My first story, wooo! *and everyone clapped* It's Misa and Light, because I do so love that twisted dynamic. got the idea from listening to 'Ultraviolence' but changed the title to 'Ultraviolet' which are the sun's rays...or, Light? Am I talking shit? I probably am. This will be up on ao3 by later tonight, yes. Go follow me on all of the things...erm, and happy reading! If you enjoyed this, leave a review, I'd love to read it!
Ultraviolet
"Ultraviolet" is used as a metaphor for love and adoration. Love is something we feel but can't see
She loves him, that's what everyone says. It's a fact, like how the moon will faithfully climb high in the sky every night, or the evolution of mankind. It's undeniable; irrefutable. And they never question why. No one but Ryuzaki, but he only questioned Misa's love because he suspected her of crimes, he didn't care to know how deep her devotion ran. Or how it even started bubbling in the first place. Or even when it started to trickle out all around her.
And most everyone would probably say they understood Misa's love. Even if they didn't know the full truth, they would all be hard-pressed trying to find reasons that would make Misa's love for Light nonsensical. Who wouldn't love Light? Light is exactly what his name is, a bright light that brightens the earth wholly, some say that looking straight into the sun could burn your corneas, but Misa knows this not to be the case. If you love the sun, if you understand it and see the beauty inside, there is nothing to fear, one could only welcome the warmth its rays provide. The sun is vital for survival, if it was one inch closer the planet would burn up, one centimeter away and everything would wither and freeze over. The sun never leaves, the sun is always there to provide comfort and healing. The sun is strong, powerful, a force that no man could take down, it is the center of the universe for a reason.
That's what Light is, he's the brightest star in all of the galaxy. And she thinks of herself as Icarus sometimes, though it still remains to be seen if her handcrafted wings will smolder into ruin.
If they haven't already, and she just hasn't noticed.
Maybe some would say she shouldn't have been so bold in approaching her god so boldly, maybe the phrase 'you never should meet your heroes' might be thrown at her, maybe she shouldn't have been so spoilt and admired the beauty from afar.
But they do say the only things you regret in life are the things you didn't do, and Misa is already so full of those nasty things. And she knows Light loves her, that he needs her. He loves her eyes, and he loves her, that's what he said. He looks into her eyes so softly and says he loves her, because he does. He loves what she's done for him and she would do it again without a second's hesitation. Really. Even despite the torture, because in the end it was all worth it. She would have endured more if it meant putting a smile atop Light's dazzling face. She said she'd never loose herself over anything, not after she almost lay down her arms after her dear parent's demise, but maybe some things are worth dying for. She only fears death because she knows that there's nothing that awaits her, not even Light. The thought that the afterlife won't bring them together again is a suffocating thought, but she knows if he asked her, she'd write her name in their book without a second of hesitation.
Because what life would be worth living if not for Light?
Her life wasn't really worth a yen anyway especially after the only people she had ever known and loved were brutally erased from existence. After her parents were killed so thoughtlessly, and so maliciously, she saw nothing but darkness and felt as if a tight weight was binding her heart onto sharp rocks that were continually plunging in. After they died, no, were murdered, and the despicable man got away due to lack of evidence, she didn't really want to live. Not in a world that would allow evil to thrive and flourish. It was just so, so dark for a while, so, so empty. There was nothing that made her smile, not even the idle modeling jobs that she had convinced herself were her fancy. Because she was alone, and for her being alone is worse than death. Maybe that's why she fears the death that is in store for her. Being without a heart, being without warm arms to surround yourself in...it makes her want to scream and cry and do horrible things. She knows the feeling all too well of walking into a crowded room and getting lost in a sea of faces.
Light's the only one who's ever seen, or cared about her real face. Everyone may adore Misa-Misa, she maybe Tokyo's newest and most promising rising idol, but no one gave a damn for Misa herself. Behind the makeup and the lights and the pretty smiles and deceptively sugary words, no one wanted the girl who sat alone in her bedroom dreaming of a better life. No one had a care for the girl that cried bitter tears, but Light and his hands made for goodness wiped those tracks away.
She's a picture painted from rich oils on a smooth canvas, but it's all an illusion. If you squinted hard enough or blinked too rapidly, her carefully cultivated image of serenity would be shattered. She's only what others deem her to be, which is never enough at the end of the day. And she's never known who she was without the adoration from the crowd, not until Light touched her and transformed her into her final form. She was an empty husk anyway, it didn't matter what became of her, and it's fitting that she's only what Light makes of her. Because he's the one who can only make things better, he has that Midas touch, and Light has never created a rotten thing. He is purity and righteousness in its truest form, and it makes her fall to her knees in repentance for even though she hasn't done anything she still feels like an egregious sinner for growing too close. Every day her amber hued eyes under the bright blue contacts lay their sights upon her Light, she knows that she is the luckiest girl in the world. She doesn't deserve it, and she hates that she doesn't.
But it's okay, because Light allows her to lay her scarred fingers atop his porcelain face, seemingly carved out of marble, soft and unmoving and immortal as a god should be.
She doesn't even want to say that he's the best man that she knows because, let's face it, she could know one hundred million men and not even one of them could even come close to standing in Light's shadow. Light is everything that perfection strives to be, Misa could not think of one thing that would dampen her opinion of Light. He's the yin to her yang, the crack in her heart and the air in her lungs. Misa is content knowing that she is Light's puppet, his muse, only because he takes such good care of her. Because of him she wants for nothing else in this life. Since the day she laid eyes upon him, she was sated of all worldly desires, she knew that nothing else this life could offer her would be as grand as Light. She knows that she was solely born for him, and she has completed her life's purpose by serving him and loving him with every single fiber of her being.
Now the only thing left to do is to work to make herself that much more quintessential each and every day. Light likes nice things. She wants to be nice for him. No matter how many layers she has to strip away, no matter how much she aches and bleeds, she'll tear off this skin until she has a fresh one that he'll find absolutely flawless. Everyone already has deemed her gorgeous, immaculate, a delicate beauty that is so rare and soft that it must be protected from the world's harms, but that's only because they see her through sepia filters. She'll scrap her perfectly manicured nails against the back of her throat and turn away every pastry ever offered up because thinness has always been associated with ultimate beauty. She wants to be small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, tiny enough that he can crush her if he so desires. Which he wouldn't, ever. He's too kind.
Once during a rare hedonistic drunken haze, he murmured that her bleached blonde locks were harsh and abrasive. She darkened her hair into something softer the next day, now ash blonde waves with a shadow root envelop her head because she's appalled that anything about her appearance ever displeased him. It's not enough, it never will be. If she looks at herself through his eyes, she's disgusted at the vain wispy hideous monster she's created for the eyes of others. She's not kind on the eyes, so she applies her layers of eyeliner and foundation with a lighter hand. Light wants everything in his new world to be of the utmost faultless and flawless quality, he likes hidden beauty one has to work hard to discover, he likes souls to be snow white and clean, he likes delicate eyes and beating hearts that beat for justice. He likes the simplest things. She knows that she's not in his league, not even close, for he is rare beauty in its truest form both inside and out and she is but a lowly mortal who happened to catch her gods favor if only by some miracle. She wants to be enough. She sobs loudly at the thought that she isn't, and her bruised tongue whispers foolish affirmations that Light doesn't have the time or patience for. It's okay, he'd say them if they were necessary, but the love inside of his honeyed-amber irises speaks many words, it's like looking at the dying sunset fallen upon a war-torn land, but the dying rays still make her feel soft and needed.
Light's love is a warm, fuzzy cashmere blanket that wraps Misa up and promises that everything will all work out. It's the heat from the fire on a cold winters night that stops your frozen hands from trembling once you place them just closely enough. You can never delve into fire though, because you'll get burnt up and fall to ashes. Light and his affections burn her from the inside out, but it's okay, she can take it. It's the only sort of pain that's ever made any sense.
He's so selfless, giving himself to this world, while she's so heartlessly selfish, she only wants Light. And though every night she is given the privilege to press her body up against his, it never seems like enough. If she could find a way, she'd sink deep into his body until she was of his own being. It seems like she'll never have enough of Light, when she knows that she already has more than she deserves. And when his nails dig into her naked thighs and when he thrusts unforgivingly so deep inside of her, she sees stars. She hopes sometimes that he'll leave marks, make her bleed, if only to have a reminder of what she is to him. She degrades herself gladly, she defiles every part of herself, she makes herself the purest virginal whore for him and him alone. Sex is one of the few ways that she can show her love for him rather than with words or her pen. She only wants to do whatever will convey her longstanding fidelity for the god who holds all of her support and loyalty inside of his own heart, which is made of the most enchanted shining gold. Some nights she feels as if he too is worshipping what is his to keep, and some other days she feels like a toy that is only used for his own purposes. But she'll be whatever he needs her for, and she hopes he knows that is an undeniable fact.
And the worst part at the end is when she feels disgusting for letting herself be so freely given away, sometimes she hates the vulnerable nakedness of her love, but she tries her hardest to push those feelings down. It's her. It's always her. She's the problem and she wishes that she wasn't. What they have is something innocent, right? Light would never hurt her, not really. Light couldn't hurt a fly. And if he did, he wouldn't mean it. No. It's only because he's so busy, she mistakes his devotion to the cleansing of the world and disinterest, which is her own fault.
Misa feels as if she's slowly wasting away to nothingness, it's like the ending of her life feeds into the longevity of Light's. Sometimes in her cracked mirror, she'll see a shadow staring back at her. Sometimes she sees her own twisted, pale, pallid scarred face and thinks it's a Shinigami, but it's really just her. She's shaping and changing into something unrecognizable, if only for Light. She's disappearing into nothing more than an idea, and maybe, that's all she ever really was.
Late at night while the cicadas shriek and the owls sing and the wind whispers pretty stories, her breath will catch in her tight throat and she'll wake up with a sort of sobbing noise, clutching wildly at her chest because of the inane paranoia that karma has finally latched its fearsome claws into her chest and stopped her tainted heart from beating one more poisonous beat.
Sometimes she imagines it's Rem come back for vengeance, and she feels guilty. She really, really, really tries not to because that's a can of worms that needs to stay sealed if only for her own sanity. Rem was her guardian angel, she had white wings and the voice of a song anyway, and she saved her from death's gaping hungry mouth one too many times for it to be considered fair. She had a fondness for Rem, really, even though it wouldn't appear that way. And though she may play the part of the blonde bimbo, she'd have to be pretty thick not to have known how Rem felt about her. And it's not like she herself killed Rem. She didn't! That's what she tells herself anyway.
But she was culpable. She all but held the knife while Light drove it into her heart. She knew what would happen, and she did nothing to stop it, because she didn't want too really. She anticipated it almost.
And then she reminds herself that Rem was a sacrifice, a martyr for the better cause, and all of them are martyrs in their own way anyway. It doesn't matter who lives and who dies, because death is something she's seen up close and that in which she holds in the form of a pen. Life is so dreadfully short, and too painfully long, and it doesn't matter who lives or who dies except for Light because everyone's replaceable except for him, really. Nothing matters but Light, and that's why she cannot mourn Rem's passing, because it was all for Light, and she knows that she would have thrown her own parents under the bus if it meant his safety could be guaranteed. She's sold her soul to him, really, and all it took was a hero's kiss.
Nothing matters but Kira's New World, where everything will be clean and perfect and peaceful and nice. Nothing matters but that utopia of which she's been promised godliness, nothing else matters but the day all of the suffering and hurt and pain and evilness is wiped out entirely. Light has declared it so, and she trusts Light's word above everything else. Even if she got to live just a day inside of a place where nothing of rot existed, she would be at peace. Because there's so much ugliness in the world, it's a filthy place the world is. It's a god damn horror show with pain handed out in neatly wrapped giftboxes, where your fellow man would flay you alive if only to better his own reputation and you have to fight tooth and nail for some solace which never lasts long enough, and the best you can hope for is a quiet life of monotony where nothing ever really changes and it slowly drags you down to your grave while you try not to bury a bullet in between your eyes in the meantime. Misa has never known happiness but with Kira, all the world has done is beat her down into a bloodied pulp. It seems that anything would be worth it if only to get rid of the dark skies that plague this plane of worthless existence. What else has she got to live for? Kira is her beacon of glowing light in a dank misty swamp. Kira's the only thing that's ever put a real, genuine smile on her face. Her love for what he's done for her is eternal, and she wouldn't trade it for anything else.
There's just so much pain, and she wants to hurt in a way that feels nice.
"I love you, always."
She'll let the flames eat away at her skin, melting her flesh to candle wax. She hopes she smells like flowers and death when she goes. She'll let her remains blacken and char horrifically, because the fire that ultimately consumed her was just too damn warm for its own good. She'll never regret being burnt by ultraviolet, because before all she felt was the cold chill of the grey surroundings in where she was trapped.
But now, she's seen the sun, and perhaps she did fly a bit too close. But really, after seeing Light in all of his blazing glory, who could blame her?
I own nothing, not even the words, for they own themselves.