Fic: 'Fate on Paper'
Title: Fate on Paper
Fandom: Death Note
Words: 434
Rating: PG
Character: Misa Amane
Prompt: 'Write'
Warnings: Allusions to killing, but, uh. It's Death Note.
Summary: Misa Amane writes for Light. But she doesn't only write for Light.
The pen scratched across the page, soft against the quiet background of the radio. Some recent J-pop band played at that moment. Misa had long since tired of that sort of thing. She still spouted shallow praise of the occasional band in her interviews when asked, but, generally, she hadn’t really been really interested in anything like that since she’d first got the notebook. Needs must and all that, though, and the Japanese media didn’t like its idols growing up.
She lay on her stomach, the death note and Light’s laptop open in front of her, scanning the pictures of criminals, reading the red script floating above their head in kanji or romanji. Every name was written, carefully. Misa had always liked to have perfect handwriting. Each line, each dash had always been perfect, and her teachers had always complemented her on it at school, if nothing else. But then, the words had gone onto the page and that was it. Writing in the death note was different. Felt different. Not in any physical way. Just as if…the words were sinking further into the page, pressing against that fateful button. It was strange and exciting and somehow addictive in its own right.
Misa did it for her parents. She did it for Light. Her heart would swell every time he came back to her, his name floating above his head in jagged red. His lack of a life-span signified him as the world’s saviour even as he stood there innocuously in pressed pants and an ironed sweater. But, there was more to it than that. More to it than love, than justice, though she’d never say it.
It was the notebook itself. The power a few slashes of ink had over the fate of a human. Misa had never been power-hungry. She’d never wanted to dominate. Early on, she’d learned that a sweet smile, a well-angled pout and the right honeyed words were enough to get her what she wanted and so she’d made a career out of that. But that was it. She was happy to submit, she really was.
But the words pulled at her fingers when she wrote, and made unspoken promises in her mind. It wasn’t so much the act of killing for her, really. Not really the divine retribution. When she’s writing those names down in the book, she knows that everything is going to be alright. It fills her veins with a sort of tranquilizing cloudiness. Nothing written down on those pages can be changed or reversed. Misa can feel that she’s really making the world she wants.
Fandom: Death Note
Words: 434
Rating: PG
Character: Misa Amane
Prompt: 'Write'
Warnings: Allusions to killing, but, uh. It's Death Note.
Summary: Misa Amane writes for Light. But she doesn't only write for Light.
The pen scratched across the page, soft against the quiet background of the radio. Some recent J-pop band played at that moment. Misa had long since tired of that sort of thing. She still spouted shallow praise of the occasional band in her interviews when asked, but, generally, she hadn’t really been really interested in anything like that since she’d first got the notebook. Needs must and all that, though, and the Japanese media didn’t like its idols growing up.
She lay on her stomach, the death note and Light’s laptop open in front of her, scanning the pictures of criminals, reading the red script floating above their head in kanji or romanji. Every name was written, carefully. Misa had always liked to have perfect handwriting. Each line, each dash had always been perfect, and her teachers had always complemented her on it at school, if nothing else. But then, the words had gone onto the page and that was it. Writing in the death note was different. Felt different. Not in any physical way. Just as if…the words were sinking further into the page, pressing against that fateful button. It was strange and exciting and somehow addictive in its own right.
Misa did it for her parents. She did it for Light. Her heart would swell every time he came back to her, his name floating above his head in jagged red. His lack of a life-span signified him as the world’s saviour even as he stood there innocuously in pressed pants and an ironed sweater. But, there was more to it than that. More to it than love, than justice, though she’d never say it.
It was the notebook itself. The power a few slashes of ink had over the fate of a human. Misa had never been power-hungry. She’d never wanted to dominate. Early on, she’d learned that a sweet smile, a well-angled pout and the right honeyed words were enough to get her what she wanted and so she’d made a career out of that. But that was it. She was happy to submit, she really was.
But the words pulled at her fingers when she wrote, and made unspoken promises in her mind. It wasn’t so much the act of killing for her, really. Not really the divine retribution. When she’s writing those names down in the book, she knows that everything is going to be alright. It fills her veins with a sort of tranquilizing cloudiness. Nothing written down on those pages can be changed or reversed. Misa can feel that she’s really making the world she wants.