AU; completely. Our universe.. No, I don't own Death Note, or Another Note, not even Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Ohba themselves.. O.o

This is.. crazy. But it has a lot of ideas I wanna try out.. Heh. I suppose its crack-ish, and there will definitely be pairings of the yaoi-nature involved. Review, because I don't know whether to continue..

Read, my minions!

;D

"Look—I don't care what you think. If any anime character in the whole world deserves vast quantities of fan-girl love, it's L."

"That's totally debatable, Ms. Nishikawa. I can think of plenty of other characters that deserve their popularity. But if we're talking Death Note, I'd say Beyond over L. Hell, he didn't even get recognition of his death..."

"That's because he's in the Spin-Off novel, obviously. Which was written after the manga was published. You sure know your stuff, Hideki-san."

Hideki narrowed his eyes; a very subtle move, mind you, but not unnoticed by the producers it seemed.

"Aaaaand, its time for a break! Join us for more 'Otaku-Debate' time on ABC2, real soon!"

-

Light felt vaguely nauseous as he switched off the corrupting screen, the brightness that'd been searing his eyes for hours finally diminished.

The aforementioned program, a monstrous creation, Light thought, stretching his legs on the sofa and reaching for his cold water on the side-table, was very much like day-time infomercials. It seemed the longer the debate dragged on, the more desperate the presenters became, suddenly springing out all sorts of deals and taboo subjects they'd been told never to bring up.

So much for body-guards and all that, 'no rumours discussed' crap; it was on all the time. Even when interviewing him, the presenters would tend to swerve the conversation into the realm of choking and spluttering:

"So, Light Yagami, tell me about how everyone's been handling themselves these days, with all the fame and merchandise. How's L doing?"

Light would cautiously lean back into the chair, looking directly into the greasy son-of-a-bitch's eyes: "He's fine."

"Ahaha, of course, of course. I mean, he's coping with his publically-known death and mass fan-base well?" The presenter took a swift sip of water, his tacky gelled hair gleaming under the camera's glare, "There's been no emotional drama, ne?"

"We're not known to have 'emotional drama,' as you put it, Mr. Kyouichi."

Light was firmly trying to move the subject somewhere else; ANYWHERE else—whether it was discussing the upcoming American re-make, or his father or just anything, anything at all.

Apparently, showbiz were less sympathetic. Ratings. Viewers. Money.

The molten rage bubbled like a fever in Light's throat, trying to force its way, urging him to choke out, "Why don't you go interview some REAL trash, you perverse gold-digging sleaze! You're the scum I was intent on killing!"

"Huh. From what I've heard, Mr. Yagami," Mr. Kyouichi was all smiles and cheesed-up lines and orange-tinted cheeks, "Just because things like, 'emotional dilemmas' don't happen in the series, doesn't mean they don't happen at all."

Light's perfectly arranged auburn locks seemed to gain a ruby hue, as if transforming into something more hellish, his eyes continuing to lock with the bastard-of-an-interviewer.

"So tell me. What's the scoop on you and L? What does your relationship, as characters, involve?"

That was it.

"What was your first name again, Mr. Kyouichi?"

-

Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Ohba, as it were, were very nice creators. They mainly kept to themselves, especially Ohba, and that suited Light well. He wasn't particularly interested in the glitzy glamorous lifestyle Misa Amane was accustomed to; during the series and after.

It had come as a shock at first: to discover his whole life, a whole world he'd always known, a world he'd died trying to change, was utterly unreal. A fabrication, a creation, a daydream. There were a million sad/philosophical other words that could be used to describe exactly what Light Yagami experienced, but to be perfectly honest, he didn't give a flying Mello-branded-missile's worth what others thought of his life, his new one in particular.

For starters, he wasn't dead! That was a glorious and refreshing discovery to say the least.

But then, as you have it, neither was L. Or Mello. Or his father. Or Naomi Misora. Or... well, everyone else's deaths that he had orchestrated during the course of 37 episodes/12 mangas.

Fear was another emotion that had swept through him; Rem! He had killed her! He was screwed!

Followed closely by the even more urgent: HOLY SHIT, L, WATARI, POLICE, LETHAL INJECTION, DEATH NOTE, SHIT—SHIT SHIT SHIT...

The explanations that followed, after Mr. Obata had rushed to his side, obviously realising that your main character freaking the hell out probably wasn't great for anyone within the vicinity, were greatly relieving.

He wasn't dead! He repeated the mantra over and over, soothing his newly awakened tingly nerves.

Then, the humiliation.

He had died. Millions of people had seen it. What's more, the fucking anime director had decided it'd be a laugh to have dramatic close-ups of his face while he was dying—or worse, his last speech in the Yellow Box warehouse. Not exactly the most flattering of times, really.

A few months earlier:

-

-

The entire Death Note cast were all in a richly decorated room, equipped with all the delicious and luxurious tools needed to keep its characters busy, in particular the Wammy Boys'.

Near's assistants had showered him with colourful toys, special-edition and deluxe packs of figurines. Mello, of course, was almost swimming in his reign of chocolate bars and its shiny wrappings. Matt was content with his new gaming systems, stylized DS-covers, state of the art cell-phones...

Beyond was messily eating jam, to everyone's disgust, but, thank goodness, everyone else has their own vices to deal with.

Light was feeling so uptight, even Misa's gothic corset could not compete with his epic tight-ness. His whole body felt paralyzed in a state of 'I'm–surrounded-by-people-who-want-to-KILL-me.'

He had never seen Mello before, but the leather-suited man of bob-blondness was so intent on staring at him with homicidal intent, he instantly knew. No one else was crazy enough to blow up a whole structure whilst in the middle of it; no one else was crazy enough to wear clothes that tight and hair that long. The two matched, Light nodded to himself.

And then, his real parents had entered the room..

Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.

"Uh, hey guys. We're your creators..."

Like a bomb.

...WHAT?!

The magical button beckons you! Review, suggest ideas, anything. xD

peaceeeee..