I donât know if weâre still in the age of Y/N L/N search-and-replace self-insert fanfics but can I just say thereâs MASSIVE untapped potential for a Y/N L/N Death Note fanfiction if you just
hang on. This. Like this:
Light clicked his bedroom door shut, and leaned against it, and slid gently down. His attention was wrapped so wholly in the unmarked envelope in his hand. He slit it open, and unsheathed the documents like he was pulling money from a wallet. He was, in a sense. These documents had cost him. The private eye he hired had not been cheap.
But it HAD been worth it, Light knew with relief washing through his veins as he thumbed through the contents: birth certificate, social security card, medical records, vaccination history, school records, IDs with photos â motherâs name, fatherâs name, date of birth, eye color, hair color, blood type.
Light held in his hands EVERYTHING there was to know about the girl. And he basked in it, drinking it in, a name finally to attach to the woman who haunted him.
First name: Y/N. Last name: L/N.
Light cracked a grin, rib cage rippling with manic chuckles that bubbled to his lips and erupted, cackles, delighted trills. The sense of victory flooded him. That girl who knew he was Kira, that girl who had worked so hard to hide her identity, that girl who plagued him, followed him, haunted him every day, who he could never touch.
Finally, Light could kill her.
He rose, and walked nearly numb to his desk, and pulled out the scrap of Death Note he kept in the false bottom of the top drawer. He reveled in it as he wrote: Y/N L/N, dies alone at 11:48pm of a brain aneurysm.
The damnation felt so sweet.
She was waiting for him, early as the sun which crested behind her, all soft smiles and sweet squinted eyes. She was waiting for him as she did every single day. She stood there, as always - a thing of nightmares.
The blood left Lightâs face once he opened the front door to her, feet and hands tingling cold, stomach in knots.
Heâd been worried when he awoke to no news about his dead university classmate. And the confirmation of his every fear settled as a knot in his gut. Y/N L/N was alive, in front of him, just as she was every other day, smiling.
âYou seem surprised, Light. Like youâve seen a ghost?â Her wry smile was a mockery. Light loathed her more than anything.
âY/N ⌠L/NâŚâ he muttered, through gritted teeth. ââŚGood morning.â
âOh! You discovered my name. Good job good job, that was faster than I expected.â
âArenât I dead?â she titled her head and swayed a bit in place. âThatâs how Kira kills people, yeah? Full name? And youâve got mine. So why arenât I dead?â
Kira. Lightâs eye twitched. She did that. At every chance, dropping with such nonchalance that she knew. If he argued back, she would ignore him. If he defended himself, it would get him nowhere.
Ignore, deflect, probe, find a weak point.
âIs it a fake name? Is Y/N L/N a fake name?â It would be hard to believe; it would be beyond elaborate. Every ounce of documentation would need to have been faked, or else perfectly stolen, with a complete erasure of who the girl really was. Not a single piece of contradictory evidence. Enough to completely fool Japanâs most esteemed private eye. It was almost unfathomable.
âNo, itâs not a fake name. Thatâs my name. My real name. Youâre right.â She spun on her heel and walked forward, into the sun, toward campus, sunlight streaking through the wisps in her hair. âBut you canât kill me with it, Kira.â
Light refused to answer. He refused to concede. He refused to show his hand, and yet, maybe he already had⌠Maybe heâd already lost.
Heâd try again tonight. Heâd try again as many times as it took to eliminate her, this unfathomable girl, who appeared in his uni classroom claiming to be an old elementary school classmate of his, who followed him every day and spoke in hints that suggested she knew, and yet never revealed how, or why, or what she wanted from him.
Heâd try again. Heâd kill her this time.
âIt wonât work, trying again, that is. If you want to kill me, youâll have to use your own hands.â She glanced over her shoulder at him. âBut thatâs messy, and suspicious, and too easy to solve, right? So you need the Death Note to do away with me. But it wonât work.â
Death Note, dammit, she really DID know.
âHey Light, whatâs my name?â
âY/N, L/N,â he ground out, almost robotically.
âAnd what name did you write in the Death Note?â
Light hesitated. Did he stand any chance of keeping his hand concealed?
He locked eyes with her, and he knew the answer was no. She knew. He knew.
âDoesnât sound quite right, does it?â she asked. And with her words, Light felt some unsettled something thud in his chest. A disquiet. An unrest. A thinly veiled wrongness.
âMy name, that name, Y/N L/N, how do you spell it?â she asked.
âYâŚâ Light paused. Y? No⌠That was almost certainly not right.
âFirst letter, second letter, third letter. Come on. I believe in you.â
A headache was building behind Lightâs eyes.
âYâŚ. S-slashâŚ. NâŚâ No. That wasnât a name. That wasnât anyoneâs name. And it wasnât her name. Her name, her name wasâ
âYou canât spell it, Light. You canât. And no one can. No one except an extremely, intractably lucky person could even guess what my name might be, at the time that all of this plays out.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âWhat do I look like, Light? The Death Note needs a mental image! What do I look like?â
And Light looked. He looked directly at her, piercing, probing, roving, studying, drinking her in. She looked exactly as he remembered, with H/C hair and E/C eyes andâŚ.
âIâm not anyone, Light,â she offered with the same, sweetly saccharine smile that Light could not describe beyond those words. âOr Iâm everyone, I guess. Iâm every Y/N L/N who reads this, any one of them. And when the dust settles, and the story stabilizes, and those markers are replaced for real, it will be too late. Because that will not be the name you wrote in your Death Note. Youâll always have written Y, and slash, and N, and L, and slash, and N, and that will never be right. Iâll be someone else by the time it matters, every time.â
Light blinked through the stars in his vision. Looking at her hurt, his vision wobbling in and out of focus on the nothing, and the everything she was. The hair color, and the eye color, and the first name, and the last name, that were every potential quantum combination, and still none of them.
âWhat do you want from me?â he asked. âWhy are you following me? Why do you know who I am. What do you want?â
âNothing. I want nothing. I donât have a defined will. Itâs not like Iâm a person.â She stepped forward again, hands clenched to the bag behind her back. A normal school bag, a normal school uniform, trotting in step eastward toward the college campus. âIâm an insert. And that means Iâm whoever they want me to be, every time. Itâs not any deeper than that.â
titsay
andulkaphoto
ellievsbear
baratheonpilled
