH CARD: ACE OF CUPS (what Anya have to do)

We see he is receiving, It’s often represents sadness, loss, and frustration, signaling difficulty in connecting. We know Damian is a difficult person, Anya have to deal with his feelings, is an important thing to do cuz if she don’t, they don’t will be together.

SEVENTH CARD: THREE OF WANDS (final results)

This last card is important because it takes into account all the six previous cards in its response. Here, we have an indicator of what the final resolution to the problem will be.

In this spread, the energy here is one of movement, so Anya cannot (and will not) stay still and she cannot try to handle everything alone.

The card indicates complicity, true love, and a strong connection. Sooo don't worry, as the frendship is real, and they will overcome it together.

SHE KNOWS!

SORRY MY ENGLISH IS KINDA BAD SO CAN YOU GUYS PLEASE FORGIVE ANY ERRORS IN THE TEXT? I was so exited to reed this, if you need a read dm me 🫶

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

So. Sonic 3. That was. certainly. hoo boy *collapses to the sound of a metal pipe falling*

Spoilers and thoughts under cut (LONG POST)

Well, my pre-movie post was SO WRONG. I think most stobotnik fans were, thinking that Stone would be the one dying. I- truly wasn’t expecting it.

I’ll get back to that in a second, let me get all of my silly things out of the way/the things i was hype about/had to crush my partner and friend’s hands about while witnessing.

The antics between Gerald and Ivo were expected but oh my GOD JIM CARREY. you are a national treasure, have fun in retirement. we will miss you greatly, but this being your final movie (probably) is a great thing to culminate your absolutely stunning career.

Anyway, their dance sequence was fucking insane, and as much as I was cringing, I was grinning through it too. The fight on the Eclipse cannon was also questionable BUT HOLY FUCK NOW I GET THE PRAYING MANTIS/FLY REFERENCE. (Thank god it wasn’t directly about stone and robotnik but i’m already cooking how i can connect them). Spanking? Also in my Sonic movie. But yeah.

Gerald and Ivo could never be more alike in intellect, but different in morals. Evident through Gerald’s fixation on avenging his daughter with no remorse or thought for whoever will get in the way, throwing away Ivo and the whole of the world as a result). He’s willing to kill himself, but as Shadow says and believes, that isn’t what Maria would have wanted.

I used to not like the Wachowskis. I was already a little unsettled when the first movie released by the fact that characters unrelated to previous Sonic media were being utilized as major plot elements, but during the second and third movies, I began to absolutely love them.

This third movie cemented that love. The father-son relationship between Tom and Sonic specifically. My heart was aching in the first scene at their little campsite, Happy BEarthday, and their heart-to-heart in Sonic’s old cave, talking about Choice (an analysis incoming) and that you always have a choice, and that your lungs (heart) will help you find the right one.

I think this movie might’ve done. One of the best jobs of displaying found family. The sibling relationship between Tails, Knuckles, and Sonic was the most heartrendingly beautiful and achingly real thing I’ve seen in a while. And it really hits you, the fact that they’re kids.

And the amount of silly little jokes, Tails having his gadgetry and Knuckles with his blunt personality, Sonic tying them all together with his wit and charm, it all became slightly surreal to see. To see something so happy, so delicately real.

Oh my god, on the trio, Knuckles saving both Sonic and Tails from falling to Earth. I was gasping that whole time, truly being sent into the moment. Movies and media rarely do that to me in the emotional sense.

AND AS FOR SHADOW AND MARIA

Holy fuck at least I was right about that part in my pre-movie wishes. I thought it was interesting how they adapted it, and it definitely made for it to be slightly more believable and less complicated.

But oh my gosh them. Skating around the lab, messing around together, introducing Shadow to that great 70s music and dancing, watching movies together and just being kids!! And don’t even get me started on the rooftop scene. Shadow was so vulnerable and self-conscious, and Maria comforted him in a way that touched me. Understands him in a way that no one else ever has, as everyone else only saw him as the experiment and the subject, while she saw him as his own person, with thoughts and emotions and curiosities.

It paralleled Sonic and Tom in the cinematography too, and the sentiment was all the same. That Shadow can choose who he wants to be. (I Am All I Am and Choice. Trust, it’s coming soon)

Maria and Shadow made me unbearably happy. It was all I could’ve ever asked for and more.

Shadow and Sonic were an absolutely crazy duo this show. Dude, in their fight versus each other? Both going Super and absolutely going at it, and Shadow having the absolute gall to accuse Sonic of not caring about his friends, that he was clearly here alone because he abandoned them, and mention Tom, which caused Sonic to go completely over the edge, and actually punch him straight into space and lose his Super.

Sonic and Shadow reconciling over their shared feeling of grief, Sonic sharing his pain, emphasizing the love that will be able to help them heal, Shadow reciprocating, and then Shadow remembering Maria after looking up at the stars, realizing, from Sonic’s words, that this truly wasn’t what Maria wanted, just that whole moon scene between them is living in my head rent free and I need to see it over and over again.

HOLYYY SHIT THEY PLAYED LIVE AND LEARN WHEN SUPER SONIC AND SUPER SHADOW TEAMED UP AND BEAT THE EVER LIVING FUCK OUT OF THOSE ROBOTS. Me and my friends were going so fucking insane in that theater.

Shadow remembering Maria (possibly for the last time) as he sacrifices himself to push the Eclipse cannon away from the place that Maria loved. Remembering all of the good moments, the love between them, that is all he wanted if he was going to leave the world for good. (Well, I mean, he’s still alive, but the amnesia route is still optional)

Sonic actually going slightly insane this movie was also very interesting to watch. His absolute- like, his vision went RED when Shadow mentioned Tom. That was what set him OFFFF. His abuse of the Master Emerald and even threatening his own best friends/siblings over this— god the emphasis of choice in this film I want to sob.

Also, yall already KNOW I WAS BALLING ABOUT THE AKIRA SLIDE, SNAPCUBE REFERENCES, AND EVERY TIME SHADOW BREATHED OR MOVED. Literally could not contain myself from absolutely sob-cry-screaming at Shadow and (Keanu did a great job btw) his entire story, his joy with Maria and his pain all after. (His Super form looked fuck beautiful, a new colorful hue every time I saw it)

All in all, Robotniks were hilarious, Maria and Shadow were beautifully tragic and just generally so so SO adorable and loving. I’m so glad that Tails and Knuckles got more serious appreciation and screen time this movie as well, because as much as Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles were sidelined in this movie (to put forth Robotniks and Shadow, understandably so), it still felt more fulfilling and real than in the second movie. Super forms continue to be beautiful onscreen, I would like to collapse and die from hearing ONE OK ROCK and Live and Learn.

AHEM. Now, clearly, I will be making a separate post solely about Stobotnik. Along with the multiple Stone-centric fics burning a hole in my brain and the choice and grief analyses awaiting my attention. Bear with me as I have SO MANY THOUGHTS.

We won. . . but at what cost.

My friends, my partner, you already know. We died and were promptly revived together in that theater.

[tillsfan]

a dive into Till’s feelings regarding Ivan and Mizi!

ivantill’s whole thing is being INSANELY complicated. i am a full on believer that they have mutual (unrealized) feelings, but i think the word “love” is definitely too vague to properly describe what they have. vivinos said a “deep LOVE/HATE” relationship for a reason.

i think till both genuinely feeling love for ivan yet hating him at the same time is absolutely reasonable. ivan has pushed and pulled till his whole life. till never felt secure near ivan, as much as he cares about him. but, ivan was always there. till felt comfort with ivan’s presence despite the lack of security he gave. till heavily valued ivan’s opinion, getting upset when ivan implied he didn’t see till as a friend. he trusted ivan enough to attempt to run away with him, and he potentially would have spent the rest of his life with ivan if they actually escaped.

i while love mutual love ivantill as much as the next guy, saying their feelings were 100% romantic is wrong. their emotions towards one another being so raw is something that defines them, which is why it’s difficult to put their mutual feelings into a specific box.

another thing we need to take into account is that neither of them know what love really is. they inhabit a world that isn’t MEANT for humans to love. they were never taught what love is and how to feel it. this is part of the reason they could never develop properly. they live in a world where the concept of romance and relationships aren’t properly established between humans.

but, i do believe like they could’ve had a chance under different circumstances. they were a slowburn that was never able to properly develop because, again, they lived in a world that didn’t allow them to, and they both ruined things for themselves. ivan had a huge tendency to self sabotage because of his severely low self esteem. he convinced himself that his feelings were shallow, and projected that onto till through his actions, confusing and distressing the latter. in addition, till was avoidant of the reality in front of him, ivan. due to till feeling such a lack of security with ivan, and never being able to understand ivan, he avoided intimacy with him altogether. till also just has a fear of intimacy in general. there was a significant amount of miscommunication between both parties.

in addition, saying that till didn’t love mizi is just. false. he dedicated all of his life to her, she was literally his muse. he loved her in his own way, even if he had to put her on a pedestal to do so. yes, he didn’t know anything about her as a person, but that doesn’t mean his feelings weren’t real. saying he never truly loved her undermines so much of his character.

mizi was till’s coping mechanism, yes. he adored her from a distance. he liked the idea of her and not her as an individual, but that doesn’t make his feelings any less real. he loved and cared for her. we saw how torn he was after mizi disappeared in round 5. he almost DIED because of his grief, before ivan ‘saved’ him. his feelings towards her were as authentic as they could be for someone who kept everyone at a distance.

while you could say till’s love for mizi isn’t inherently romantic, the same can be said for ivantill. nothing stated in the patreon confirmed what EXACTLY till felt towards mizi besides her being a fantastical figure to him. and his “love” towards ivan doesn’t HAVE to be romantic (even though i believe it is), it could very much be platonic. vivinos is purposefully vague with what kind of love each character feels because, as i said, feelings aren’t something that can be properly established in this universe.

hope u guys enjoyed my rant Yay 🌹

[why5x5]

I agree. He looks CGI. I can't find anything definite about that, but I did find this

“His relationship with Krypto is complicated. He’s not nearly the best dog. There’s a lot more to Krypto than you see in this trailer.”

Expanding on the decision to include Krypto in the film, Gunn wrote: “Krypto arrives on screens in Superman this summer. Krypto was inspired by our dog Ozu, who we adopted shortly after I started writing Superman.”

“Ozu, who came from a hoarding situation in a backyard with 60 other dogs & never knew human beings, was problematic to say the least,” added the 58-year-old.

Continuing, Gunn said: “He immediately came in & destroyed our home, our shoes, our furniture - he even ate my laptop. It took a long time before he would even let us touch him. I remember thinking, ‘Gosh, how difficult would life be if Ozu had superpowers?’ - and thus Krypto came into the script & changed the shape of the story as Ozu was changing my life.”

KRYPTO SUPERMAN (2025) Directed by James Gunn

[angelshizuka]

Do blizto and stolas get together in the new episode? Haven’t seen it yet

Yes and no.

Just as Stoltiz has always been, their relationship is too complicated for direct answers like that. They're definitely more than "just friends", but it's obvious they don't wanna dive too deep too fast after everything that's happened between them and especially given Stolas' current situation.

Especially the ending shot of the episode makes it pretty obvious Blitz has nothing holding him back now from wanting an official relationship with Stolas, but it's Stolas who's a bit (understandably) hesitant because of everything he lost and still struggles to process it. Though, I'm positive he could've learned to live without his wealth, status, powers ect, but it's losing Octavia that truly broke him and that's not gonna be easy to heal from.

I'm not entirely sure what to call their relationship right now, because they pretty much act like a couple and you can tell it's what they want, there's just a lot on Stolas' mind that keeps him from fully committing to it.

[crimson-kisses]

Duetsche Zunge

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Gilbert Beilschmeidt || Prussia [Hetalia] x Fem!reader Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, physical violence & the like] Author's notes: I honestly took some inspiration from @shini--chan 's works. Her every piece is marvellous, especially Gilbert's character. She has made me mad and intrigued over that man, I say. Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, and try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

Gilbert would be absolutely thrilled and intrigued if his darling already knew German—it would spare him the frustration of teaching her everything from scratch. He would be amused and think the way she spoke. Her pronunciation or tone was absolutely adorable.

But of course, being who he is, that wouldn’t necessarily stop him from challenging her, testing the level of her knowledge and fluency. He’d be curious to know what her taste would be in German literature, music, or cinema. Would she favour Goethe’s romanticism, or perhaps the darker allure of Kafka’s surrealism? Would she hum along to Beethoven or lose herself in the melancholic strains of Schubert?

He would likely discover these preferences by observing (read: stalking) her, a brow arched up elegantly as he leaned back on the walls of the library. There, he would watch her conversing with others academically, seeming more like a statue of a scholar or a professor with his disguise of black-rimmed glasses and dark eyes, watching the way her lips curved around sweetly spoken words.

However, being a perfectionist, he could quickly identify any gaps in her knowledge—a slip of grammar, a wrong word here and there, or even a misstep in interpretation. Perhaps she’d confuse a complex construction for a simpler one or misuse an idiomatic expression.

Noting down the mistakes with a stern frown and a disappointed click of his tongue, Gilbert would sigh, unable to tolerate even the smallest errors. He’d push her relentlessly, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection. Papers, after papers, books after books, would pile up around her as he corrected her trembling attempts, his calligraphic writing starkly perfect beside her shaky efforts.

For someone who appeared so rugged, he was surprisingly methodical, almost reverent, when it came to written words, as evidenced by the piles of his ancient diaries filled with neat, precise entries.

It was definitely a cruel mixture of his ego and intense love toward her that drove him to hone her fluency to a level of perfection he alone could crave. Writing, reading, speaking, and even singing—he demanded mastery in every form of expression, shaping her abilities into something he could both admire and control.

But he wouldn’t stop at just German. This rigorous approach extended to other languages in which he excelled, such as French, Italian, and even Russian (though his dislike for a certain Russian man might make things a bit more complicated).

Each session would become a gruelling trial that demanded discipline, focus, and sheer willpower. He’d test her French with its elegant nuances, pushing her to appreciate the subtleties of verb conjugations and melodic flow. Italian, with its passionate rhythm, would become another challenge, the sharp sounds of “c” and “g” perfectly flowing from her lips, just as he demanded. And then, of course, there was Russian—harsh, guttural, and complex—he would revel in hearing her stumble over its sharp consonants, unable to help himself as he smirked with a mix of ego and possessiveness.

Whether it was the elegance of French, the flow of Italian, or the intensity of Russian, Gilbert would make sure she mastered every word, every subtle difference in accent, every cultural nuance, until she spoke each language with an expertise that reflected his possessive influence.

Gilbert would also push her to master ancient languages like Latin and Greek. His admiration for the roots of Western civilization would bleed into his obsessive teaching, as he demanded perfect fluency in these classical tongues.

He’d make her translate passages from Cicero or Horace, test her knowledge of Homer’s epics, and measure her understanding of Plato’s philosophy. Every misstep in conjugation or syntax would be met with sharp reprimands. Yet, at the same time, he would find immense satisfaction in hearing her articulate the beauty of ancient prose, especially when she finally grasped the elegance of Latin’s rhythm or the precision of Greek’s structure.

It would be a sight to watch the man who seemed so restless—always planning, calculating, and never stopping—suddenly appear like a scholar carved from marble. His focus was unwavering, his attention to detail sharp as a blade, whether it was through his quiet admiration or relentless demands, Gilbert made it clear that he wouldn’t stop until she was flawless—not just in language but as a reflection of his obsession with her.

The words on the paper danced as your eyes blurred, hesitant gasps escaping your quivering lips. Each tap of the thick ruler against the desk matched the frantic rhythm of your racing heartbeat. A deep sigh reached your ears, making you tense as a tear dropped, blotting the writing beneath it.

“Wrong. Do it again,” he said, his voice steady but firm, just above a whisper. You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words curling into your senses like a soft yet dangerous caress. His forearms, toned and defined, flexed with each controlled motion as he tapped the ruler once more against the wood.

The veins on his arms stood out, a clear testament to the power that lay beneath his skin. His shirt, rolled up to his elbows, emphasized the muscular tone of his arms, the fabric taut as he moved with practiced precision.

“Your knuckles must be throbbing, don’t you think so?” His voice was low, almost velvety, though the slight edge in it made your skin prickle with a sense of haunting despair.

Of course, German would always be Gilbert's top priority. Whether it was the ancient words from his old Teutonic Knight days, the forgotten Prussian of his youth, or the more modern German that had evolved, he would be relentless in teaching you.

He would smirk, watching your hesitant expression, those furrowed brows and strands of hair sticking to your flushed face as you tried to keep up with his rapid-fire lessons. Every time you stumbled, he’d feel a rush of satisfaction, knowing he was pushing you—testing your limits.

And just as you began to feel like you might grasp it, he would pull you further, introducing an even more archaic form of the language. You'd be faced with Prussian words, forgotten phrases from the past, or the formal German of his time as a powerful state, and he'd watch as you struggled to keep up.

But Gilbert never took pity. To him, this wasn’t just about learning words—it was about learning what they meant, what they represented, about becoming part of a deeper history that only he understood intimately.

Naturally, he expected you to speak German at all times when addressing him. After all, he was Prussia—the proud embodiment of his nation's strength and culture, and to him, the language was not merely a means of communication, but a symbol of power, authority, and legacy. He found the way you spoke it utterly captivating—the way your lips shaped the words, how your expression would soften or harden depending on the tone.

Every mistake, every mispronunciation, only seemed to drive him further. He would often reply to you in German despite your slipping into another language— he would become cold, refusing to acknowledge you fully. His childish spite would rise, and he'd deliberately turn his back, offering you nothing but a sharp glance.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snapped, frustration mounting as you tugged at your hair, your words coming out in a burst. The tension in your chest was unbearable, and yet, Gilbert didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, the soft creak of the leather under his weight barely audible. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, curling into a satisfied smirk. His eyes, gleaming with amusement, never left you as he observed your growing frustration, watching you unravel with quiet delight. He loved seeing you like this—on the edge, teetering between control and chaos, and utterly at his mercy.

He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you. It was as if your words were meaningless to him. He had no intention of addressing your frustration, no intention of actually listening to what you were saying. He was too busy savoring the sight of you. The sharp tone in his voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth, effortless—teasing, almost mocking, a rhythm he knew all too well. Of an ancient German dialect that almost made his words hard to understand.

"Careful with the bread," he murmured, his voice low and cutting through the silence like a blade. "Don’t make it too tough."

You froze for a moment, the absurdity of his words washing over you. He wasn’t listening. Not to you. Not to the frustration in your voice, not to the growing anger burning in your chest. His gaze never wavered, still fixed on you with that predatory calm, like a cat watching its prey squirm. And all the while, you could feel the weight of his attention, suffocating and demanding, making your blood boil even hotter.

Your hands, already trembling from the intensity of the situation, clenched into fists. You turned away quickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was too late. Your mind raced, and you felt the overwhelming need to take out your frustration on something—anything. The dough in front of you.

You slammed your hands into it, pressing harder than necessary, your fingers digging into the soft dough with surprising force. It was as though you could feel his presence behind you, even though he said nothing more, watching you knead the dough with a strange, mocking stillness in the air. You wished it was his neck beneath your hands instead, the pressure of your palms imagining the crushing sensation of him being the one to break under the weight. The thought alone made you grit your teeth.

Gilbert’s smirk never faltered, his eyes still on you, studying every move you made. He had already won, and you both knew it. You were powerless against his presence, against his control. His lessons weren’t games. They were training. And you were exactly where he wanted you.

Though he often found amusement in the banter between you, even encouraging it at times, Gilbert wouldn’t take kindly to any attempts to push things beyond their limits. Swear words or throwing personalized insults his way would undoubtedly irritate him. He thrived on the playful back-and-forth, enjoying the challenge of testing boundaries, seeing just how far he could push you before you snapped.

But as much as he revelled in this dynamic, there were unspoken rules that, if broken, would have severe consequences. Gilbert was not one to tolerate disrespect, not even in jest. His pride, especially when it came to how others viewed his authority, was something you learned to tread lightly around.

He had a way of making you feel small when you crossed that invisible line. It wasn’t outright aggression, no—it was more subtle, calculated. His silence, his smirk, the way he’d cock his head and stare at you with those piercing eyes—each glance felt like a silent reprimand. His lessons weren’t games. This was training. And training wasn’t just about learning skills or techniques—it was about understanding power dynamics, submission, and control. For Gilbert, discipline was an art. You had to earn his approval, prove you were worthy of the lessons he would give. Disrupting that delicate balance, however, meant harsh consequences.

The playful back-and-forth, while it could go on for hours, was never just for fun. He was sharpening you, moulding you into something he could admire, something that would never question his authority again. When you got too comfortable, too confident, Gilbert would make sure to remind you that this was his world and you were merely a participant in it. A slip of the tongue, a crass word, a sharp insult—that was all it took for him to remind you who was truly in charge.

And when you crossed that line? He’d make sure you knew it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Gilbert would drop his usual teasing tone and replace it with something colder, something darker. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The shift in his demeanor alone was enough to make the air feel thick with tension. You’d find yourself walking the thin line between fear and desire, unsure of where one ended and the other began, but knowing that if you made the wrong move, there would be consequences.

The toothbrush and the mouthful of toothpaste threatened to choke you, your mouth wide open as a strong grip held your head in place by the hair. Gilbert probed the depths of your mouth with firm, deliberate strokes, bringing you to the brink of nausea. Foamy spit dripped from your lips, guttural moans of pain echoing through the washroom as tears framed your face. Your attempts to reason with Gilbert fell on deaf ears. All it took was one bad day for him (you couldn’t really tell with the man), and your profanity-laced outburst had earned you this punishment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slightly relaxed his grip on your hair, allowing you to violently spit out the bitter toothpaste that had been building up in your mouth. You instinctively reached for the tap, desperate to rinse the foul taste away, but were met with a firm hand that stopped you short. “No water for that filthy mouth of yours,” Gilbert sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to feed you a bar of soap and using the toilet brush.” You almost threw up.

While he didn’t outright disdain other languages, Gilbert was quick to show his disapproval if you focused on them too much. A subtle sneer or dismissive remark would betray his jealousy. In his eyes, your enthusiasm or preference for another tongue was a challenge to his authority, a dilution of the bond he sought to forge.

He wanted German to be your priority because it was his, and he needed to hear it from your lips as proof of your connection. It wasn’t just about teaching—it was about domination, ensuring that his influence extended into every word you spoke and every thought you had. And, of course, his pride demanded it. After all, why would you need anything else when you had him?

Nonetheless, he adored your voice, no matter what language you spoke. Whether stumbling over unfamiliar words or weaving through proses, there was a softness in the way you sounded that captivated him. It wasn’t something he’d admit easily, but your voice was his favourite melody, one he could listen to for hours without growing tired.

Of course, German is sacred to him—a reflection of his very being. It wasn’t just a language; it was his legacy, his culture, and the soul of the people he had once represented. The language of warriors and poets, of triumph and despair, it was a thread connecting him to his past. He expected you to embrace it—not out of mere interest, but as a testament to your devotion to him. And he always cherished it hearing from you.

You sat beside Gilbert, stiff and uneasy, as he delved into a thick book titled 'Geodesics in Curved Spacetime'. The topic was so far beyond your comprehension that you couldn’t help but think, What the fuck even is this?

It was one of those days when he insisted you sit close, your hands folded on his thigh, while one of his palms gripped it firmly, the other flipping through the velvet pages of the Russian text. His hold on you was both grounding and possessive, the weight of it reminding you that there was no escape from his whims.

The subject seemed to irritate him more than intrigue him; his brows furrowed, and the occasional sharp exhale signaled his growing frustration. He’d call you over at times like this, either to steady his nerves or to force you into reading it aloud, despite your stumbling attempts.

Sometimes, he would pause to explain a concept in German, his voice steady and commanding, expecting you to follow his train of thought no matter how lost you felt. On other occasions, his enthusiasm would bubble over, and he would yip and yap, his words spilling in rapid, fervent analysis that left your head spinning. You could only nod along, hoping he didn’t notice your bewilderment.

Most often, though, his focus shifted to something more intimate. He would pass you a well-loved novel—its pages slightly worn, its binding soft to the touch—and order you to read aloud. His fingers would trail lazily along your arm as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, the tension leaving his features with every word that left your lips. In those moments, you felt like an extension of him, your voice the tool that brought his favorite stories to life. His grip on you would loosen, his breaths growing deeper and steadier.

Those were his calmest days, and your beautiful voice, the rhythm to his immortal heartbeat, seemed to be the only thing capable of soothing his restless spirit.

Refusal—or any form of misbehavior—when he asks you to speak his language would never be tolerated. Utter refusal would be met with the coldest of glares, a silent warning that would send a shiver down your spine. Testing him with silent treatment or petty acts of defiance would only irritate him more.

His expectations are simple but non-negotiable: learn the proper German etiquette. Speak clearly, directly, and without hesitation. Your words must be precise—no unnecessary embellishments or mindless chatter. He values sincerity, respect, and most of all, discipline.

When spoken to, you are expected to answer promptly, politely, and with the right tone. You must use Bitte (please) and Danke (thank you) when appropriate— if you don’t, he’ll remind you, and the lesson will be harder than you anticipate. There is no room for laziness in his world, especially when it comes to how you communicate.

Gilbert tapped his fingers on his forearms as he stared at you from across the table, his piercing gaze unwavering. You sat with an unsightly scowl, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the food in front of you. The tension in the air was thick—your earlier attempt to escape had been swiftly thwarted by his firm grip on your arm.

"And what do we say?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with impatience.

You shot him a defiant glare, the sting of your pride burning brighter than your hunger. Your teeth gound together as you glared at the plate of Sauerbraten, the tender beef marinated in rich spices paired with the tang of red cabbage and potato dumplings. The smell alone made your stomach growl, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

"D..." You grit your teeth, barely able to utter the word. His unblinking stare burned into you as if daring you to try him. "Danke."

"Ah ah," Gilbert bent forward, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Full sentence."

You clenched your fists, the taste of defeat sour in your mouth. There was no escaping him now. "Danke... für das Essen."

"Good girl." Gilbert’s voice was soft, but the approval in it was unmistakable. He straightened in his chair, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Jetzt können wir essen!"

Of course, being the rather egoistical individual he is, Gilbert would revel in hearing you address him with titles in German. Whether it was Herr or Mein König, the words rolled off your tongue like honey, fueling his insatiable desire for your complete submission. He would demand such titles not merely out of tradition but as a way to solidify his dominance over you-reminding you that he was the one in control, always.

And if you hesitated or refused, you'd soon find yourself either kneeling at his feet or bent over his knees, forced to beg in the very language he adored.

The sight of you, voice trembling and face flushed, was intoxicating to him. He couldn't help but feel a massive thrill corroding his bones as your tone wavered with such an adorable desperation, the words escaping your pretty lips like a melody crafted just for him. Gilbert always loved the way you sounded, gasps, grunts or so, your voice like a finely tuned instrument only he could master.

You were his little songbird, and sometimes he liked to take that metaphor literally. He wouldn't mind having you sing as he played his flute, guiding you with gentle nods or sharp corrections if you didn't get it quite right. On calmer evenings, he'd rest his head on your lap, your soft hands threading through his silver hair as you hummed or sang him a lullaby. Those moments of quiet surrender were his personal heaven.

Every word you spoke in German was a delicacy he devoured straight from your lips. He also expected your words to reflect affection and politeness. Loving phrases, respectful tones, and perhaps even a few nicknames of your own design.

Nothing overly cheesy, of course, but Gilbert wouldn't hide his cheeky grin if you hyly called him something intimate. A soft Liebling (darling) murmured in the warmth of your shared bed would earn you a teasing remark right before he captured your lips in a sealing kiss.

In the bedroom, his expectations only deepened. He wanted to hear you whisper his name like a promise, gasping out mein Schatz as he thoroughly claimed you. Every word, every sound you made was proof of his hold over you, a mark of the loyalty he craved so desperately.

And in those moments, he'd remind you just how much he loved your voice - the voices that only he could truly bring out of you, the ones he wants to hear from you, the one thing that could ever bring peace to the storm within him.

Your dress spread around you like the petals of a flower, delicate yet trapping, as gilbert’s hands—rough and unyielding—skimmed over the bare skin of your legs. you shivered beneath his touch, every nerve on fire as you tried to suppress the sob rising in your throat.

“Was ist los, Maus?” (what's the matter, mouse?), his voice coiled around you like smoke, soft yet suffocating. his body leaned in, the weight of his presence making it impossible to move, let alone think. “Hast du etwa vergessen, wie man schön bittet?” (have you perhaps forgotten to ask nicely?).

your mind swirled, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. had he done something? the strange heaviness in your limbs, the faint haze clouding your senses—was this another one of his games?

“B-bitte,” you rasped, voice trembling as you fought to form the word, “bitte, G-Gilbert, ich—”

his grip on your hips tightened abruptly, the sharp press of his fingers stealing the rest of your sentence. his crimson eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a twisted mix of hunger and amusement.

“Das ist besser,” (That is better) he murmured, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Nicht perfekt, aber es wird reichen.” (Not perfect, but it will do)

tears pricked at your eyes, your chest heaving as you forced out another plea, desperate to appease him. “gilbert… bitte… verzeih mir,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his thumb brushed against the curve of your waist, deceptively gentle.

“ah, Liebling,” he said, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “Das ist mein gutes Mädchen.”

he pulled you closer then, his control as unrelenting as the heat radiating from him, leaving no room for escape. you were his—mind, body, and voice—and he made sure you understood it.

With every searing touch and word.

[space-mermaid-writing]

I would love some more alpha Stephen and omega Tony in the Wild West au (I think it’s Wild West?)

It's definitely a Wild West au I'm stoked that you like it enough to ask for more. Here's another part I came up with last night. This is the longest part so far.

Ko-fi | Masterlist | Word count: 1.7k | Part 1 | Part 2

A weak heart

Stephen urged Levi to speed up, gripping his leather doctor bag tightly to prevent it from slipping off the saddle. The strong and intelligent stallion understood the urgency of the moment and held back on his usual playful behavior. They had one destination: Stark’s Ranch, and they needed to get there quickly.

When one of Stark’s men arrived at Stephen’s ranch and told him the mayor’s son had fainted and they needed a doctor, Stephen had dropped everything and hurried off. He had outdistanced the messenger on the way. It didn’t matter, he knew the way.

He just hoped to get there in time.

Stark’s Ranch was huge. A large gate, marked with Stephen’s name, welcomed him. He rode through it and followed the path leading to the main house. Along the way, he passed numerous horses, cattle, and workers. He ignored the curious looks from those around him.

Howard Stark was not only the wealthiest man in town but in all of western Nebraska, and it showed.

When Stephen reached the house, he pulled Levi to a sudden stop and dismounted swiftly, his doctor bag in hand. He tossed the reins to a stable boy who was nearby. The boy would know how to take care of Levi. Stephen felt a pang of regret that he could not tend to his horse himself, but this was an emergency.

In long strides he rushed to the front door, which flew open. He was greeted by a woman of the house staff, urgency in her voice.

“Doctor Strange, heaven sent, you came quickly. Please follow me.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and led him through a maze of narrow corridors until they arrived in a small reception room with only one other door. The mayor stood in front of a single window, turning to Stephen when he entered.

“Ah, Doctor Strange.”

Stark’s handshake was firm and his words filled with the authority of a man with power. Though, there was an edge to it, as if he was masking nervousness.

“I came as quickly as I could.” Stephen replied, keeping his tone steady. Years of experience with patients had taught him the value of a neutral expression. He needed to focus. They needed a doctor, not a worried… friend.

This man didn’t even know he was a worried friend. If he knew, he would grab that colt from his belt and shoot Stephen right there and then.

“Where is he?” Stephen heard himself ask.

Stark pointed to the other door. “I had him taken to his room so that he could rest. It’s been so long since his weak heart had given us trouble. I hoped he was over it.”

Everybody knew about Tony Stark’s weak heart. It was an open secret, spread with speculation. They said his condition was one of the reasons why the mayor was so overprotective of his omega son. Stephen had heard the stories, though this was the first time his service as a doctor was needed because of that.

Howard had his hand on the door handle, when Stephen’s voice held him back. “Please.” He met the mayor's gaze.. “You’re upset and nervous. If you go in now, it could make things worse for your son. Let me check on him first.”

Yes, that was true. But also Stephen didn’t know if he could keep it together when he saw Tony. He couldn’t risk Stark noticing something.

When the older man hesitated, he added, “If it’s really his heart, we need to be cautious."

It was a complicated situation. Stephen was an alpha, and it was generally unacceptable for him to be alone with an unbound omega like Tony. His relationship with Howard Stark was formal but distant, typical of a doctor and a mayor. They didn’t share familiarity. Yet, Stephen's reputation as a man of integrity seemed to reassure Stark. After a moment's hesitation, he finally nodded and stepped back, allowing Stephen to act.

“That is very considerate of you. Be quick with your check up.”

Finally, Stephen stepped into Tony’s room, deliberately closing the door behind him to ensure privacy. The moment he entered, a familiar scent enveloped him. It was the comforting scent of the omega, filling the space without being overpowering. It felt like he had walked into a field blooming with his favorite flowers, soothing and welcoming.

The room was furnished with dark wood pieces of high quality. A sturdy desk stood against one wall, alongside a well-crafted drawer. In the center of the space loomed a four-poster bed, its elegant design adding a touch of sophistication. The side curtains were drawn, causing Stephen to carefully navigate around it. “Tony?” He kept his voice low to not disturb him if he was resting.

He braced himself for anything.

As soon as Tony spotted him, he put the book aside and sat up. A bright smile broke across his face, full of warmth. “Doc! You came!”

Stephen furrowed his brows lightly, because – admittedly – this didn’t look like an emergency. Still, he asked, “How are you feeling?” He perched himself on the edge of Tony's mattress, adopting the familiar posture of a doctor checking on a patient – and nothing else, right?

He took Tony's wrist to feel the pulse. It was normal, maybe slightly elevated. But nothing unusual.

“I’m great, now that you’re here,” Tony said, and oh that flirtatious smile was dangerous. The omega moved closer to Stephen, who was still confused.

“I was told you passed out and fell off the stairs.”

Maybe Tony had hit his head too hard. He must have, because Tony admitted with a cheeky grin, “Well, I had to get you here somehow.”

Stephen’s mouth hung open as his brain figured out what Tony was saying. “You threw yourself down stairs to see me?!” he asked, flabbergasted. He struggled to keep his voice down, acutely aware that the mayor was likely in the next room, possibly eavesdropping.

Tony brushed it off with a tsk. “Please, it was barely a step. I just played it up a bit.” The omega shifted into a dramatic tone to give Stephen a piece of performance. “Oh, I don’t feel so good. Why is everything spinning?” He play-fainted and dropped back onto the mattress. Then, with a big grin, he sat up again. “It was way too easy. I’m a genius.”

Stephen’s mouth still hung open. He closed it the same time his eyes darkened. “Have you lost your brain and replaced it with horseshit?” he growled. Tony gaped in offense, but Stephen wasn’t done yet. “Do you think this is funny? You had your father worried sick. You had me worried sick. I thought you were dying!”

Anger was written in his face. Stephen’s hands clenched the sheets, desperately seeking something to hold onto as he struggled to contain his emotions. He knew he couldn’t raise his voice too much. Not in this house, where he had to hide the affection he felt in his heart.

Tony realized he had gone too far. He had never seen the alpha so angry. He bit his lower lip. This hadn’t been part of his plan.

In a sudden burst of instinct, he reached out, cupping Stephen’s face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, his voice softening. As he pressed their foreheads together, he moved closer, kneeling amid the messy blanket that lay between them.

Stephen closed his eyes instinctively on the contact, inhaling Tony’s scent. He wanted to remain angry, to express just how recklessly Tony had acted. Yet, here he was, powerless against the calming presence of the omega in front of him.

Tony was here, and he was fine. There wasn’t an emergency.

Stephen knew what they did was dangerous. If anyone came through that door, they would catch him. The doctor wasn’t allowed to touch the omega like that.

Tony’s hands were warm and grounded him.

Technically, Stephen was being touched. His only crime was that he did not put up any resistance.

“Don’t do that ever again.” Stephen’s voice was a whisper against the omega’s forbidden lips. They were so close.

Yet, Stephen knew he wouldn’t dare to bridge the gap, to take that step. So far he had followed Tony’s lead, and he would continue to do so. He would give the omega anything he wanted. No less. No more.

Tony’s fingers brushed over his cheek and through his hair. Stephen leaned into the touch, his heart swelling with this simple gesture. The truth was: he was the one with a weak heart. And there was no cure.

Tony pulled back, but his hand searched for Stephen’s and grasped it. “How am I supposed to see you then?” the omega asked, his voice so earnest that Stephen thought, maybe it wasn’t just a game for him.

“I thought you were a genius. Figure it out.”

Tony’s smile returned, brightening the entire room once more. The omega recognized Stephen’s words for what they were: a challenge. And he thrived on challenges.

“I will.”

____________________

As Stephen stepped out of Tony's room, he found Howard waiting for him. The mayor's face showed a mix of impatience and concern.

“How bad is it, doctor?” he asked without beating around the bush.

“Not as bad as we thought,” Stephen replied, offering reassurance, and the mayor let out a sigh of relief. “You should make sure he is eating healthy. Meat and vegetables.” There was no harm in Stephen taking the opportunity to make sure the omega was treated well and took care of himself.

Before leaving Tony, Stephen had taken a moment to examine him. He could not bear the thought of something happening to Tony due to his own carelessness. Tony had put up with it without a word, even seemed secretly delighted about it.

The results were reassuring: Tony was a healthy young man.

“His heart needs simple exercises,” the doctor continued. “He should take walks everyday.”

“Won’t that strain his heart?”

“On the contrary, it will strengthen it in the long run.”

Tony was not the kind of omega meant to be confined. He needed freedom, as much as possible within the limits of their world.

Stark nodded, accepting the doctor’s assessment.

Despite knowing he should feel guilty for deceiving Howard, Stephen felt little shame. In fact, he felt a rush of thrill as he added, “I would like to check on him again in a few days. Just to make sure.”

This was a dangerous path he was stepping on. Yet, he hid a smile when Stark answered, “Be my guest.”

[buck-diass]

written for the @winterofbuddie week 2 prompt: family function

Family and its Consequences (11463 words) by buckdiass Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Adriana Diaz & Eddie Diaz & Sophia Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz & Isabel Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley, Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Ramon Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Helena Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Sophia Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Adriana Diaz, Josephina "Pepa" Diaz, Isabel Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: POV Outsider, POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, POV Alternating, Complicated Relationships, Dysfunctional Family, Eddie Diaz Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley Loves Eddie Diaz, Established Relationship, But also, Getting Together, First Kiss, Marriage Proposal, Protective Evan "Buck" Buckley, Helena Diaz Bashing (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz Has Two Dads, Teen Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz Needs a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz Gets a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz Has Bad Parents (9-1-1 TV), Feelings Realization Summary:

Sophia managed to get Buck alone in the kitchen. “Hey, Buck, right? I’ve heard so much about you. Seriously, Eddie does not shut up about you.”

Buck gave her a bashful smile, and yeah, Sophia could definitely see how easily Eddie fell for him. The air around this guy screamed warmth and comfort, two things that Sophia knew Eddie craved.

“I can say the same about you,” he said.

“How long have you two been together?”

The way Buck tilted his head reminded Sophia of an overgrown puppy, the pull of his eyebrows bringing attention to his frankly beautiful eyes. “Together?”

Eddie and Buck were in El Paso for Christmas. The Diaz family has opinions.

[saintofsacrilege]

Thinking about Jason reading AFTG rn, who would you say is his favourite character? Is there an evolution between kid Jason, Jaybin, pre-flashpoint Red Hood, Rebirth Red Hood? Just mashing the fandoms together in a blender, puréeing them together if you will

mhm, good soup (puréed fandoms).

my interpretation of jason at any stage in his life relies so heavily on personal hcs and cherry-picking canon that these may be the most atrocious takes you’ve ever heard. but here we go!

kid jason: i think he’d feel the most connected to aaron. everyone’s telling you you’ll never make anything of yourself? that your life was doomed before it began? well, you’re not gonna accept that, are you? you’re gonna find a way to prove all of them wrong. you’re not gonna let anyone kill your dreams just because they’re “unrealistic” for someone “like you.” jason and aaron also both have a very strong dedication to their mother, who struggled with a drug addiction. while i don’t believe jason’s mom was ever abusive, i think jason would feel somewhat vindicated by seeing a representation of someone who still loved their mom despite what her illness drove her to do/made her into.

jaybin: neil. a man with a reputation for taking in strays gives you the offer of a lifetime? you get the chance to leave your past behind, even for a little while, and have something good that gives you joy and fulfillment at a level you never thought you’d get to experience? you’re familiar enough with the cruel way the world works to know that happiness won’t last forever, that it’ll have an expiration date, but you want to make the most of it while you still can? yeah, jaybin would definitely see himself in neil. he’d also get a kick out of neil’s attitude problem and continued state of being a pr nightmare.

(outing myself as a fake fan when i admit that i’m not very familiar with the difference between pre-flashpoint and rebirth red hood, so just know that my “red hood” is a mash-up of random fragments of comic canon and utrh)

red hood: this one’s a little more complicated. i think andrew’s system of making deals to feel like he has any worth to others would really resonate with jason. but given the torture the joker put him through, jason would probably have a ton of respect for neil post-baltimore, too. he’d also probably be a bit jealous of neil getting welcomed back with open arms and getting to stay “neil josten” even after nathaniel wesninski came to light. in contrast, jason couldn’t really stay “jason todd” legally or in the eyes of the people who once cared about him after he was revealed to be red hood. he was… someone else, as far as everyone else was concerned. so jason’s favorite would probably be either andrew or neil with some complicated emotions attached to the latter.

bonus: i hc as jason being raised catholic and having a super complicated relationship with christianity because of that, so—like neil—he probably wouldn’t be renee’s biggest fan. maybe a part of him feels like the subliminal messaging of her character is that if he had “enough faith,” he could’ve come back from the dead/his ultimate low point as a comparatively “better person” instead of a more violent one. which. no question why jason wouldn’t appreciate that sentiment too much. still, i think he’d find himself surprisingly touched by renee giving her knives to andrew and sparring with him.

this is really long whoops

[smallsinger5901]

Yes. The mock execution scene in the jdrama still stands as my favourite version of it in any adaptation, purely because of the Light and Soichiro relationship. The jdrama definitely has its issues, but where it fucking excels is in character relationships. I love how complicated and messy and evolving the dynamics between characters are, obviously best seen through the Yagamis themselves. The mock execution and Soichiro’s death just encapsulate that perfectly.

i actually need to explain the biggest plot twist of the 2015 death note tv drama so uhhhh spoilers here?

so after some events that lead to Himura (the Naomi/Lidner/ide stand-in who worked on the task force until it was revealed she was a spy whose only loyalty was to L and getting the book) and her gang getting the death note in the task force’s possession, Light decides the best way to get it back is by using Mikami/Misa’s book to force Lidner to hand it over and then pull a Naomi. This works, Light is alone in this underground carpark laughing and monologuing to the death note, and then the camera pans. And you just see Soichiro standing there like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

Light turns around as Soichiro starts talking, then shouting at Light to explain himself, explain what he meant when he said he was gonna kill Near and all those kinds of things.

See, just before L died, he told Soichiro to keep an eye on Light at all times. The second Soichiro couldn’t do that, L died, so he hasn’t taken his eyes off Light since then. And he’s noticed. He noticed Light rolling his eyes when Near talked, he noticed Light not caring about Misa, he noticed how Light was willing to write a name in the notebook to prove to Himura it was real when she was stealing it, as if he forgot about the 13 day rule being real. So he followed Light when he left suspiciously, and saw everything.

(This is still not the plot twist btw)

so Light is trying to gaslight his father and tell him it’s just a fake, that Himura was threatening him, and Soichiro just looks utterly disgusted. He finally sees how Light lies through his teeth. He asks where his son went, and if he can have him back.

Light just keeps saying the book is fake.

so soichiro grabs it out of his hand, and tells Light that, if it’s a fake, he shouldn’t have any problem with what he’s about to do.

he starts writing his own name in the notebook. Light starts panicking, but refuses to admit he lied. He tries to convince him not to test it, but soon Soichiro only has one single stoke left of his name to write. He asks Light why.

Light never outright says that he is Kira- but he tries to convince Soichiro that Kira is justified, and that he became Kira to save his father (technically not a lie.)

Soichiro sighs, tells him to open his eyes: then finishes writing his own name.

and you know when Light starts going crazy? Not when his dad finished writing his name. No. he starts physically fighting his father for the book as soichiro starts pouring lighter fluid on it. He is more desperate to stop the death note from being destroyed than he is to stop his own father from killing himself.

and he’s successful. Soichiro dies before he can destroy the notebook.

cut to a hospital room- Sayu is sobbing next to her dad’s body, Light is sitting down trying his best to look grieved. And then the task force enter. They all have a physical reaction to seeing Soichiro Yagami dead. Somebody asks Light what happened. Light says Himura did it. They share a look.

then, in the finale, one episode later, Near has just cornered Light. The task force (and a whole bunch of other cops) are all there, and Light tells the task force that Near is lying, he isnt Kira. But they don’t believe him.

why?

because before he left to follow Light, Soichiro gathered the whole task force together and said one very important thing: If I die now, it’s because Light, as Kira, has killed me.

they then all shoot Light when he tries to write Near’s name.

so YEAH. THAT WAS A LOT. It took me so off guard but there were so many signs, like the task force calling someone as Light walked away at his dad’s funeral being revealed as Near/mello later on. I cannot stress how much i love that goddamn tv show. I love it so much.

[farshootergotme]

Dick 'my mental stability is hanging by the rope that snapped and killed my parents' Grayson met Bruce 'emotions aren't real if you don't acknowledge them' Wayne when he was 8 years old and he never recovered.

[glassedplanets]

more sketches! zs on the brain

[bubblingsteam]

[azujamit4t]

The Sun and The Moon

[marzipanandminutiae]

as a woman who grew up with an emotionally abusive mother constantly telling me I needed to wear more makeup/more revealing clothing/date (boys) more/go out to "normal" parties more, I despise "she should be at the club"

god forbid some people- especially young women, who already have to deal with a thousand different behavioral standards from a thousand different directions -not have the same dreams and desires for their lives as you do for yours

fucking hell. the correct response to "women should stay at home and have kids and be submissive wives" prescriptivism was not MORE PRESCRIPTIVISM

(I also just saw a poll asking if people partied as teenagers, and OP responded that the answers were "killing them" because No was winning. like? why is everyone so personally invested in other people having a very specific kind of fun?)