#i cut this off just before light really got going dfgjldfgjl please read the content notes and decide if u want to read the rest

[quicktimeeventfull]

Animal Games A Lawlight Gone Girl AU (Part Two) Part One 7.4k words Read on AO3 L has moved his lovely, vile, and entirely batshit husband out of their beautiful Brooklyn brownstone into a Missouri suburb, then left him to his own devices. He is under the impression that this is going to end well. In this part: Light gets to say his piece. Content notes: Deals substantially with concerning age dynamics, as well as racism and homophobia; a few slurs are present. Light is as vile as ever. Past childhood abuse is discussed. Suicide is repeatedly invoked, albeit in a way that parallels Gone Girl. There's some arguably disordered eating. Thank you so much to @lightyaoigami for doing so much research and holding hands in worldbuilding and character creation! Everything about New York comes from Monica, and so do all the designer clothes, L's midlife crisis car, and a great deal of the characterization. Monica did so much that it's honestly kind of hard to describe all of it; imo all the best parts of this fic come from her.

I gave him a chance to save himself. You understand this.

I know he's going to make himself out to be the fucking victim in all of this because he always has to be the victim. Oh, poor me, I grew up in foster care and I never got the stable, white-picket-fence life that no one else has in the first place -- come the fuck on. What does that have to do with anything?

I had a perfectly nice life in Brooklyn. I had friends. Friends don't come easily to me, I'll admit that, but I made them anyway. I had a beautiful little apartment in Cobble Hill with real brick walls and portes-fenêtres that opened onto a wrought-iron Juliette balcony and a coffee shop a three minute walk away where I could drink real espresso and eat honey-lemon cornmeal cake and do the work he thinks is so pathetically beneath me which by the way, it isn't. I liked it. It was my job. He worked for a fucking fashion magazine, for god's sake. He wrote about pants and peplums. It wasn't exactly hard-hitting news.

It isn't as if I didn't earn any of what I had because I grew up in a two-story.

Why should I have to throw all of that out because he thought it might be nice to have a lawn when he was seven years old? [continue]