‘old man yaoi Watari x Roger’ ‘old man yaoi Lawlight’ NO how about ‘old man yaoi Ryuk x Soichiro Yagami? Death note the musical is a canon unto itself and I think we should honour that
Tl;dr: the full London run is being produced by Trafalgar Entertainment (instead of Carter Dixon McGill Productions and Indie Theatrical, who did the concert version) in partnership with Horipro (who first suggested making DN into a musical and created the Japanese production). Timeline, venue, cast, and creative team are all still TBA.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Characters: L (Death Note), Yagami Light, Watari | Quillsh Wammy
Additional Tags: practising my styles again, ty to carol shields' the stone diaries, Deathnotetober
Summary:
Rest in peace, Ryuzaki: the most courageous, the most intelligent; dearest friend.
Deathnotetober 2025 is kicking off! We're so excited about the prompt list this year and thank you to everyone who submitted prompts during our open call. @pyreneese and @queen--of--maggots are proud to be modding again and look forward to all of the spooky, romantic, platonic, angsty, and every-trope-in-between work this fandom is capable of!
Rules
*New Rule* AI work will not be allowed in this event
Create a piece of art based on the prompt of the day and post it. It can be fanart, fanfics, edits, or other content
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Tag your post #deathnotetober and/or tag us in the description @deathnotetober so we can reblog your creation
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Have fun!
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I love how in true L lawliet style one can tell which mutuals are students because they’ll be posting about six times a day but drop off the face of the earth as soon as term starts. Don’t be too concerned: they’ll proceed to make a full recovery at Christmas.
Death note kpop au snippet no 1. Lawlight. 1200 words or so. Absolute rubbish, requires context overload, yeah. And they’re both assholes.
A/N: help me I’m falling into this hellhole and it’s only going to get worse
Congratulations on your latest comeback.”
In an ideal world, I would walk past him with Kiyomi’s elegant strut, letting the slight breeze of my ironed shirt do the talking, and leave him with the condescending scent of fresh cotton. However, this is nowhere near an ideal world. I blink twice to find myself still firmly in the same space-time complex, where the idiot of an architect designed the hallways much too narrow, what I am wearing is an old hoodie of Teru’s and my eyes are unattractively squinting in the poor lighting. I stop because to continue now would just be embarrassing, and my suspensory ligaments are being stretched to their very limits by his voice. He taps my shoulder.
“Yagami. Light-kun. It is you, isn’t it?”
“Please go away, L.”
“So I’m not mistaken!” He looks as delighted as a serial killer who’s found their next victim and smiles like one too. “Wonderful. You see - if my eyes were failing me, I would have had to go to the opticians and proceed to look at life through two pieces of curved glass, which is really very sad. Imagine one’s lenses fucking up so badly you now have to hook plastic around your ears so you don’t get run over by a bus. Don’t you agree?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’m actually quite busy today, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to continue this delightful conversation. Some other time?”
“Liar.” L swivels himself around so I have to either look at him or risk breaking my neck turning the other way; I find myself seriously weighing the options here. “You have nothing for another hour, after which you must ‘prepare for interview’? And I’m certain that it isn’t so important, seeing that it’s a whole month away.”
“Yeah, okay. Go ahead and stalk my social media. Feel free to break into my room and rifle through my diary.” I have never once caught him at it, but I know it happens. I haven’t even told Misa about this interview yet. I have sent all my personal documents back home, along with Teru’s, because if even one scrap of paper of his disappeared he would put two and two together. Hell would go down. I plan to reassure him that my mother has his passport safe in a locked compartment only when the subject crops up, as per my normal considerate style. Change what you can and leave what you can’t.
“And you don’t have to prepare,” L continues. “The company will get you a script to parrot, and the fans will drink up whatever you say and twist it around their little heads until it looks good enough to immortalise. Send the prime minister a death threat or call for more representation in the music industry, it all turns out well on screen.”
“Since you know everything, right? I won’t say it again: I don’t want to talk about this. How come you’re the only lyricist I’ve met who is this obnoxious?”
“Here, Light, an interview of my own. How come your latest comeback is a disgrace to the name of the industry?”
I make to leave, but I won’t and I never do. L knows that too. He’s stopped with the sweet nothings swirled along the shell of my ear, fairytale fantasies Misa would die for, and is working into the more effective strategy of simply telling me what he wants and fucking me over that way. His hand is on my chest and we topple over, a pile of dirty laundry conspicuous in the corridor. It starts off differently but always ends the same. I don’t get up.
“I don’t know what you have against a generic beat and some simpler harmonies,” I gasp. “I don’t know why you work here if you’re so against it all. You’ve preached this sermon one too many times.”
“It’s more than that,” L argues. “It’s how you all use the same beats, the same harmonies, every damn release. And just so you know, it sounds terrible. Anything goes if you’re pretty enough. You rob music of a soul.”
“And people like it. We make it onto the charts. Music is all about the reception.”
“Then why are you still here,” L asks, “listening to the likes of me? You know I’m right, Light-kun. You’re smart, you know you’re not an artist, just a model, no matter what you want. And when you’re gone, there will always be another prettier young man who can scream over a backing track. Then again, maybe not.” He runs a hand down my jaw and I freeze. “Your beauty is extraordinary.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss. I wonder if his blood would taste like iron if I pounced for his lip.
“Oh dear, are we getting angry already? No matter. I’ll find you again when your lucky stars uncross and you hate yourself enough to fuel my starving sadism.”
Scowling, I grab his wrists and shove him off me. L doesn’t resist, letting himself be tackled to the floor as I stand up and brush off imaginary dust, the same singular smirk etched onto his face. Sometimes, he stops and I look and I think he is a student’s first attempt at working marble, white and unyielding and lopsided yet in which is implemented such high ideas, such depth of thought. I tell myself he doesn’t scare me, but I never willingly look him in the eye.
“Think of me,” he’s singing, “think of me fondly.” He’s still curled up, diaphragm constricted but doesn’t so much as stutter on the notes. It rubs me up in all the wrong ways, not least because Phantom of the Opera is my favourite musical and he knows that, since I did once entrust the titbits of my life to his tender mercies. L is as untender as you can get in a world where euthanasia exists. Not that I like that sort of thing, no, that was just one pathetic theory of a netizen on crack, hung, drawn and quartered within hours by my fans. I never think about it anymore.
“You need medical attention,” I announce, “and I’m leaving.” Isn’t it that, if you tell a lie enough, it becomes the truth? “I’m going to report you for repeatedly inappropriate behaviour. I’m going to file a restraining order. I’ll find out who the fuck you really are, unless you’re going to start convincing me you really are just a humble lyricist. Don’t you believe human nature is intrinsically consumerist? I’m not satisfied with one letter of the Latin alphabet and you should know that.”
“Poor Light. I would have thought you had better things to moan about.”
“In an ideal world.” Which, as I oft state, this is not. “Alas, to such devices have we descended.”
L starts to laugh. More precisely, he opens his pale mouth and sound falls out. It is something of a cross between a frog reaching orgasm and an untrained voice straining for countertenor. I am disgusted. A century ago and I would have had permission to toss him on a burning stake. It’s amazing how fast Not entirely consciously, I step back from the train wreck.
“Run along now, little philosopher,” L chortles. “You’re always available to me anyway.”
Oh no death note kpop au popped into my mind and it’s not going out. Now I must write about how consumerism is impacting the music industry, the dangers of parasocial relationships and critique capitalism while imagining Light Yagami dancing on stage. Bear with me for 24 hours or so, I cannot let this sit for another night…
for my next birthday i will make my friends listen to the entire death note musical soundtrack while doing horrible singalongs to them and none of them can stop me because its my birthday
A thing about death note is that the main cast are extremely young. They are quite literally children. They have not seen enough of the world to think twice. I have always wanted any one of them to grow up, look back, and be able to see how utterly ridiculous it all was.
The saddest thing is not that they did what they did, it’s that they died without making peace with it.
A thing about death note is that the main cast are extremely young. They are quite literally children. They have not seen enough of the world to think twice. I have always wanted any one of them to grow up, look back, and be able to see how utterly ridiculous it all was.
The saddest thing is not that they did what they did, it’s that they died without making peace with it.
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2087
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