#second arc

There will be a second arc with 5 chapters. (Not quite 8 unfortunately.)

(I had a post with the chapter names, but I can't find it. I guess I'll just write it again.) The chapter names for them are-

Chapter 9: Training.

Chapter 10: Warning.

Chapter 11: Ill intent.

Chapter 12: Not alone.

Chapter 13: Smile.

i have never written matsulight – i don't think i had even really considered it as a ship until now – but i wrote this on the bus back from work, and it was really fun!

i hope you enjoy ♡

mist

Touta Matsuda/Light Yagami | 1.3k words | ⚣

Rating: General Audiences

Fandoms: Death Note (Anime & Manga)

Tags: One Shot, Death Note Second Arc, Romance, Secret Relationship, Minor Conflict, Canon Compliant, Pining, SFW, Unresolved Ending

"Sayu will never marry a cop." Soichiro declared, his arms folded tightly against his chest as his wife hummed in approval behind him. Matsuda's gaze hurriedly met Light's, who sat on the sofa with Misa clinging onto his arm. His composure was relaxed, no visible sense of agitation to this rather tired charade the family would enact under the assumption that Matsuda's interests lay in courting their daughter.

"I haven't even asked her out yet..." Matsuda replied with a breezy laugh that accented his anxiety. Sayu stood close, smiling in a sympathetic reassurance that further contributed to his embarrassment as his fingers clawed at his knees. He wanted to rip himself apart, release something internal as a means to escape this interrogation.

"Well, I think Matsuda is cute!" Sayu chirped. Matsuda felt the heat rise to his cheeks in pure embarrassment, squirming under the weight of an unexpected compliment.

"Really? I think you are too, Sayu!" He wasn't lying – the youngest Yagami was incredibly pretty, the certain elegance to her features reminding Matsuda of her brother's graceful charms. They had both been blessed with a beauty that felt almost alien in comparison to a man like himself, painfully average and self-aware of the fact. Even had he been handsome enough for Sayu, she was far too young for him, and his priority lay elsewhere.

A Random Prompt from @dragmiredemisee

It took Ganondorf a moment to realize something wasn't quite right in the castle. He was so used to feeling his own ambient energy mingling with the flavorful ambience of Her Grace's entourage that the first tingling surge of magic in his fingertips was ignored.

After all, the amorphous bokoblin snuffling through the back archives of the library gave off small jumps of dark magic, he looked over his shoulder to the bookcases to locate the gremlin. It bobbed into and out of sight, given its tasks to find information and doing them readily for once.

Perhaps that was all it was, he reasoned, looking over the unrolled scroll on the center table as it took his attention again. Antique Hylian was a language he was familiar with, but its status as a dead dialect still made him focus on the syllables with a furrowed brow of concentration.

It was here he realized something was wrong.

Strangely enough, it wasn't a sound or a sight or even a noticeable presence. It was more magic. A hostile magic, one he had become intimately familiar with over time. Usually, he could ignore its existence as he was a regular catalyst to its warnings. But now, when he was so far from the epicenter and felt it. He knew exactly where Her Grace was in the vicinity, a sudden spike in wrath that throbbed into a nigh debilitating migraine and snapped him mid-sentence to look toward the library doors.

Whatever was going on, he wasn't picking up on it just yet. A clatter of books to the floor next to the table was made as he dispelled the bokoblin into nothingness. A puff of a deep purple cloud and it was simply gone. The instability of the creature might be a detriment to maintain, he decided, moving through the front bookshelves to exit into the hall beyond.

A soft click of the door behind him and with a few steps to the right, Ganondorf was already moving through the halls as though made of the darker shadows behind drapes and curtains and columns. Silent as a thief in the night, feeling an increase in dark magic coming from the courtyard amid the stabbing blanket as the headache grew more intense, causing him to hiss a curse of that thrice damned weapon. But in cursing the horrid thing, something else planted itself in his muddling head.

This new magic was familiar.

Perhaps the Twinrova had finally arrived to see what was taking him so long. He had not really told them of the changes in full that kept him here. That he was still trying to salvage what he could of the original plan, a plan that kept being unintentionally thwarted in various shapes and forms and kept him living in the castle library looking for means and measures that would aide the progression of the original scheme. His lip twisted in one corner, coming to the scowling conclusion he really did not feel like trying to explain his methods to the witches today.

Once he left the main castle fortress and stepped onto the courtyard, the pressure of the enchanted weapon in its walls lifted slowly, releasing his head from its grip and taking the hazy static it laid with it. A sharp inhale was given as he felt clarity returning and he shifted his eyes to take in his surroundings from the shadow of the doorframe, turning his head only where it was truly necessary. A nonchalance of looking over his shoulders to make sure all the corners were checked before continuing slowly on. A residual precaution from a time long before when he had deemed himself untouchable, in the way a knife reminded him that no matter the never-ending well of energy in his arsenal and no matter his influence, cold folded steel still hurt inserted between the second and third ribs.

His progression over the courtyard cobbles was slow, methodical even in his arrogant stride. Hands behind his back, a show of respect and wariness, fingers always in reach of the hilt of his knife. A flick of the eyes one way, then the other. Checking shifting shadows and shadowed corners, following the path dictated by the flow of magic wending its way through his fingers like little poisoned snakes.

He didn't see the other at first, but he certainly heard him. A compliment that seemed more than a little out of place uttered on a low voice that all at once piqued his recognition. It was not the Twinrova, no. It was akin to his own voice.

He slowed to a stop, his head turning slowly until his golden gaze laid on the new intruder. A source of the magic so aligned with his own, because it simply was his own. Had a rift finally dragged another one of him into this world? An amused thought that perhaps he should look into trying to stitch together the tears he had been creating, a thought he abandoned as he took in the other he had been staring at.

It was himself he was looking at, to a fault. Committing the devilish details to memory, though the strong angles of the Gerudo genetics were still prevalent. Ganondorf was not a small man by any means, but this other him was far larger than he was, practically to a point of obscenity. Though the crackle of unrestrained dark magic made visible on almost every part of this intruder may have had much to say about why.

A snap of his tongue against the back of his top teeth was given as he not so much heard but felt the emphasis in his own name falling from the other's lips. He found that he did not like how it sounded much, taking it as condescending regardless of intent. Almost as though this other one could hardly believe he was the one who carried the name. Still...

The tension across his body was let loose as he decided to play this up to his own advantage. The movements that would have been stiff turned fluid, a hand resting on a canted hip while the palm of the other rested on his chest as though he could hardly believe himself to know he was known across the bounds of space-time. Eyes were laid into the other's, held with the same sharp intensity as before in contradiction to the smile that carved its way across his face.

Me, around midnight: ah yes, finally time to do homework for tomorrow

The window was open, the sound of the wind rattling the tree branches and clacking leaves accompanying a breeze that smelled of spring. The distant creak of tree trunks woke Volk from her sleep, sitting up and staring out the window. She was making sure it was only the wind, trying to discern in her sleepy haze whether or not there was a message for her in the groaning wood. She should have expected the movement to wake the Ukrainian next to her, seeing as he slept lighter than she did, but for some reason it didn’t occur to her.

The touch to the line of craters in her back caused her to start a little, her shoulders pulled up in a small show of hackles before they relaxed. Nothing serious, just the feathering over old bullet wounds. Wounds that defined her and her status among the trees, to the Forest. Of course, it was because of those healed holes that she even had a status from the Forest.

“…I died, I think.” she started, staring at the silvery square of moonlight on the floor under the open window.

She brought her hand up, moved the unruly mane out of the way to show the full roadmap across her back for him. Seven in all, almost uniform in size and shape, knotted over and visible against her pale skin as pink blotches. A morbid trail from just behind her left shoulder in a sweeping hyperbole to her right hip.

“No, I don’t think. I know. I died. The military detail at the western wall decided to play target practice with a few of us fleeing into the Forest and I took seven rounds. I counted them as they hit. The only reason I’m still here is that I stumbled off into the barrier before collapsing. I’m pretty sure I bled out there, in view and influence of the Forest, because I woke up a week later able to hear and understand things I never could before.”

There was no Voice for her to hear in the wind-battered trees outside. She turned away from the window to lay back down, casting her glowing gaze into his eyes and tangling her fingers between his.

“And that is why I don’t like or trust the military.” she stated before offering him a small knowing smirk. “Of course, with exception to you, my Major.”

Ryuk: I have a hobby.

Mordred Le Fay

The illegitimate son of Morgause Le Fay [and possibly Arthur, the plot is still being worked on heavily] Raised as in Avalon by a vengeful Morgause to be her perfect weapon to get close to Arthur.