we know little about Wammy's House, but we do know it's a training institution for the gifted. I don't have enough information to form a full-fledged opinion, but I disagree with its training methods regarding the “L's successor program.” even if they’re gifted children, they are still children. they observe what's going on around them and absorb it into themselves. what happens to the 99% of other kids in that program if the primary goal is to become L's successor? and what about the boy who did become L's successor? the 2020 one-shot provided a lot of useful information that I agree with. I can readily picture the emptiness and numbness that comes from hiding behind another person's mask.
the “L’s successor program” began with L and should have ended with him. they shouldn't have looked for backups because the cost is mutual. L is technically replaceable, and he is aware of this. this does not sit well with me.
24. any headcannons you want to share?
L and Light slept in the same bed during the Yotsuba arc.
Light secretly had a crush on Hideki Ryuga when he was younger.
L and Light went up to the rooftop during the Yotsuba arc on a regular basis.
Prompt: Takada seems so confident. What is she insecure about?
Author’s notes: My fic before this literally got deleted so close to the deadline so I had to make some rushed changes,,, other than that I took some liberty with the insecurity part and expected upon it. I hope it’s not too bad ^^;;
A few bubbles came in to meet her, each one reflecting a pivotal point in her life. One was her childhood; listening to music alone on the train to school, and the other shyly glid behind it; showcasing her teenage years encased in her awards for debate and public speaking. Her eyes, heavy as they were, slid upward to the roof of the damned truck she was kidnapped in, thanks to a certain uncouth blond individual.
She couldn’t even begin to blame herself for how she’d gotten betrayed. It was always the same thought ringing in her ears time after time; I’m not who these things happen to.
But that was exactly what she thought before they did.
Kiyomi Takada. A proper lady under the thumb of the world’s most notorious crime punisher, one that she fell in love with from the beginning. That mural she had draped herself upon was far beyond her reach, the tips of her fingers just barely grazing its toes. Would his air they shared steal her breath away as it always did, she wondered as she clutched the phone to her chest.
She knew exactly what was going to happen to her.
As clearly as she felt attached to Light, who she was supposed to be the love of her life, she could see the truth for what it was. There, sitting in the back of a truck with a blanket wrapped around her naked body, she would die at the hands of her lover.
She inhaled the fresh morning scent of dew, masked with flowery cologne, one that he would wear frequently. The mornings she spent encased in that scent helped her steady her breathing, her smile at the back of his head as he left almost deafening as he never once looked back at her.
“Do you… Like blowing bubbles?” He asked one night.
“Ooh, yes,” she replied, a bit too eagerly for her taste, “I mean, I know it’s a strange hobby.”
“No, no, I want to hear about it. I like learning new things about you,” he rested his chin on the palm of his hand, offering her a reassuring smile.
Kiyomi cleared her throat, before continuing.
“I’ve been public speaking ever since I was a little girl. Joining debate clubs, winning all state… Though I’ve always had a stutter, ” she paused to guage his reaction, and satisfied with his surprise, continued. “My mother told me to practice blowing bubbles into fun shapes, and I didn’t know why until nationals. Somehow, I thought of public speaking like blowing bubbles. Gently carrying each word, each syllable into the air as if I was trying to blow a bubble. Because of that, I’ve always loved bubbles, and never really stopped wanting to blow them.
"I guess that’s the one childish thing about me, isn’t it?” Her eyes cast down, her hand gripping the sheets.
“Hey,” Light raised her chin to meet his eyes, and there she saw in them the most beautiful amber color, shining and swirling as they held her gaze. “I think that’s beautiful.”
Kiyomi shut her eyes tightly, forming her lips into an ‘o’ shape. There, the bubble planted a kiss on her lips and dissapeared, then she heard the child, happy to win nationals, dissapear.
“Lidner, please, you mustn’t be so rough with her. She’s an old friend,” Kiyomi snarkily commented, waving away her blonde rival.
Lidner immediately dropped Misa, who let out a surprised yelp. Her nose crinkled as she scoffed at Kiyomi, then stomped away erratically.
Kiyomi laughed a bit at the reflection of the dinner with Misa crossed her vision, the bubble gyrating with her breath. That woman never stood a chance with Light. He said it himself, Misa wasn’t intelligent enough to be his partner. Though that was true, Kiyomi thought sadly, why was she the one by his side now? Why was Kiyomi sitting alone, waiting like cattle to die?
“I did what you asked…” She echoed to herself, “Light, I did what you asked!”
She slammed the pages to the ground, her pen stabbing her hand and causing her to double back in pain. Her tears spilled out like a fountain, bubbling and rising as the reflections obscured and were cast away.
None of it was enough for him. She wasn’t enough.
“You’re enough,” Light’s voice cut through her head like a knife.
“What?” She blinked back her tears, sitting up in bed.
“Those producers don’t know what they’re talking about. You’ve always been intelligent, beautiful and resourceful. The world needs you, Kiyomi,” he pulled her in to embrace her form, and she could feel his smile on her neck. “I need you.”
Kiyomi stood up, keeping her blanket firmly in place as she made her way through the back, the air thick with dread. Yes, she was resourceful, wasn’t she? Light said it himself too. Perhaps she could find a way out, escape Light and the fate that awaited her. No, she had to think quickly.
What if…
She gripped the paper close to her chest. She couldn’t… Could she?
The pen hovered above the page. Her eyes shone brightly, a gentle amber settling amidst them.
Do it for love.
A car pulled up, and she heard aggressive footsteps followed by the turning of metal. Kiyomi looked up, and her eyes met with Lidner’s, who worriedly hurried to her side.
“Miss Takada! Are you hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head.
“We need to get you back immediately. And—” Lidner paused and looked at the front seat. “Mello is…”
“He suddenly dropped dead,” Kiyomi cried, “Kira must have punished him for kidnapping his spokesperson.”
“Right,” Lidner’s brow furrowed, and she helped Kiyomi into the car, grabbing all her clothes as well. “You’re safe now.”
“Thank you,” her head rested on the window, and when she opened her eyes, the violent shade of amber met her.
“I’ve just collected miss Takada… What? Light Yagami is dead? Then who…” Lidner’s eyes widened before she shut the phone in her hand.
Kiyomi closed her eyes yet again and pretended to blow bubbles with her lips.
Hi I'm in a different time zone than normal, so it's Fab Friday for me! Sorry if this reaches you at some ungodly hour lol. I'm in Germany right now as an exchange student (kind of, long story) and it's given me the motivation to start writing the WIP I wanted to do, since it takes place in Germany. Oh, man, there's so much I could say about it, but it's a roaring-20s gothic horror that I basically am just writing to do a lot of twin-based horror besides the typical "oh crap they look alike that's kind of weird." As an identical twin myself, I find things like "My twin is dead and I'm looking at their body and it's a reminder of my own mortality" and "My dad isn't over my twin's death and now he's trying to use me as a replacement since I look and sound like him" way more compelling, and it's been really interesting to think about. For right now, though, I'm still only two chapters in. Still, I haven't been this excited for a WIP in over a year, so here's a poem I wrote about it!
The poem on your desk,
The one you never finished,
The one Father has refused to move,
Micha,
You wrote that this was a house of shadows.
One after another, you said,
and another,
and another…
I understand now.
Father lives
in the shadow of the house,
Placing candelabras
And chandeliers
And fireplaces
Illuminating an illusion of nobility,
Because born in his shoes,
He cannot have wealth and respect both.
You lived
in his shadow,
And found that no matter
What light you stood in,
You could never be rid of it.
So you became his opposite.
You wanted him to hate you
So that you could finally be free.
And here I am.
I live
in yours.
I always have.
I always will.
Because to be born with you,
To share your eyes,
Your nose,
Your dimples;
To look into your portrait,
Into your casket,
And find only a mirror,
I am
And must be
inseparable from you.
That’s what they called us as children, Micha.
Inseparable.
They said it smiling,
Happy for us,
Perhaps even envious.
Because none of them realized that it is a curse
To live in the context of someone else;
For Peter to be no more to them then Micha’s twin,
And Micha to be no more than Peter’s.
At least you could make something of yourself.
At least you had friends, and made them easily.
At least people knew you.
At least Father let people know you.
And now you’re just a portrait above the fireplace.
You can’t hear me, but still I speak to you.
Are you happy like that, Micha?
I want so badly to believe that you are,
That you didn’t feel yourself drown,
That you’re finally free from the shadows.
Because until I join you,
I will live constantly in yours.
Submitted by @monaluisa
ohhhhhhhh boy this is SO COOL i'm SO here for roaring '20s gothic horror!!! absolutely LOVE this! ♥
Pairings/Characters: No pairings/Ryuk, Shinigami King, Light Yagami, Izanami (mythology, mentioned)
Rating/Warnings: General/No warnings apply
Prompt: What if the shinigami had more eldritch effects that slowly leech into the owner of the Death Notes? It can be physical, but I’d rather see mental effects, powers, and/ or deterioration. Try not to be ableist with it.
Author’s notes: The “Lady Who Invites” or “the Lady” refers to Izanami, the Japanese creator goddess of the dead. Yomi is essentially the Japanese underworld in Shinto mythology.
Ryuk.
Good evening, Your Majesty.
This is the human you’ve possessed?
Sure is.
Light Yagami…
Interesting.
Careful.
He’ll wake up if he hears you.
He’s deep in sleep.
Look at how still he is.
He hardly even breathes.
Look, Ryuk.
How fragile he is…
It would be quite simple to break his neck, wouldn’t it?
That would kill a human,
and you’re not one to break your own rules.
What are you here for, anyway?
You haven’t come to the Earth for millenia.
I wanted to see him for myself.
He’s outlived the rest.
Ha! You have a way with timing, don’t you?
Don’t you see how low the numbers are?
It’s true.
The sun will rise soon,
And I would be surprised if he lives ‘til it sets.
But I want to know what it’s done to him after all this time.
…
Why are you laughing like that?
Have you forgotten to whom you speak?
Oh, please.
Spare the formalities.
Why should I revere you?
Your dominion is dust and ash,
Your riches are bones and names in a book,
Your subjects have nothing to do but wait to die,
And when we do, it will be long and excruciating.
Ryuk.
It’s all your fault, too.
That’s the thing.
We had it good back in Yomi.
Hell, the apples there were better than the ones here!
It was you who was dissatisfied.
It was you who wanted the attention of the Lady Who Invites.
Don’t speak of that wretched woman.
Funny to hear you say that.
I can remember a time when
She was all you ever wanted.
Your cheeks flushed when even Her burned rags
Touched the ground where you stood.
…
I damn this idea of ‘love.’
You, Gelus, Rem…
It only ever gets us into trouble.
You would do best to shut your mouth, Ryuk.
The Lady may be listening.
Well, I’m done talking about Her.
Back to you.
Your folly is the reason She cursed us.
And afterwards,
When we were too hungry
and feverish
and rotten
to think anymore,
It was you we turned to.
Nu might have prophesied that the book would be our cure,
And Armonia may have bound it together,
But for some reason,
it was you who we made King.
Of course, it’s worth nothing now.
Armonia’s gold corrodes and turns brittle.
Nu loses her vision one eye at a time.
And we know now what you really are.
You can doubt the legitimacy of my reign,
But you cannot deny its existence.
You cannot call me powerless
When for a million of our years,
And nearly five hundred of his,
Kinddara Guivelostain’s teeth were drenched with the blood
Of the traitors among you.
Call me a traitor if you’d like.
You only came here to ask me a question;
I ought to answer you, if you’re so powerful.
Look at him.
You wanted to know what it did.
The truth is, the Death Note acted on both of you the same way.
He’s convinced he’s greater than he is.
But this time, it entertains you.
Why is that?
Weak as you were back then,
You were still a kami;
He’s nothing but a human.
He’s like a parrot, mimicking our power.
Isn’t that amusing?
What does it matter?
It always gives them a sense of imagined strength.
What’s remarkable is that he hasn’t buckled under his deeds.
I thought humans were supposed to be weak, compassionate.
This is no typical human, Your Majesty.
If he has a heart at all, it’s a Shinigami’s.
But he is not one of us.
It must weigh on him.
He’s losing his mind.
With every kill, he’s lost a little more remorse;
He let his own father die.
He let his sister be abducted by criminals.
Sometimes, he wakes up and paces the room,
Talking to the dead as if they can hear him.
Other times, he sleeps for hours, looking half-dead,
like a man with a fever does…
I doubt he’d wake up at all if there weren’t
Lies for him to tell
Or praise for him to take
Or work for him to do.
He seems ill every now and then.
Feverish, shaking like a child,
His skin turns pale,
His balance leaves him.
There’s not a human that can stand our power;
He’s just held out longer than most.
He’s only alive
because he’s certain of the godhood he created.
…
What do you see?
The sun is rising.
Tell me,
What will he think when he dies tonight?
I want to know the look in his eyes when you write his name.
That Nuclear Hawaiian Witch-hunt thing is going really well! I don't have much written down, but the characters are really starting to define themselves in my head. We've got a scheming merchant accusing a crap ton of people to control the government, an upstanding but low-status young man who, by sending one of the first people to be accused (his fiancee) off to another island, accidentally fuels the mania and gets himself killed, but my favorite is Ilya. He's fifteen when the witch-hunt starts, and him and his father are immediately suspected because they're from a religious minority that formed after the Soviet Union got nuked in the war. It's basically like an Orthodox doomsday thing. Anyway, the town jails his father but decides to let him go because he's still a kid, but as the hunt goes on, he keeps getting closer and closer to being found guilty until at the end, when the prophet of the island's religion burns down the town out of guilt for the deaths, hoping that the universe will spare whoever was innocent and kill whoever is guilty, Ilya flees on a boat with some other characters, only to wash up on the island the guy sent his fiancee and find her.
Have a good weekend! :)
submitted by @monaluisa
I am literally head over heels in love with EVERY WORD OF THIS STORY OMG it's INCREDIBLE and MIND BLOWING!!! fantastic job!!
I recently stopped writing a book I'd been working on for four years. Much of the reason I was able to work on it for so long, I believe, was because of the spite I felt for a friend criticizing it heavily (Long story). I want to work on something big again, but because I had the old project for so long, I worry about not being able to commit. What advice, if any, would you have?
Wonderful question, lovely!
I'm so sorry you experienced harsh criticism for your work, especially from a friend. That's really rough :(
I don't think you have to worry too much about your level of commitment though! You stuck with your previous WIP with determination and dedication, despite naysayers! That shows your crazy level of strength!
Every writing project will teach you something new. Your spite motivation will still come into play at some point when you hand over your WIP to betas. There will always be someone out there seeking to tear you down.
But for your next project, you'll be creating from a different emotional and psychological space. It will take time to navigate that, settling into it. There will be a learning curve that might feel weird if you don't have that spite fuel revving your engine.
Also, your next WIP might not be the entirely clean slate that you think it will be. Chances are, experiencing that kind of criticism will leave lasting effects that filter into other projects.
So here are a few tips I have to face your next WIP!
1. Jump in and see how it goes
The catch-22 about writing is that it's very straight forward...even though we want it to be trickier than that. The best way to learn is to do it. Put words on the page and edit those words until you have the story you want to tell.
In this case, you have a new landscape of story/stories waiting for you to write! And that might be a little daunting.
So take the dive and start writing! You will only be able to tell your level of commitment once you're in the thick of it and you realize, "I want to fight for this story."
2. Feed the spite beast
Get feedback on your writing! I'm right there with you on the motivation power of spite (it's my #1 go-to honestly). If that's what it takes to get you fired up to beat that story into submission 'cause you're gonna SHOW EVERYONE YOU WILL FINISH THIS STORY DAMMIT then use that to your advantage! Ask someone to shred your manuscript and it might give you the rocket boost you need to see that WIP to completion!
But there's a catch here too: don't get feedback too early in your writing because it could crush your creativity and the flow of ideas.
3. Give yourself space to breathe and heal
On the other end of the spectrum, you could try a writing project for yourself alone. Don't show it to anyone. You might need some time to breathe, heal, and learn how to write just for yourself without processing feedback.
I'm a bit late, but I'm back again with my Death Note fanfic and poetry! This time we've got a Shinigami (God of Death) wishing she could relate better to the human she's fallen in love with! This is only half of the poem, but here we are:
If you were not flesh
But bone,
And gold,
And eyes,
Like me,
Oh, the things I’d show you.
The conversations we’d have,
Reminiscing.
You weren’t there when the water was pierced
And the islands rose from the foam,
Or when fire burned the Inviter,
And she decayed into our realm.
You have seen but nineteen years
Of hundreds,
Of thousands,
Of millions.
I scarcely recall being so young.
Youth is nothing to us.
The word itself refers only to the times before
The bleeding
And the wailing
And the bitterness of exile.
You weren’t there when the Inviter cursed us;
Our bones broken,
Our limbs twisted in eternal agony.
You have not walked the miles I have,
One foot in front of the other
Until they were both worn down to the bones.
I did not notice when our age ended,
And yours began.
Humans were nothing but names;
A cure for the curse.
And then came you.
submitted by @monaluisa
I am so utterly enthralled and bewitched by your ability to weave words together so smoothly and fluidly! Your prose reads in such a delicious way that I can't get enough!! Fantastic job!!! :D
Hi again! Decided to write some happy Death Note fanfic for a change and am currently working on one inspired by Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I don't write a whole lot of comedy, but I think it's been pretty funny so far. Anyways, enjoy this gem about high-brow art people.
And then, catastrophe.
As Misa was on her way out, she bumped into L, startling him.
He jerked his arm forward, and the palette, covered in globs of paint, slammed into the canvas.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”
L stared quietly for a moment, then peeled the palette away.
Where the middle of the river once was, a smear of bright red paint took its place. A large cluster of black had set itself over the meadow in shapeless, random forms.
It looked like a rainbow had thrown up on the painting.
“Well,” L muttered at last. “At least now I can see Light.”
Behind him, the speaker gasped, bringing his ringed hand to his chest. “My goodness! It’s a masterpiece!”
L’s face soured. “It’s an accident.”
“It says so much about the human condition…”
“It does not in any way. That was not my intention.”
“But does the intention of the artist matter once the work has been viewed by foreign eyes?”
“I had no intention but pleasing myself.”
“But look! The rage, the sorrow, the inevitability of death! It’s all so plain on the canvas!”
By this point, the other painters had come to look, and nodded amongst themselves.
L glanced around in disgust and confusion. “There’s no such thing here! You people are reading into it way too much!”
“It’s a metaphor for the loss of childhood!”
“No,” one woman interrupted, “It’s the end of a dream!”
“You’re both wrong,” someone else shouted, “It’s the thrill of young love!”
“They seem to like it,” Misa giggled. “Aren’t you going to sign it?
L stared, disillusioned. “You people are insane!” Shaking his head, he grabbed the brush again, and the artists gasped.
“He’s adding to it!”
“Tell us, what does it mean?”
Frustrated, he signed ‘anonymous’ in the bottom corner and turned to them. “Do what you want with it, you sickos!”
With that, he stormed out of the conference room, Misa following close behind.
“I thought I finally understood art,” he told her. “But I suppose I was wrong.”
“No,” she argued. “I think those people are just weird.”
submitted by @monaluisa
this reads SO FLUIDLY!!!! it's wonderful!!!! I'm not familiar with Death Note and I've only heard references to Bueller, but this INSTANTLY drew me in and held my attention the whole time!!! Fantastic job!! :D
