#Naomi Misora

[applestorms]

the restoration of greatness to rome

Beyond Birthday is an exceptionally average man with an exceptionally weird name. 

Except, no. That isn’t quite the case either. It’s a bit of a misnomer to claim that Beyond was in any way average, at least when looking to any degree below the surface. 

That surface-level mask was, however, nearly flawless. Bland and uninteresting, sweetly endearing in a way that added up to nothing, the type of boy you’d take home to your parents and they wouldn’t be able to remember the face of afterwards. It had almost turned Naomi away at the start, flicking through dating app photographs so generic they could’ve been repurposed stock images. It was everything she wasn’t looking for after Raye, after the complete and utter destruction of her fairytale daydreams about living a normal and peaceful married life. As a little girl playing with dolls she had never considered the possibility that she might be the one leaving her fiance hanging at the altar. But what is life if not a continuous train of terrible surprises? Where you find out that, more than anyone else, you are not the person you thought you were? 

Beyond Birthday had plain black hair which he kept plainly and neatly cut, a plain face with a small nose and boring jawline, and a sweater vest so milquetoast and typical she only remembered he was wearing it while in the process of looking at it. He had a job so asinine and lifeless she’d forgotten it nearly the second the words came out of his mouth, and lived in an apartment complex so lacking in notability that she had lingered around the doorway for five minutes trying to find the right building before realizing she was already outside of it, thereby rendering herself a full three minutes late to their date, as Beyond himself was quick to point out. 

Frankly, the fact that she had ended up on the date at all was a stroke of luck, the stars and planets perfectly aligning to allow her cat to dig his claws into her leg at the exact instant that she happened to be scrolling past his profile. Certainly, ghosting probably would’ve been easier. An accidental superlike is an annoyance, perhaps a particularly awkward one, but not the end of the world. But, still… 

There was something else under the surface. 

“Are you going to finish that?” 

She shoves the plate of jam tarts across the table without a second thought, blinking out of her stupor. 

Beyond Birthday was a stranger. They had exactly one conversation through text and two conversations through calls, all of which culminated in this exact meeting on this exact date. She knows that his name is the real one written on his birth certificate, that he was born somewhere in England but lived in “alternative circumstances,” that caused him to never develop the accent outside of rare instances of words like, “chthonic” or “eschatological,” and that he claims to have a bit of a sweet tooth but subtly gags every time he tastes anything even slightly sugary. This final point is confirmed shortly after she pushes said plate of tarts across the table, sharp eyes catching the way his jaw clenches and throat rushes to swallow as soon as the food enters his mouth. 

She can’t understand why he would bother to lie about such a thing. But then again, she never was all that good of an FBI agent. 

She finds Beyond much more pleasant to deal with in bed, with his face down in the pillows and his back arched into the mattress, ass up in the air. His moans are very high and endearing, honest in a way that he isn’t otherwise, and very, very different from Raye, a highly appreciated change of pace. She kisses the back of his ear and quietly praises him when he squirms, and then holds him in her arms and brushes the hair back from his face when they’re done and he falls asleep long before she would ever be able to. 

She doesn’t quite know why she accepts a second date. Usually, fucking on the first was a good sign that the relationship simply had no room to last. She shows up at his apartment at the usual time regardless, this time half an hour early to make up for her previous mistakes. He scolds her for intruding on his private time. Their date begins with a trip to a jewelry store where she sits, silently fuming, in the white leather chair they keep at the back of the store for tired old husbands and over-enthusiastic holiday shoppers, waiting impatiently as he picks out the single most expensive silver watch in the store and then gets on his knees to clasp if around her wrist himself. 

She doesn’t know much more about him by the second date, and doesn’t gain much knowledge either. But, luckily, what information she does have becomes very relevant when it comes to enacting her own revenge by teasing and edging the pleasure out of every square inch of his body, holding him down until he whines so loud she has to stuff her own t-shirt in his mouth to keep from waking the neighbors. 

The next morning she offers him breakfast as an apology. He accepts, tersely, and then fucks her in the bathroom in front of the mirror, hiding his face in her hair while he pins her up against the counter. 

At some point, she simply stops leaving. 

It’s everything she ever wanted with Raye, but three steps to the left. Twisted, unusual, perverse. This isn’t the way that things are supposed to happen, and this isn’t the type of man she’s supposed to fall for. He’s perfect and average and she likes him for all the wrong reasons, for the lies and the temper and the borderline psychopathic ease with which he describes the process of how he would theoretically enact a series of murders, betraying his own underlying anxieties and weakness in the process but staring at her like he’s trying to see if she notices. Below the surface is something convoluted and tangled and jagged, and she delighted all too much in the fact that she had found what she had sought, a mutual, greater evil to drown out the call of her own insecurities. 

Naomi Misora never liked herself all that much. 

But perhaps, in this, she can find something she wants more than to keep hating herself.

[zimt-deathnote]

Watching DN on the side again and it's about time Naomi beats Lights ass. Homeboy has no chance against Misora Massacre.

[umbreoncomplex]

is this anything

[heolynn]

Kira is watching everyone..? 👁️👁️

i like the colours that came out btw

[alexsiple]

YOU'RE NOT YOURSELF, a beyond birthday fancomic for the death note zine i organized over at @querermezines :) aftersales start real soon, so you can still get physical copies of the zine and merch!

[nnenteyn-new]

Twitter meme

[deathnotewiki]

January 2, 2004: Naomi Misora is killed by the power of the Death Note.

[rawrlight]

I'm back. 🚗🚗🚗🚗🚗🚘🚘🚘🚘

[colossaldoodle]

More sillies

[kroosluvr]

when there's smoke there's fire

[kiwipineappleparasol]

So I watched Death Note (relatively) recently Bonus Halloween Scribble 👻🎃

[kiyomitakada]

well this new year could always be worse. i could be naomi misora on december 31st 2003 mourning my misogynistic fiance (whose birthday was december 31st) (who i was supposed to take to visit my parents the week of his birthday) planning to visit the task force building tomorrow to tell L in person about my theories unaware that i am about to bump into the most evil 17 year old in the universe

[theoldworldsrunnerup]

Here are some more of these

[applestorms]

naomi certainly isn’t a moron, if anything she probably doubts her own intelligence/reasoning more than is really justified, but— well. that’s just it, isn’t it? she’s just so goddamn insecure. in almost every scene that we see her in she is Constantly deferring to the authority of whatever man happens to be pushing his ego around the most, coming to her own conclusions quickly but keeping her mouth shut until someone gives her permission.

she’s gruff, and harsh, and brutal; she wears leather jackets and hates skirts. she suffers from Death Note Woman Disease, but also seems to genuinely care about kids. she can’t bring herself to shoot at 13 year old. she quits her job to marry a man, and then takes it back up again the minute he mysteriously dies. really i think it’s the contrast between those two sides, the fact that she can get a nickname like massacre vs. her overwhelming, underlying anxiety, that really makes her compelling to me.

[nanome-is-dumb]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃🎃🎃🎃

ALSO HAPPY BIRTH DAY TO EMBODIMENT OF HALLOWEEN fr hes so halloween

have my poorly drawn halloween doodles 🥲

i can't miss wammy boys. NEVER

and i see no one would feed lawmassacrians

I'lL FeED My SelF

[poofmalyakaet]

naomi misora