Q6: on your second poll post ( the one you just did for I care) you mentioned a second arc....does that mean that after chapter 8, there will be a second part with 8 more chapters!?!?!??!?!!!!!plz say yes plz say yes!!!!!!
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.
But these are more like working titles with a general idea behind them, I might change them later.
uhm I saw ur posts ab being able to send writing requests in the asks sooo mabye sum matsulight? If ur cool w/ it obvi no pressure!!
i have never written matsulight â i don't think i had even really considered it as a ship until now â but i wrote this on the bus back from work, and it was really fun!
i hope you enjoy âĄ
mist
Touta Matsuda/Light Yagami | 1.3k words | âŁ
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 â 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.
The priority in question spoke up suddenly, "I think it is time I escort Matsuda to the station, he will be late getting home, otherwise." Light disengaged from Misa, his gaze still trained on Matsuda as he stood up. His expression betrayed no emotion that Matsuda could discern, and he too arose from the chair he sat upon, bowing towards Mr and Mrs Yagami. With a prompting nod from Light, the two left the room, shuffling into their shoes before opening the front door to walk out onto the quiet residential street.
It was raining and Light opened up the umbrella he had grabbed on the way out, prepared as always. Matsuda shivered, huddling close to Light as he tilted the umbrella so as to cover their heads. Matsuda hadn't anticipated how dark it had now become, and the streetlights emanated golden haloes leading down the winding road towards the station. Everything had a softness to it, from the houses to the pavement kerb, the rain dampening the sharper edges. It felt like a dream.
"I'm sorry." Matsuda sighed as the two of them began to walk, his shoulders falling as he acknowledged the tension in his back. Light turned his head, raising an eyebrow in curiosity - what for? "I didn't mean to talk to your sister in that way, I guess I just panicked."
"It's best my father assumes it is Sayu that you are pursuing, just as he believes Misa and I are committed to one another. My sister would not genuinely consider you as a potential partner, rest assured." While Light had probably intended the last comment to be reassuring, it still bruised Matsuda's ego. He grabbed his chest, mouthing 'ouch' as he pretended to stumble forward. Light rolled his eyes and continued walking, prompting Matsuda to follow beside him closely. He wished he could link his arm through Light's as he had seen Misa do so many times.
"What about you, Light? Do you see me as a potential partner?" Matsuda admitted he was being a little forward, but their affair had been a rather discreet and tightly maintained thing for some months now. Light had a tendency to schedule his life strictly, with no spontaneity afforded to his daily activities, whether they be for work or pleasure. Matsuda had begged Light to come out drinking with him in the small gay bar that he frequented regularly, but Light seemed almost baffled by the prospect of a date in such a place. He was straight-edge to a fault, and no amount of light teasing from Matsuda convinced Light to break his sobriety in the promise of a good time.
Sighing, Light replied, "Matsuda, you know we can't be public about this. The circumstances we find ourselves in are not forgiving to our situation, and we must be careful to ensure that we don't risk exposing ourselves."
"But you do love me, right?"
Light stopped. The street was approaching a dead end, and the station was to the immediate left. They had little time together before Soichiro would begin growing concerned as to the amount of time Light had spent away from the family home. It had been years since L's interrogation of his son and Misa, but he still maintained some semblance of paranoia that Light was well aware of. It could turn ugly if Light allowed it to fester, and his public display of apathy towards Matsuda would hardly serve to excuse the fact that the two spent more time together than they were expected to.
"Do you need to hear me say it? You know how I feel, I shouldn't have to spell it out for you."
"I want to hear you say it." Matsuda replied, gently, "I need some validation, is that too much to ask for?" Matsuda did wonder if at times he was being ridiculous, if he should simply be grateful for Light's affections, no matter how brief and distant they seemed, and stop expecting so much from him.
The two stood beneath the umbrella, raindrops sliding down the surface. Light placed a hand beneath Matsuda's face, tilting it upwards so he could look into the other's soft brown eyes. He was one of the only men who still believed in Light's innocence, who defended him as others grew suspicious. Perhaps like many others who admired Light, it was this which attracted him, the devotion, but in Matsuda he also found a normality he had been craving. A sense of stability that, however temporary, Light desired to such an extent that he was willing to be honest for once.
"I do love you, Matsuda." Light replied before he leaned in, his lips finding Matsuda's, and he held him in the warmth of the kiss, the rain quiet and the streetlights growing dimmer, as if to afford them privacy in this intimate moment. Matsuda let out a deep exhale through his nose, his eyes closed as he allowed his hands to take hold of Light's hips. There was a humidity to the back of his neck where his collar sat, flustered by this unusual public declaration of love from Light. Matsuda already knew this would be an opportunity he might never have again with Light, and moaned softly against the other's lips in appreciation.
Indeed, Light pulled away, the chill of the evening returning as the two shifted apart, the magic of the night broken as the rain returned to its heavy fall and the streetlights once again became brighter against the blackness of the night. Matsuda trembled as he looked towards the station nearby.
"You best be going now, Matsuda." Light's hand still gripped the umbrella handle without showing any intention of walking alongside Matsuda any further to see him off. Stepping out from beneath the umbrella and into the rain, Matsuda pulled his jacket tight across his chest as he jogged to the building, making his way to the entrance before turning around to see Light had already walked away.
Matsuda knew this was the way it had to be, for Light to return to his perfectly curated world. He would return to Misa, but he and Matsuda would steal glances at one another every few moments when in the office together, careful that Soichiro didn't catch them doing so. Maybe Matsuda could anticipate a hurried embrace in the bathroom stalls if Light felt as though such an effort was possible to execute, but it would realistically be a matter of weeks before Matsuda could expect Light to pay him any meaningful attention.
Drenched, Matsuda tried not to focus on the discomfort of his wet shirt clinging to his back, frozen needles inserted across his skin. Maybe comfort was something to be earned, and he was lucky to even have Light's attention, much less his time. When the Kira case was over, he thought as he stared up at the train timetable, he and Light could be together properly. He had to hold onto that hope at the very least.
"You're manipulative skills are admirable. I commend you for that. 'Ganondorf'.."
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.
Baby Peacemaker! I do dislike the way arc two ended, but that doesnât mean I wonât have fun drawing a neat hybrid. Nightwings and rainwings are my two favorite tribes to draw afterall. This one was just something to do before going to bed so the style is a fair bit more rough.
How has he never noticed these before? The trail of bullet scars down her back tell a story that Alexander has never heard, a careful touch to the first one before tracing gently across the line. To know there are things about his Wolf he doesn't yet know fires the curiosity in him, even though it only comes out in a rumble and a, "Whatever happened here?" --majorcolonel
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 didnât 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.
ââŚI died, I think.â 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.
âNo, I donât 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 Iâm still here is that I stumbled off into the barrier before collapsing. Iâm 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.â
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.
âAnd that is why I donât like or trust the military.â she stated before offering him a small knowing smirk. âOf course, with exception to you, my Major.â
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.
Mother knew best.
She always did. Right from the start. She knew what was best for him, where he should go, what he should be, who he really was. Even if he didnât know the answers himself, she would always know. He could never doubt her, not now.
After all, who else cared enough to tell him the truth? Even if it was brutal? Even if it was something she knew he wouldnât like? Who else would toughen him for the cruel realities of the human world? Her harshness was for his sake, to make him stronger, to push him to always do the best, to be worthy of her affection, her love- it was what she deserved.
It was simple, really- train to the best of his ability, fulfil his duty to his mother, earn her acknowledgement, the care that he so craved. Earn his right to be her son.
