heaven is a place built of paper ; misa/light ; r ; 1/2. a/n:how much do i love you for this prompt? i don't know that i followed it really well, but gah - misa is my baby darling, and SO under-appreciated. warning for horrible relationship dynamics?
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The pen is mightier than the sword and Misa writes in pink ink. She dots her i's with hearts. She kills a nineteen-year-old boy for shoplifting and a battered woman for shooting her abusive husband. She hums pop music while she scrolls through the names, waiting for Light to get home.
Tokyo is lit foggy with a misting rain and his clothes are damp when he comes through the door and his hands are soft on her shoulders when he pushes her off of him, fingers going to her cheek, thumb brushing her chin. He's so handsome and tired and dear, still looks like he had when she'd met him - like a statue of God. It's cold in their apartment and she's not wearing much and goosebumps rise on her arms, her calves. His body is warm beneath his suit. He looks so good in a suit.
"How was your day?" she asks, arms going around his neck. Her smile doesn't waver as he unlatches her fingers, removing her grip like it's second-nature.
"Fine."
"I could make you dinner?" She twirls her hair around her finger, feels weightless, like there's nothing in her.
"I ate," he says, taking off his tie and folding it neatly. He's probably lying - he doesn't eat enough, doesn't speak enough, doesn't smile enough. He's very unhappy, she suspects sometimes, in a far off way that doesn't seem particularly relevant to the situation.
"We could make love," Misa says, hands grappling for him again, but he moves so fast that she barely brushes the edge of his jacket.
"No," he says, without inflection, walking toward their bedroom without looking back, "we couldn't."
---
It's almost like being in love with her older brother. Misa's never had any siblings, or even cousins - it had just been her and mom and dad, until it was just her - but she thinks if she had, they might have treated her the way Light does, looking out for her out of duty rather than affection.
He lets her fuck him sometimes, just takes his clothes off and lies back and says, "Do it, if you're going to. I have an early day tomorrow."
She'll climb onto him, sink down, nails clawing at his shoulders, face buried in his neck, making high, breathy sounds and trying not to lose her mind. He feels so good, is so good, even though he just lies there, barely reacting, barely paying attention to her. He comes sometimes, simply as a matter of course, but never seems to particularly enjoy it. It's a chore to him, like grocery shopping or taking out the recycling, and afterwards he'll roll over and go to sleep and she'll watch the smooth, golden arch of his back from the other side of the bed.
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"I could kill you, you know," she tells him once. They're have dinner at a highly rated restaurant and the paparazzi have already snapped a few photos and Misa has signed some autographs, and they're just sitting there between the courses, having wine. "I think I could do it."
He doesn't look up, smooths his fingers across the table cloth, absentmindedly drawing patterns. Maybe writing names. "You couldn't," he says. "You'd sooner kill yourself."
Some acquaintance waves to her from across the room and she smiles brightly and waves back, says, "Same thing, isn't it?"
"I don't think so, Misa," he says, sounding bored. "You and I are really nothing alike."
He has a few sips of his wine and no more, doesn't touch the second course. She drinks until her head is blurry and stumbles down the sidewalk with her hand on his arm, feeling dizzy and dead and like everything in the world - besides him, besides God - is very small and meaningless. She throws up on the landing of their apartment. He doesn't hold back her hair.
---
He dies and Misa sits in the waiting room of the SPK headquarters, doing a cross word puzzle. It feels strange not to be writing, writing, writing all the time. They'd given her her memories back, maybe to be cruel, but it feels like a kindness because without them she is completely weightless, doesn't understand a single thing. Now she knows. Now she remembers why he'd kept her around as long as he had. Remembers why he hadn't died sooner.
"I think I might kill myself," she says to Matsuda, because he's the only one who will speak to her. The rest of team is quiet and angry and guiltily and afraid, maybe, and Near just calls her a 'religious fanatic' and leaves it at that.
"Oh," he says. Then, after a moment of staring at the tiles on the floor, of rubbing his shoe into a scuff mark, he looks up at her. "Don't - don't do that."
Misa looks at him for a while, and it feels like enough, like more than anything Light had ever said to her. "Okay," she says.
No one really knows what to do with her yet. They don't let her go to the funeral and she doesn't ask them to - it doesn't feel real, Light doesn't feel real; like maybe he's just a story that she'd made up. She keeps a diary, writes it in pink ink. She dots her i's with hearts.
Gah, this is wonderful. (Misa. My heart breaks for her again). It's like a trainwreck, horrible and you can't look away, the power dynamics of their relationship. He's her god. She's his puppet / plaything, who he indulges sometimes, sometimes takes the opportunity to remind that they'll never have love, will never be able to make love. *Shivers*
So pleased that someone even responded to my Misa prompt, but then this is really good too!
Killing people with pink ink and dotting her i's with hearts is such a Misa thing to do. Adorable and dangerous and off-centre. The description of Light "like a statue of God", because she worships him but he is rather told and untouchable, really.
He's very unhappy, she suspects sometimes, in a far off way that doesn't seem particularly relevant to the situation.
I am struck by what you have done here. We all know this relationship is ridiculously unhealthy, and Light is using her shamelessly, and she knows that, in an odd sort of way. But the part where she clings to him, knowing that he doesn't want her around, makes their relationship damaging/abusive towards him as well. This fucked up relationship, my god.
She throws up on the landing of their apartment. He doesn't hold back her hair.
:( Oh Misa.
Misa looks at him for a while, and it feels like enough, like more than anything Light had ever said to her.
Thank you~! I was overjoyed to see a Death Note prompt, tbh.
I've always particularly enjoyed that the Misa/Light relationship isn't as simple as just victim/abuser. He is, of course, horrible to her within the relationship, but it's not a relationship that he wants and is actually one that she'd rather insisted upon. It's ugly from both sides, and very, very sad.
I'm just really happy you liked this, because Misa is my girl. <3
asfkjajklfsjlk i've been rewatching death note lately and you've really nailed the dynamics of their fucked up relationship.
and i love that you've written misa as a person (not a terrible happy or well-adjusted person, but still a person) and not just a punchline or a nuisance.
Thank you! Tbh, as much as she tends to be portrayed as a joke, there are moments in the anime where she displays surprising gravity and self-awareness. I honestly don't think she gets enought credit.
Oh yes, I totally agree! There are lots of moments in the anime that hint at a lot going on beneath her outward persona (she has a lot of self-awareness and cleverness etc... combined with an awful lot of fatalism), and there's so much fascinating potential there. So yeah it was great to see something that builds on canon so well :D
a/n:how much do i love you for this prompt? i don't know that i followed it really well, but gah - misa is my baby darling, and SO under-appreciated. warning for horrible relationship dynamics?
---
The pen is mightier than the sword and Misa writes in pink ink. She dots her i's with hearts. She kills a nineteen-year-old boy for shoplifting and a battered woman for shooting her abusive husband. She hums pop music while she scrolls through the names, waiting for Light to get home.
Tokyo is lit foggy with a misting rain and his clothes are damp when he comes through the door and his hands are soft on her shoulders when he pushes her off of him, fingers going to her cheek, thumb brushing her chin. He's so handsome and tired and dear, still looks like he had when she'd met him - like a statue of God. It's cold in their apartment and she's not wearing much and goosebumps rise on her arms, her calves. His body is warm beneath his suit. He looks so good in a suit.
"How was your day?" she asks, arms going around his neck. Her smile doesn't waver as he unlatches her fingers, removing her grip like it's second-nature.
"Fine."
"I could make you dinner?" She twirls her hair around her finger, feels weightless, like there's nothing in her.
"I ate," he says, taking off his tie and folding it neatly. He's probably lying - he doesn't eat enough, doesn't speak enough, doesn't smile enough. He's very unhappy, she suspects sometimes, in a far off way that doesn't seem particularly relevant to the situation.
"We could make love," Misa says, hands grappling for him again, but he moves so fast that she barely brushes the edge of his jacket.
"No," he says, without inflection, walking toward their bedroom without looking back, "we couldn't."
---
It's almost like being in love with her older brother. Misa's never had any siblings, or even cousins - it had just been her and mom and dad, until it was just her - but she thinks if she had, they might have treated her the way Light does, looking out for her out of duty rather than affection.
He lets her fuck him sometimes, just takes his clothes off and lies back and says, "Do it, if you're going to. I have an early day tomorrow."
She'll climb onto him, sink down, nails clawing at his shoulders, face buried in his neck, making high, breathy sounds and trying not to lose her mind. He feels so good, is so good, even though he just lies there, barely reacting, barely paying attention to her. He comes sometimes, simply as a matter of course, but never seems to particularly enjoy it. It's a chore to him, like grocery shopping or taking out the recycling, and afterwards he'll roll over and go to sleep and she'll watch the smooth, golden arch of his back from the other side of the bed.
---
"I could kill you, you know," she tells him once. They're have dinner at a highly rated restaurant and the paparazzi have already snapped a few photos and Misa has signed some autographs, and they're just sitting there between the courses, having wine. "I think I could do it."
He doesn't look up, smooths his fingers across the table cloth, absentmindedly drawing patterns. Maybe writing names. "You couldn't," he says. "You'd sooner kill yourself."
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Some acquaintance waves to her from across the room and she smiles brightly and waves back, says, "Same thing, isn't it?"
"I don't think so, Misa," he says, sounding bored. "You and I are really nothing alike."
He has a few sips of his wine and no more, doesn't touch the second course. She drinks until her head is blurry and stumbles down the sidewalk with her hand on his arm, feeling dizzy and dead and like everything in the world - besides him, besides God - is very small and meaningless. She throws up on the landing of their apartment. He doesn't hold back her hair.
---
He dies and Misa sits in the waiting room of the SPK headquarters, doing a cross word puzzle. It feels strange not to be writing, writing, writing all the time. They'd given her her memories back, maybe to be cruel, but it feels like a kindness because without them she is completely weightless, doesn't understand a single thing. Now she knows. Now she remembers why he'd kept her around as long as he had. Remembers why he hadn't died sooner.
"I think I might kill myself," she says to Matsuda, because he's the only one who will speak to her. The rest of team is quiet and angry and guiltily and afraid, maybe, and Near just calls her a 'religious fanatic' and leaves it at that.
"Oh," he says. Then, after a moment of staring at the tiles on the floor, of rubbing his shoe into a scuff mark, he looks up at her. "Don't - don't do that."
Misa looks at him for a while, and it feels like enough, like more than anything Light had ever said to her. "Okay," she says.
No one really knows what to do with her yet. They don't let her go to the funeral and she doesn't ask them to - it doesn't feel real, Light doesn't feel real; like maybe he's just a story that she'd made up. She keeps a diary, writes it in pink ink. She dots her i's with hearts.
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And yet. So fascinating.
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Killing people with pink ink and dotting her i's with hearts is such a Misa thing to do. Adorable and dangerous and off-centre. The description of Light "like a statue of God", because she worships him but he is rather told and untouchable, really.
He's very unhappy, she suspects sometimes, in a far off way that doesn't seem particularly relevant to the situation.
I am struck by what you have done here. We all know this relationship is ridiculously unhealthy, and Light is using her shamelessly, and she knows that, in an odd sort of way. But the part where she clings to him, knowing that he doesn't want her around, makes their relationship damaging/abusive towards him as well. This fucked up relationship, my god.
She throws up on the landing of their apartment. He doesn't hold back her hair.
:( Oh Misa.
Misa looks at him for a while, and it feels like enough, like more than anything Light had ever said to her.
WOW THIS IS THE SADDEST THING and also true
My yandere baby. Thank you so much for this.
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I've always particularly enjoyed that the Misa/Light relationship isn't as simple as just victim/abuser. He is, of course, horrible to her within the relationship, but it's not a relationship that he wants and is actually one that she'd rather insisted upon. It's ugly from both sides, and very, very sad.
I'm just really happy you liked this, because Misa is my girl. <3
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and i love that you've written misa as a person (not a terrible happy or well-adjusted person, but still a person) and not just a punchline or a nuisance.
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Regardless, I'm really gad you liked it!
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