hey there :) iβm alina, 21, she/her. i write fanfictions and occasional character analysis, mostly about attack on titan & death note. not spoiler free (!!).
this blog contains DARK CONTENT
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! (links)
THATβS RIGHT, I AM KIRA (read before interacting)
AND WHAT CAN YOU DO, KILL ME RIGHT HERE? (warnings)
IS THAT REALLY THE RIGHT THING TO DO? (requests)
HEAR THIS: IβM NOT ONLY KIRA (about me)
BUT I AM ALSO THE GOD OF THE NEW WORLD (masterlist)
THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN CREATE A NEW WORLD IS ME (tag index)
π do you know gods of death love apples? (recent works)
π who else could've done it and come this far? (upcoming works)
Light yagami killing his girlfriend reader in power struggle for death note and later regretting it.
i hope you like this. itβs getting a theme cause i listened to it non-stop while writing. feedback & constructive criticism appreciated. feel free to hop in my inbox.
si deus me relinquit (light yagami)
theme: peer gynt suite no. 1 op. 46 death of Γ₯se by edvard grieg
there was never much for light yagami to regret. and he never did. he never will.
+ warnings: profanity, DARK CONTENT, HEAVY ANGST, major character death, denial, unhealthy feelings, regret
+ word count: 2.2k
Itβs silent. A silence without reservations, one without conditions. Tranquilly, quietly, unaware of the uncanniness that lingers in the stale air. Some would notice the unanswered questions, too many of them, all of which are merged together and dancing on the ceiling in an almost mocking manner. Light Yagami is staring up, he does so a lot.
But each time, heβs met with the complete nothingness, like a blank canvas that stares back at him from above.
He has won. Through the small victories, the small moments of humiliation that the well known detective would make him suffer through, heβs finally paid it all back with interest. He hasnβt only won however, itβs not as simple. This victory doesnβt only serve to satisfy his insatiable pride, but itβs another step in the right direction. The path of salvation, of a world that wouldnβt be less of any Paradise. His world.
But then he closes his eyes, no longer interested in the blankness that his own room had begun to offer, and he sees it. Sees a world of his own. One that is created by his own hands. People laughing, strolling the streets in the dead of the night without a care in the world. People think before acting, twice. Some fear, others live.
Itβs all so fucking perfect.
And yet, he doesnβt see himself.
βLight?β He hears his name, one that sounds foreign coming from a familiar voice. βLight~ β
He has no heart to move. Not to reply either and so he doesnβt, but the owner of the voice doesnβt give up that easily. The door flings open, the sudden light that spills through it causes him to squint.
βLight! Iβve been calling you for so long! You promised me a date today, remember?β Misa chirps, almost bouncing as she enters the room.
Light watches her. A tick of his clock. Then another. And then another.
βI did. Are you ready?β He asks, reaching forward to turn on the bedside lamp as he sits up. It casts a dim warm glow, accentuating his features.
Misa nods, a little too enthusiastically. βIβve been ready for the past hour!β She goes on to complain nevertheless, giving him that small pout that she probably thinks itβs cute.
Itβs not. In fact, itβs ugly.
But Light hums. βIβll meet you out in five.β
The skyβs an art of oranges and pinks thrown unceremoniously on the canvas when he steps out. Sunβs about to set, he notices it, but whatβs it leaving behind is too much to be ignored. Sometime soon, it will be gone completely almost like it never had been there in the first place. Only leave a blinding darkness behind and an unflinching desire for it to rise on the east once again tomorrow.
And people will wait. Patiently. Only because they know that tomorrow exists.
βHey, Light.β
This time, he sees your face. Youβre smiling at him, very faintly but he knows to pick it up. The way your eyebrows are raised, he can tell youβre waiting for his answer to some question that he canβt remember. What was it? Probably something mundaneβ something not worth remembering. Yeah, that must be it. Despite that, he opens his mouth, but the words remain stuck when he blinks again.
Misa stares back at him. βAre you even listening to me?β She asks in disbelief, a little offended.
βHuh? No, I didnβt. What were you saying?β He asks.
She sighs. βWhat do you want to order dummy? The waiterβs been over two times.β
Thatβs when he realizes that it isnβt silent at all. In fact, the luxurious restaurant is bustling with people, full of murmurs and occasional sound of cutleries clicking against the plates. A little too loudly for his liking at times which almost makes him want to shut his eyes.
Those same eyes scans the menu instead, casually running over the items that are listed. Cheek resting in his palm, he stops at some random point, deciding that it was enough.
β β iβll have sushi and ββ
Misa orders something while he watches, and tells his own when the waiter turns towards him. The man smiles politely, once again leaving the two alone. Thatβs when the blonde looks back at Light, studying him this time.
β I think you should take a break from work, Light. Youβre always so busy! You rarely have time for me nowadays.β She huffs, pouting again.
Light sighs. βMisa. You know I canβt do thatββ
βBut Lightββ
Her shrilling voice rings in his ear.
βNot another word.β He cuts her off mid-sentence, not in the mood for this argument in the slightest.
Misaβs eyes widened a little, he can tell sheβs fairly annoyed with his statement, but she remains quiet. Good. Thatβs all he wants, for her to fucking stay quiet. God, why did it have to be a woman like her to have Shinigami eyes. Sheβs a fuckingβ no, no. Why is he getting so worked up? Thereβs nothing to be worked up about, everything has gone to smoothly according to his plan.
Yeah, thereβs nothing for him to lose his cool over.
And so, he remains calm. Even when the food heβs ordered tastes like utter shit. Or maybe heβs not hungry, he canβt tell when he takes another spoonful of it. The saltβs lacking, he thinks to himself, but finishes off the rest of it regardless. Misa has ordered three times nowβ the meal, the desert, and then more desert.
Light watches the out the window to his left. It has gotten dark. The moonβs shinning high up on the sky, a sight most would call beautiful. Moonlight. Itβs there, glowing ethereally down on the Earth. But what he sees is the moon, just hanging up in the sky like itβs supposed to. Doing whateverβs supposed to be done. Itβs lacking its light, he thinks. Moonlight. Itβs incomplete.
βOh look, thatβs you.β He hears your voice again, sees your finger pointing up at the sky.
It was a silly joke in his opinion. But you never stopped the teasing and somewhere along the way, he got used to it. Used to being called the moon and you telling him more cheesy stuff disguised as jokes. He knows you joked a lotβ that was it, but now, as he stared up the very same moon brighting up the night, he wondered if you ever meant any of it at all.
βHuh?! Weβre already going back?β Misa exclaims, the disappointment too evident in her voice. βCome on. We only just had dinner. Thereβs so much left to do! How is our date already done?β
Light has his hand around her small waist. βWeβll continue our date at home.β
It takes a small while but soon a wide smile spreads across the womanβs face.
βOh, Light. Youβre so dirty.β She giggles, finding her own meaning in his words as she grabs his arm and laces her fingers with his. βIf we you wanted to spend time with me at home, you couldβve just told me.β
He can hear the faintly running water as he sits down on his desk chair. After getting utterly disappointed that Light had to finish up some work first, she had stomped towards the bathroom with a towel in her hand. Thatβs not how dates work, she had said, but that isnβt on his mind.
Itβs silent once again. Maybe the shower stops, maybe he canβt hear it. Heβs staring. And staring. And staring. Itβs you. Looking at the camera. Staring back at him from the picture. He doesnβt know why heβd kept it, why it resides in the locked drawer of his deskβ why itβs always there, inside his death note. Does it serve as a reminder? Is there anything left unfinished?
Youβre dead. Killed. Murdered. You had to for the sake of his flawless plans, for a new world. What purpose could your picture serve to him? Itβs useless.
But heβs still staring. Looking. Watching. He doesnβt even know what heβs doing anymore as his fingers tightened around the polaroid. The grip is harsh, unforgiving. His shoulders move slightly, something akin to a small cough escaping his lips at the sight.
And again. Then again. The sound echoes around the silence. It gets louder and louder with each breath he intakes. Itβs rippling through his stomach and ringing out in the room, bouncing off the walls as his entire body unceremoniously shakes with it. The sound is harsh. Itβs loud. And in middle of the coughs, he looks at your picture.
β(Y/n). You thought you were special to me, right?β
His voice is hoarse. Another silence. Eerily.
βYou thought I wouldnβt kill you. You trusted me. Didnβt you, (Y/n)?β He breathes out, still staring down at the picture. βTell me. Did you trust me?β
A strangled chuckle escapes his lips cause of course, you canβt reply to that. Youβre dead. Youβre fucking dead. Dead people are gone. Gone like the sun that sets, the only difference is that thereβs no tomorrow. This is called forever. The chuckle faints when he speaks up, this time bringing your picture closer.
βYou thought Iβd miss you right? You think I miss you. Well I donβt, (Y/n)! I donβt fucking care! You see that? You were nothing to me!β Lightβs almost shouting, uncaring of his girlfriend the next door. βLook where your love got you! Dead. Youβre fucking dead and Iββ
The drawer is pulled out on his left, he opens it. His chuckles intensifies. Increasing. Heβs coughing again. Heβs cackling. God, it makes him feel.
β and I fucking donβt care!β He barks, fingers wrapping around the lighter heβs got in his drawer.
He pushes the button, flickers it on and watches the flame that dancing on itβs tip. Bright orange, one thatβs making his eyes glimmer under it.
βIβll show it to you.β His voice is lower this time as he brings the flame closer to the picture.
The fire burns. The flames spread from below, engulfing the photo in its wrath. Lightβs watching. Caramel eyes aflame with it, burning with something. Anything. Everything. His lips are stretched once again, eyes full of gleefulness. Heβs unable to even breathe properly. Each inhale of his sounds like a muffled sob as he chokes on the air.
βYou see that? Youβre fucking nothing!β He shouts, unaware of the warmth of the flame thatβs a little too close to his fingertips.
The lightβs reflecting on his face, the flames burning in his dark irises and bathing his face in the soft golden glow. He looks beautiful, beautifully deranged under it, anyone would agree with that. You would too. You know you would.
βIβm the God of this new world. You were nothing but a pawn, (Y/n)! A sacrifice. Someone Iβd never think of again!β
His voice is quavering.
And heβs laughing. Choking. Sobbing. And laughing more, and more, and more. Itβs all nothing. All for nothing, isnβt it? You were nothing more than a pawn in his grand schemes of things. You should know that. Heβs showing it to you as he chokes maniacally, like a madman in the pit of insanity.
His sobs are echoing violently against the walls, ringing in the room like an unforgiving, raging storm. Shoulders trembling, his entire body quivers as he leans his head back on the chair. Itβs hard to breathe. He canβt breathe. Beads of sweat has formed on his forehead. His eyes are closed. Heart thumps against his chest like itβs begging for his mercy.
Itβs silent. A silence without reservations, one without conditions. Tranquilly, quietly, unaware of the uncanniness that lingers in the stale air. Thatβs when Misa steps inside, his name slipping past her lips as she enters the room.
βLight~ β But she cuts herself off.
There he is. Heβs asleep, she thinks. She shouldnβt bothering him when heβs asleep. What kind of girlfriend would she be if she does that?
As she walks closer however, a smile spreads on her lips. Heβs slumped back in the chair, neck resting on the headrest thatβs leaned back. He looks cute. So peaceful. Her fingers softly runs through his disheveled brown locks, moving them away from his forehead. They trail down, her fingertips gently running on his skin, careful to not wake him up with her act.
βHuh?β A small sound escapes her lips when she reaches his cheek. Is it damp? βLight.β She whispers to herself as her gaze travels towards his hand.
Heβs clutching something. Itβs a picture. Misaβs eyebrows furrow. The burn never reached the face. She can see it. Pressed tightly between his fingers, so tight that itβs crumbling.
warnings: naobito is a fundamentally bad dad, Satoru being a womanizer, unsafe driving practices. I beg you guys, do not drive like Sukuna and Haibara. Pleaseπ Everyone in this story needs to learn that emotional intimacy is okay tbh.
Thank you all for sticking by me! This is the last chapter and I am so, so, so, grateful to everyone who has read it. As always, stay safe!!Β
Series Masterlist | Β Part VI.
Suguru imagined that tonight heβll sigh a breath of relief as he lay in his bedroom while wallowing in the cruelty of his New York penthouse for the final timeβ before he takes the flight to his hometown.
Heβll feel himself sink into the pillows, and relish the distinct familiarity, the comfort. Andβ while he closes his eyes, and finally falls into the slumber that awaits him, heβll imagine flies buzzing around his head.
Because, to be without a job, in Suguruβs opinion, was to be dead.Β
In spirit, Suguru was already dead.Β
(What would Suguru be without work?)
(Certainly not a leader.)
It proves difficult to look as unbothered as possibleβ especially when sitting in the passenger seat of a vehicle Sukuna is driving.Β
The pink-haired man drives over an unidentified object, in turn, Suguru (who refused to wear his seatbelt out of spite) feels himself lift off from the seat and his head collide with the roof of the car.
Sukuna chuckles as Suguru rubs his head, βMy bad.β
