Request days depend on my mood and I don’t know when the next one is. One might come up next week, one might not come again months from now, or I might stop doing them all together. I never know until I feel like it
On those days, I limit the drawings to about 10 or so because I have limited energy. I get more than that in my ask box, so several unlucky souls will not get the drawing they requested.
If you’re drawing didn’t get done, too bad. Suck it up
However,spamming me multiple times for several days at a time is a 100% guarantee that I will not do it
I don’t have ANY obligation to answer every message I get in my inbox or DMs. So if you don’t hear from me, I am purposefully ignoring it. Am I an asshole for that? Maybe? I really don’t care.
With the exception of commissions, I’m not paid to do this. My presence as a fan artist is something I do for fun. I have a job that requires me to travel a lot, bills to pay, a cat to feed and a big move coming up, those are my obligations. Not this blog, not any fan projects or art that I do for it and definitely not any unpaid art any of you want me to do for you.
Day 30: Friend Kamoda isn’t going to see Light again. Dramaverse. Kamoda-centric, hints of Light/Kamoda. @deathnotetober
The last time Kamoda saw Yagami Light, he told himself he’d be happy if he never saw him again. After all, when you spend years of a friendship gushing over a particular idol, the idea of your friend going and dating that idol anyways—isn’t that a betrayal? Isn’t it a crime, that Light would take away hisMisa-Misa?
(Because it’s not like Amane Misa is a person. It’s not like Amane Misa is anything more than a pretty, brightly-clad thing for him to want for himself. Maybe it isn’t even about Amane Misa, at the heart of the matter, and isn’t that the greatest irony of all?)
He couldn’t remember what he’d screamed at Light, that last time he’d seen him; he just remembered that he’d been crushingly, overwhelmingly angry. He had been angry for days after that, and even after that anger had faded, he refused to really give it up. He felt obligated to drag it out. Their friends had reprimanded him, told him he was being silly, told him to apologize, but that only made it worse, and he ignored the embarrassment needling at the back of his mind. Regretwas out of the picture. If anyone deserved an apology, it was him. No matter what, he would notreach out first.
As if.
Yagami Light is dead now, anyways, so there’s no point worrying about that anymore. That’s what he tries to tell himself—there’s no point worrying about it. But what he’s feeling isn’t worry, not really.
The entire argument—tantrum, really, he concedes—seems so silly now, because no matter how many Ichigo Berry songs he puts on, how many recordings he watches, how many pieces of merchandise he orders, he doesn’t feel anything. He can’t enjoy it anymore. He looks at Misa-Misa’s face, lighting up his room from his computer monitor, and he still feels miserable. It’s like biting into a piece of cake and finding your mouth full of dust.
He remembers screaming at him, something silly, something—something he can’t even remember. Nothing. He wishes he could go back and say something. He wishes he could have told Light, back when it mattered, something, anything: “I really appreciate you” or “I’ve never had a friend quite like you” or “Your smile makes going to class worth it” or “Please don’t go anywhere, please take care of yourself, because you are loved, you are loved by me, I love you, in some way or another.” He wishes he remembered what he had said.
But he can’t remember. It’s gone. The words are gone. Yagami Light is gone.
Yagami Light is dead, and when Kamoda first visits his grave, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t say anything. He stands there, with wet eyes and a mouth full of dust, and he aches in the silence.
“You think humans are like that to other humans? Leaving marks?” L asked.
“Of course. But not in the same way. It’s just…why am I explaining this to you? We’re not stone stacks, idiot.”
In which L and Light playing their usual game in the abandoned building Light seemed to be very familiar with.
My second (and last) entry for deathnotetober. I lost a bit of my interest on this bc that’s what you get when you procrastinate for weeks. Anyway! Though there’s not really college, they’re friends who know they’re in love with each other but just being a complete piece of shits abt it. Enjoy <3
Also happy birthday L! Here’s my birthday present, I make you fucking happy.
@deathnotetober Day 30: Friend. Based off of a panel from the Deathnote Manga! Also I know L was prob just saying this as a test for Light or something but- it was real to me
NSFW warning (slight, but it’s there under the cut)
L and Light muse over their friendship. Or, lack thereof.
-
His friend.
His ‘friend.’
Ha! That had been a funny one.
The look on Light’s face when he had announced such a seemingly mundane comment had been worth the previous irritation of Matsuda forgetting his hot chocolate. The way that his eyebrows had rose almost imperceivably, the tiny almost unnoticeable flinch, the way his plush rose lips had dropped just so-it had been perfect.
Friends? Of course not.
L Lawliet did not do ‘friends.’ Never mind the fact that he was a recluse, never mind that he was a twenty-five-year-old man.
He was a detective. And not just a ‘damn good one.’ No, no, not even that covered the extent of his legacy. He was the L, he was known all over the world, he was the one man alive who could bring anyone to justice no matter how far they ran or tried in vain to hide. He was L, he was a title, an image, a persona of righteousness. He had much more pressing matters to worry about.
And even if he hadn’t had this level of responsibility, he wouldn’t need friends anyway. L just….well, he didn’t like people. And he didn’t think that was a bad thing.
What was there to like?
People were strange creatures, almost alien even though he himself was one. He had studied what made these beings tick all of his life, and though he understood the basic mechanics, he would never take the time to get to know an individual person.
It would just be a waste of time. A dreary, sad dead end.
People lied. They lied and hurt and betrayed those who they claimed to love. They were callous and cold when the moon shone, and then bright and cheery while crossing their claws behind their backs. L trusted Watari, that was about it, and that was only because he was his father figure and the only person who had ever looked out for him without fail.
Hm, without fail? L would have to revise that statement. Watari definitely had his moments. Still…..he trusted the old man. Mostly.
L had quite a negative opinion of humanity, they could all go to hell and burn and he probably wouldn’t even bat an eyelid as long as he still had a slice of strawberry cheesecake on his plate at lunchtime.
And if L were to start venturing out into the sociable world and conducting normalcies such as ‘friends’, there was no way Yagami Light would ever be his friend. Not perfect little Light. Not pristine, popular, pretty as a peach Light, with all of his put-on airs and graces. Light was someone who was pretty to look at if you were standing ten yards away, he was not someone anyone ‘knew.’ If anyone thought they did, well, L had some quite sour news for them. Like telling a child Santa wasn’t really real.
The easter bunny and the tooth fairy were myths, and so was Yagami Light.
He wore the skin of a human, but his blood and brains and beating heart were borne of true hate.
L saw this and knew this because he was the same way. Him and Light wore their disguises together, Light’s was just a bit more obvious. L hid his behaviors, his unkempt and morally reprehensible ones, but never his true purposes and intents. He was L, and he was not a nice man to invite over for tea.
When he told Light he was his friend, mostly, it was quaint manipulation for the sitting ducks in chairs known as the Task Force. Soichiro had looked so pleased that his son had made friends with the world’s most important detective that it had almost made L sick.
Light had seen through his pretty words, or at least, he hoped he had been smart enough to. He knew that Light didn’t want to be his friend either.
They didn’t want friendship; they wanted a war.
Maybe…something more?
Friends didn’t hate like they did.
Friends didn’t understand like they did.
Friends didn’t…love how they did.
Whatever L felt for Light, it went way beyond the boundaries of an acceptable friendship.
Hell, this was probably the most fucked up relationship he had ever been a part of, full stop.
But then, why did it mean so much?
Light couldn’t be his friend. He didn’t want a shallow, kiddie pool feeling, he didn’t want surface level smiles and soft polite laughs. He wanted this to hurt, he wanted to bleed. He wanted to win, and he wanted his prize to be worth something.
