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LAWLIGHT WEEK Day 2: An Unfortunate Recollection

married lawlight think back to their chess days when they were still in school. (ALSO BIG THANK U TO @gl6mp FOR HELPING ME FIX A FUCK-UP IN THE FIRST PANEL FJDJDJ)

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Sunset: A Lawlight Fic

Written for @lawlightweek2025 Day 2: Recollection Read here or on AO3 750 words L has Alzheimer’s; an 89 year old Light takes care of him.

The end is not romantic. Light doesn’t know why he’d thought it would be. Some residual hope, he supposes, that the disease would make an exception for him — that whatever they had was important enough to overcome L’s failing synapses, that there would be some sort of poetry to their final days. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The world has always unfolded beautifully for him; the danger has always left him unscathed. Even his time with the notebook has faded into the past. L pulled strings for him. L saved him. He was special and he didn’t have to die. 

But his golden luck has run out. And here he is, with no more bargains to make. 

He sits by L’s wheelchair in their vast and beautiful lawn. The sun is dipping a glorious red beneath the horizon and L is talking and talking and talking about nothing at all, his words looping in on themselves. He is telling an old story again in fits and starts, something about stained glass windows and Watari’s hand around his own; Light is holding his hand, which is soft with age, knobbled, dotted — like Light’s — with liver spots, too skinny because he won’t eat like he’s supposed to, refuses to drink unless carefully coaxed.

Light is doing his best to listen to this story but it is boring him and he hates that it is boring him. He should be drinking in these words which he knows are so close to the end but the words do not make sense and anyway he has never been a kind person. He has never been generous. He is not suited to this sort of care work and he thinks, petulantly, that it should have been him. L was so patient, before he got ill. L would know what to do. 

This man is his husband and this man is not his husband. It isn’t fair. 

The sun is fading; the red is leaving the sky. He rubs his thumb across L’s hand and has no idea if it means anything at all. 

———

He washes the dishes. He sweeps the floors. There is always so much to do and it’s getting harder with his eyesight falling apart and his joints aching but he is — he thinks — still young enough, only eighty-nine, which he reasons is still plenty of time. Too young to deal with this. He wasn’t meant to grow old. 

L, out of his chair — a good day — putters around behind him, trying and failing to help. He turns the burners on the stove and Light turns them off and he tries to use a knife for some esoteric reason and Light takes it out of his hands, wondering if he ought to hide the sharp objects, wondering if it’s time for a care home but what is he for if not to carry L straight to the end. They were built for each other. They belong hand in hand. He refuses to pass L off until his options are well and truly out. 

Their house is beautiful. Two stories, which is difficult now but still doable. L bought it with all of his money, money he inherited from Watari, the amount that didn’t return to the orphanage where he’d grown up. There are photographs of them on the wall. There are tablecloths they bought together, L’s stupid collection of teasets which they’d argued about because there were so many they overflowed the cabinets, reams of useless knick-knacks they’ve accumulated over the years. It takes a long time to dust. 

He tells himself that L is happy here, that it is good for him to be at home. He thinks this is probably true. 

It is important for him to have dignity. Light has decided this. He is failing L in many ways but he will not fail in this one. 

“And I do —“ L says, abruptly. His voice is clearer than it often is. 

Light turns to look, broom in hand. 

L is staring at him, wide-eyed. He looks intent. He looks like whatever he is about to say is important.

“And I do,” he starts again, “still love you.” 

Light stares back. 

His eyes feel very wet. 

“I know,” he says. “And I love you, too.” 

And then L is talking again, off on one of his nonsensical stories and Light looks at him and looks at him and looks at him and then he grips the handle of the broom tight and returns to his work. 

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waiting for the train. you think I would heed the warning of others. Download your fics before travelling.

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Me at the end of this chapter if you even care

chapter 8 of swingset is finally up. this is an absolute behemoth (5.6k) and it's incredibly heavy. please read the author's note at the beginning. content warning is in the end notes. lastly, endless thank yous to @cameleonvermillon for beta-ing <3

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ty adorkastock

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just guys being dudes

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Okay this might be dumb but I gotta ask the void, is my bloodweave therapist fic floating around on a forum somewhere? Getting so much new love for it and want to say thank you to whoever boosted the story! I've stalled on some other fics, found myself re-reading it and am now in the process of fixing the plethora of grammar mistakes lol

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Omg stop I am jamming OUT to this tonight!

dropping this fsotc playlist i made about a month ago and running like a criminal @bazpango

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first base is ripping each other's throats out second base is fucking and then pretending it didn't happen after it's over. third base is falling unconscious from blood loss in the other's arms

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The pipeline….

Thank you to my lovely friend @oto999 for the font teehee

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Saw this on tiktok (username is @lightyagamileftnut2) and it made me laugh so hard I had to draw it. Happy Pride from wet L.

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am I wrong? prompt under the cut

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Nonbinary Light <3

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L, but he’s Tack the Cobbler🖤

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tender lawlight sketch dump