#by which I mean rules that I think are stupid

[kiyomitakada]

Light stalks into the hotel room at 1 a.m. It's November 12th already.

They called his mom earlier. He'd almost forgotten, in the midst of it all. Light told her the truth — or as close to the truth as he could get, anyway. The raid. The gunshot wounds. The blood loss. His words came out odd and robotic, which was bad, because it was suspicious. He wasn't sure why he wasn't projecting emotion right.

Aizawa and Ide kept sneaking glances at him through the whole thing. They weren't subtle. Matsuda wasn't either, but at least there was only sympathy in his eyes. Misa held his hand through it all, tracing circles with her thumb. The touch was repulsive. He's pretty sure he'd dug his nails into her palm, considering how hard he'd gripped her hand back, but she hadn't complained a bit.

Sachiko cried. Misa cried, too, even though Dad had never been her father. It felt like an insult to Soichiro Yagami's memory that Light couldn't make the tears come out of his own eyes. He was usually so good at faking it. The dryness felt damning.

"I'll arrange the funeral," he said.

"I'll fly over right away," his mom answered quickly. "I'll get Sayu—"

"No!" He lurched out of his seat without meaning to, then fell back. "Don't tell Sayu."

Aizawa and Ide eyed each other again. He wanted to kill them all.

"We'll have to at some point," his mom said gently.

"I know," Light said. He swallowed. "But Mom, neither of you can come. It won't be safe here. You rented the countryside house for a reason, right? You both have to stay put for now. Mello is still active."

He hoped she would argue. She didn't. "Alright," she said softly. "But you tell me if you need anything, okay, Light?"

"Okay," Light said, and the rest of the conversation was logistics.

It's almost half past one in the morning now. The task force is asleep. Misa is, too, on one of the twin beds they pushed together. He thinks about writing down all the criminals he can in one night and murdering everyone in the building and jumping off the hotel balcony.

"Ryuk," he says instead, as he sits down on the edge of the other bed.

"Yeah?"

He tries to laugh. It comes out wrong, too, but not as badly as the earlier attempt at tears had. "It's funny, isn't it?"

"Wow, Light, I didn't think you were that cold," Ryuk remarks.

"It's just," Light says, "that he only lived one day after trading for the eyes. So even if he hadn't… I guess he wouldn't have stayed alive that long anyway."

Ryuk frowns. "Huh? I don't get it."

"The eyes take away half of your remaining lifespan, right? And Dad wasn't killed by the Death Note, so that really was his natural lifespan. Which means, since he died after one day, he was only going to live two days if he hadn't traded."

It should be a relief. It is a relief. It's not Light's fault. Soichiro Yagami was going to die anyway.

"Wrong," Ryuk says.

Light flinches backwards. It's been five years, but sometimes Ryuk's smile still scares him. "What do you mean, wrong?"

"Welllll… maybe wrong? I dunno, actually." Ryuk scratches his chin with one claw. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I haven't looked at the rules in forever."

"Ryuk, what are you talking about?"

"See, I'm not sure if that half is from how long you would've lived without the Death Note, or if it's from your new lifespan after you get the Death Note."

Light gapes at him. "It's obviously the second one!"

"That's the funny thing, Light-o," Ryuk says, and grins. "You can't know how long someone's gonna live if they have the Death Note. It's impossible. That's why you can't see the numbers over the heads of Death Note owners."

"But — Misa traded half her life away," Light says. "Twice. So it can't be her original lifespan, since that stalker was going to kill her."

Ryuk shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe she's been trading halves of zero this whole time."

"That's… No," Light says. He doesn't notice the way his fingers tighten around his grip on the thin hotel sheets. "No. That would be stupid."

"It is stupid," Ryuk agrees. "You're probably right."

"I'm definitely right." Breathe in. Breathe out. "So you don't know how much time you got from Dad — from my father?"

"No clue," Ryuk says cheerfully. "But it's okay. I've killed oodles of regular people, so I should still have a lot of life left to go."

Light abruptly, desperately hates him.

"I'm going to bed," he says. "Talk to you in the morning."

"Cool," Ryuk says. "I'll go sightseeing."

---

a/n: happy 11/11 :)

[violetclarity]

becoming slightly worried about the teacher reputation I'm developing because today I had a student ask if it was okay if she had her phone with her on our mini field trip (which they aren't allowed to do) (I say mini becausefo it was just me and a few students) and I said that was fine and she said "yeah I didn't think you'd mind"

oops??

[bunnihearted]

🫖🐭☁️🍚

[bredforloyalty]

well not every shift is good it took me a while but i have taken notice of this

[skrunksthatwunk]

kinda drives me up a wall when people go "hey i think x action in a war/combat scenario is inhumane and cruel and shitty" and someone responds with "oh but within the laws of war it's allowed or there's procedure for it etc etc". it doesn't have to be a war crime to be unforgivable man it's a shitty rulebook anyway

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

head in my hands im trying to come up w prinzhes headcanons but i literally cannot because prinz is like. a pink and less tragic and less headache-inducing version of tesilid.

they're both very gentlemanly, they both can fight, if someone is unfair to them they're more likely to smile and try to smooth it over than to fight back. if hestio is going to find prinz attractive then he'd have found tesilid attractive too, but if he isn't nursing a massive crush on tesilid by the time he meets prinz then it means that tesilid gave him so much blood pressure problems that they're no longer his type.

so anyway in conclusion teshes solos- wait what? how did this turn into teshes propaganda

[toytulini]

i made an oc thats at least nicknamed "Stupid" and im constantly thinking about what a power move that is tbh

[coffee-at-annies]

But Pittsburgh was open spelled without the h in its early days as a city, no? I suspect the tweet writer was incorporating that knowledge into their joke about ye olden dayes

Nah. I think the person spelled it wrong. There’s several cities named Pittsburg so spellcheck won’t catch it and it’s twitter, people don’t give a shit about historical accuracy they care about making a quick joke and staying under the character limit.

[ex-vespidae]

the worst kind of gjinkas is when people take a fucking canonically ancient character and make them into the most bland looking anime teenager-looking person

hhh

[six-of-ravens]

lmao building manager called me to get more details about The Incident yesterday (even though I emailed her everything last night lol) and said she "doesn't have access to her cameras because they're being worked on" so that is extra creepy. one of the benefits of living in a building full of paranoid old people is that there's like 30 security cameras in the common areas, driveway, parkade etc.

however i did get treated to another one of her rants about how much she hates "the new people" and "there are not good people living here nowadays."

[giantkillerjack]

As time goes by, I find I am less likely to wake up in the middle of the night to needlessly hate on myself for some random awkward harmless thing I did 10 years ago.

I'm still up in the middle of the night feeling a deep primal urge to needlessly hate on things from years ago, but now it's more just things like

MAN I SHOULD PROBABLY MAKE ANOTHER POST ABOUT HOW MUCH I HATED BLY MANOR HUH

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[alagaisia]

This is something I learned at one of the pre-op visits for my breast reduction! My surgeon was basically I think an independent surgeon (as I guess I would imagine is common for “cosmetic”/plastic surgeons?) and she was telling us a little bit about what to do for talking to insurance about the surgery and stuff, and she mentioned that for us going through insurance it would be at a particular hospital, but she also often did surgeries where people didn’t use there insurance, and she did those at some other place, and the price she charged up front was much lower, because that was the actual cost of the surgery (and equipment and everyone’s salaries etc.) and she had to raise the ticket price significantly when people would go through insurance, because the insurance company would negotiate that price down, and then keep some of the money. (Obviously for us and many others it still worked out to be cheaper for us out of pocket to go through insurance, but the amount she made was roughly the same even though it would look like she charged thousands more for my breast reduction than for someone not using insurance)

So, when you get those bills from your insurance after a doctors visit, and there’s that little table that tells you, this is the cost of the visit, this is the discount we got you, this is how much we paid, this is how much you still have to pay?

That line about “we got you this discount” is misleading. They actually caused the provider to raise the initial cost of your care by that amount, or more, in anticipation of the insurance company refusing to pay the full amount so that they could tell you they got you a discount.

"Why does a 15-minute visit with a doctor cost 150 bucks in America???" you're gonna want to read Money-Driven Medicine, by Maggie Mahar, and probably also The Social Transformation of American Medicine, to answer that question. It is not because your doctor is a greedy bastard; your doctor does not see most of that money. It is because the system is broken to a level that is truly impressive in its dedication to making a shit ton of money for insurance company executives and shareholders.

[arolesbianism]

Y'know I know I've said like a billion times I don't want to know shit abt Jackie's past but erm. Hi klei. Please just tell me if Josephine and Alan are her parents or some miscellaneous relative this is so important. Did Jackie seriously come from a household with a colonel and another person with a doctorate or does she just happen to be related to them this is so important for how I decide to move forward with my Jackie hcs and with my aus in general I need to know so bad tell me right fucking now

[fingertipsmp3]

I love TS2 but it has some really stupid mechanics built into it

[kitasuno]

with you, i'm first | miya osamu x reader

in which miya osamu is used to coming second to his brother. but with you, he's always first.

wc: 1113 | gn!reader | fluff

Miya Osamu is used to coming second. 

It starts with Atsumu, like most things do. October is cold and gray and Atsumu comes first, a small body with a large presence that fills the warm hospital room. His cries are loud and he’s a little underweight, but with him comes the sun. 

Atsumu is born under a partly cloudy sky but the nurses swear he was shrouded in sunlight. 

Osamu comes twelve minutes later. His parents are crying and his Ma is close to passing out. If he thinks really hard he can almost feel her warmth, Atsumu’s sobs, and a mumble of prayers that October has safely brought Atsumu and then Osamu.

He asks Grandma one day what the weather was like when he was born. She says, with confidence, it was foggy.

Atsumu doesn’t get along with his classmates. He is too loud and too rash and lacks social cues, and Osamu is angry because Stupid ‘Tsumu cares too little: and he wants everyone to know Atsumu like he knows Atsumu.

They fight and they yell and they argue until Atsumu says, 

‘Samu, I don’t care about ‘em. Why do ya care so much? 

And Osamu throws him across the room. The argument ends there, he says sorry, and Osamu lies awake that night thinking about his brother. Atsumu is hotheaded. And an idiot. A loud snorer, too. But he turns on his side and curls into a ball because he knows it was sunny when Atsumu was born and all of a sudden he really wants to be his brother. 

Atsumu dyes his hair first: it’s a shitty box dye from the pharmacy down the street, and it looks terrible. It’s a little yellow and a little neon, and Osamu laughs until his sides hurt when Atsumu shows him. 

But Atsumu is proud, and he is confident, and he goes to school with a hundred watt smile and a group of girls trailing after him. 

Osamu goes to the pharmacy that night and buys a box of gray, cloudy dye. Atsumu helps him bleach his hair under their bathroom sink with the faulty tap and tells him he looks like the moon.

His Ma says that Atsu is hot and Samu is cold after the two have a particularly bad fight. Atsumu is gleeful and smug as he gloats that he was born to be hotter and warmer and better, and Osamu punches him. 

He remembers his Ma sitting on the porch, an arm around his shoulders as he pouts. 

“‘S not fair,” Osamu had said, his chin in his palm. “Why’d ya name Tsumu that?��� 

His Ma had laughed, quietly, leaning her weight into his side. And she had held his cheeks between her palms and told him with a fire in her eyes that Osamu means To Rule. 

He meets you for the first time in February. 

You were standing in front of him, a little sheepish, with a box of chocolates in your extended palms. He remembers feeling something heavy in his chest. Because, yeah, Atsumu was definitely going to accept your confession. 

You had said, IReallyLikeYou, and Here’sSomeChocolates, and Please Accept Them. 

You were shorter than him, and your hair was done nicely, and you were blushing and nervous. And you were really fucking cute. But Osamu is used to coming second, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, Why? And then, Tsumu’s in tha next classroom ov’r. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only Atsumu’s laugh and the slap echoing through the halls. You leave with his cheeks stinging and hot. And Atsumu had teased him the next day, behind his mountain of chocolates and confessions, because Osamu’s face was still red twelve hours later. 

He sees you a lot the year after. 

You’re in the same class as him and ‘Tsumu, and you smile every time you see him. You sit two rows in front of him and you’re not very good at tying your uniform. Every lunch, Osamu watches you pull out the same gray bento with a wrapped onigiri on the side. He tells you one day that he really likes onigiri. And then, Osamu watches as every lunch, you pull out the same gray bento with two wrapped onigiris on the side. 

With you, it’s always Hi Osamu, first, and then, Hullo Atsumu. With you, it’s an onigiri dropped on his desk when the lunch bell rings. With you, Osamu thinks back to a conversation with his Ma on a porch. 

Osamu means To Rule.

The menu is this: Tuna mayo on Mondays and Thursdays, Ume on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Friday is plain. You don’t ever bring onigiri for his brother. 

He asks you, on a hot night in June, what your favorite type of weather is. You had your knees tucked to your chest, a sparkler in hand, and then told him cloudy. Cold. Foggy. Winter. Snow is nice, too. You say it all with no hesitation. 

Osamu kisses you for the first time that night. 

It’s New Years and you’re cooking Ozoni on the stove. The curtains are open, it’s snowing outside, and Osamu wakes to the smell of miso and the sound of carrots on a chopping board. He gets out of bed, padding to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes and a stifled yawn, and then he thinks his heart stops when he sees you. 

Because what Miya Osamu is not used to is this: coming first and having something unequivocally his. 

But you’re bent over the counter, fiddling with the oven as you read the instructions on the back of the packaged Yakimochi you bought the other day. And you’re wearing his shirt, it falls right below your thighs, your hair is still messy from using his chest as a pillow, and you look beautiful. 

“Mornin’ ‘Samu, come help me with this.” You say, looking back at him with a smile, pointing to the fresh pot of rice on the counter. “You’re in charge of onigiri.”

He hugs you instead, his arms around your stomach with your back to him. 

“But I like yer onigiri,” He says, his chin on your head. His eyes are watering and it must be from the steam of your boiling dashi. 

“‘Samu,” You complain, giggling as he presses kisses into the crown of your head. “I made enough for ya in high school.” 

It’s cold outside and snowing, and Osamu knows he’s going to make the onigiri. 

He also knows that if his name means To Rule, he’s okay with coming second if it means you’re by his side.