drabbles!
First off, hello to those who are new to my journal. I believe there was some kind of friending frenzy a while back and so I have some new people on the flist. I've finally gotten around to friending you back-- sorry that it has taken so long. Do pop over and say hello, and tell me about yourself. If you come bearing fic recs you will be given
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Light & L
Pokerface
After L is dead, Yagami Light feels exactly what he had always assumed he would: nothing. No anger, remorse, or shame. Not even a preoccupation with the man who had, of all the people in the universe, come closest to being his friend. So it all seems a bit tawdry and pointless when his hand is forced into the charade of L, keeping his adversary alive, becoming him, animating his mouldering corpse and forcing it to dance for the public. Light blinks languidly and thanks whatever meddling powers there are that psychology isn't taught to Shinigami, because if Ryuk had known any Freud he would have been insufferable. As it is, something akin to guilt settles into the pit of his stomach as it all becomes so easy. As he strips away everything L has worked for while holding his name up as a standard. No, it is not guilt, Light smiles as he signs off on another day's worth of useless reports, it is merely boredom. The boredom of a God in a mortal world.
He opens his drawer to look for a stapler and sitting there nestled amongst the uncapped pens and sticky notes (Light makes a mental note to discipline his task force tomorrow, he is nothing if not meticulously clean) he sees a pack of cards and hefts them into his hands. Very, very carefully, he takes the deck out, shuffles it, and then deals the cards. He picks up each one with exaggerated caution and looks over at the other hand, untouched, next to an empty seat. Ten minutes later he throws the cards down in a fit of frustration that he immediately regrets: Yagami Light used to be satisfied as a God amongst mortals, but sometimes even he has to admit that playing an empty seat is no fun at all.
He sweeps his hand across the table and collects up the cards-- he doesn't have time for these frivolous pastimes anyway, these days-- all but one, that sticks to the table. He peels it off suspiciously only to discover still, traces of sugar on the surface, and the smell of L's favourite flavour of boiled sweets. The sickly orange fragrance makes Light feel a bit sick, a bit lightheaded-- he turns it over to discover that it is the Ace of Spades, and his lips curve upward involuntarily.
He raises the card to his mouth and licks it, delicately and then hungrily, until he's sucking on cardboard and the black ink is running on his lips and there might even be the ghostly hint of tears mixing with the spit.
Three minutes later there the door rattles and Matsuda enters his office in a flurry, without knocking, and finds nothing amiss: only Yagami Light, prodigy, hero, crusader, sitting at his desk and writing a sham report, with an old & tattered deck of cards in his wastepaper basket.
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That's such an offhand, selfish, LIGHT thing to think about. And absolutely true :)
I haven't yet dared to write anything for this fandom because I feel like the characters would either resist or shatter if I tried to put words in their mouth, but you pulled this off brilliantly.
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And you. You. I just finished reading your latest Doctor Who fic-- it was just marvellous. The tone, the voices, the science and the linguistics underpinning the story...everything worked for me. Doctor/Master as it should be done. (And just in case you haven't-- though I'm sure you have-- have you seen Life on Mars, you definitely should, if you enjoyed John Simm as the Master. I like to squint my eyes & pretend that time-travelling Sam Tyler really is the Master, he's just forgotten it. :D)
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As far as recs go, the DN stuff over at __kirisaite is just amazing, especially these two. And of course, there's Aja's "A Tithe to Hell" which is fucking EPIC.
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