#Are they more polished and have a more spread out universe? Sure

[wren-kitchens]

there is no line never enough

1097 words

maybe it's cruel. no- it's almost definitely cruel, and grian is probably stooping a bit lower than he'd like here, but frankly, he has not been able to think about hotguy without that creeping dread accompanying it. he’s never liked the guy that much, but he’s always been.. for lack of a better phrase, a bit of a bumbling idiot. grian hasn't seen him so cold and calculating behind that cheery persona before, and now he doubts he'll ever be able to see him the same way again. so with that in mind.. it's still cruel. but, in grian's opinion anyway, it might just be deserved. 

completely inspired by this incredible animatic by @persiiart on youtube! which in turn is ddvau created by the wonderful doody and maruu! go check them all out, they’re all so incredibly talented

maybe it's cruel. no- it's almost definitely cruel, and grian is probably stooping a bit lower than he'd like here, but frankly, he has not been able to think about hotguy without that creeping dread accompanying it. he’s never liked the guy that much, but he’s always been.. for lack of a better phrase, a bit of a bumbling idiot. grian hasn't seen him so cold and calculating behind that cheery persona before, and now he doubts he'll ever be able to see him the same way again.

so with that in mind.. it's still cruel. but, in grian's opinion anyway, it might just be deserved. 

he watches as hotguy wanders across the street from atop the roof, and he can’t help smirking to himself. grian has always found it funny to wind jimmy up with some silly story about trimming his eyelashes or polishing his books—perhaps this is just an extension of that. the thought crosses his mind that jimmy ought to have gone on his 'not-a-date' with tango by now, and he finds himself a little miffed that he has not heard all about it just yet. sure, he’s spent the better part of a week in the hospital, but still—you’d think joel or lizzie would have come by to gossip, at least.

"i know you’re there, birdie!" comes hotguy's voice, that stupid flirtatious note in it, as if grian would ever fall for him. "come on, don't be shy!"

grian rolls his eyes and lets himself fall from the roof, spreading his wings to glide slowly down. hotguy, the complete dolt that he is, doesn't see him as he descends, nor does he hear as grian lands directly behind him. how he ever managed to get this far is beyond grian's understanding.

"i’m hardly shy." grian says, and hotguy yelps, jumping away from him. he smirks as hotguy tries to regain his composure. "what are you doing out here? doesn’t seem to be much going on."

"aw, just waiting for my favourite vigilante!" hotguy gives what grian assumes is something he considers a winning smile, and grian wants to gag. "haven't seen you around!"

grian shrugs, taking a step forward. "i've been busy." he tilts his head to the side. "i’ve heard you had something of an ordeal with a couple civilians."

hotguy blinks, apparently already taken aback by grian's behaviour. well, this ought to be more fun than he expected. "i- well, it's all over the news, i’d be surprised if you hadn't." he gives an awkward chuckle. "y’know- it's thanks to a professor at the university that we got things under control."

"what, you couldn't handle it yourself?" grian leans forward, hands behind his back—birdlike. "you’re all.." he gives hotguy a look up and down, lingering a little on his chest. "well, you know."

much to grian's satisfaction, hotguy's face has begun to redden, his eyes wide. "i don’t- you- i may be called hotguy, but i don't have fire powers." he manages, flustered. "that was- it was kind of the whole- the saviour of the day! i- um."

grian is definitely enjoying himself too much now, but he doesn't want to stop. "never seen you be so tongue-tied." he glances at hotguy's lips briefly, but long enough for him to have noticed. maybe he should do this more often, actually. "it's kinda cute."

okay, that may have slipped out there. as much as he detests the guy, grian has to admit- it is a little cute how easily the macho hero can be completely thrown off his game by some flirting. once again grian has to wonder how he managed to get this position—you'd think he should be better at this. 

"i- i’m only human, cuteguy." hotguy laughs, visibly embarrassed. he takes a step back, and grian takes another forward. "i’m not- what are you doing? um- exactly." 

grian gives what he hopes is an attractive laugh, beginning to circle the self-proclaimed 'hero'. "oh, i’m just havin' a little fun. can’t blame a guy for that, can you?"

"i suppose not." hotguy is beginning to look nervous, until grian puts a hand on his shoulder and runs his fingers along to his neck and down his spine. hotguy gives an almost imperceptible shiver. "you- you know, your name is pretty accurate."

"hm?" grian hums, resting his chin on hotguy's other shoulder, interested by the change in tone. he sounds confident, and grian is too curious to shut it down. "how's that?"

hotguy turns his head, and his lips brush grian's ear as he murmurs. "well, you’re pretty darn cute, birdie."

grian expects it to be revolting—unpleasant at least. so when something sparks in his chest, something that makes him want hotguy to talk like that some more, needless to say, he’s surprised. surprised, but not displeased. 

"now aren't you just the charmer." grian smirks, placing his hand on hotguy's waist and keeping it there as he walks around to face him. 

despite his boost of confidence, hotguy is breathless when he says, "i live to serve." he grins. "besides, it's true."

grian tilts his head, and pushes hotguy in the chest, his back against the brick wall of what he assumes to be unoccupied apartment buildings, if the lack of light emitted from any of the windows is an accurate indicator. hotguy gives a surprised huff, and grian moves closer, standing between hotguy's legs, hand still on his chest.

"this- this is a change of pace." hotguy says, the colour on his cheeks deepening further. his eyes flicker from grian's own to his lips and back again. well, why not?

grian leans forward until his lips almost graze hotguy's, eyes half closed. "not a fan?"

a beat, in which grian can hear hotguy's breath quicken ever so slightly, and feel his pulse speeding under his palms. "well- that isn’t what i said, is it?"

"i have noticed, of course." grian murmurs. "the way you look at me. it'd be hard to miss."

hotguy huffs a laugh that ruffles the tips of grian's hair. "i can’t say i’m surprised to hear that."

"you probably also noticed," grian's lips are practically brushing against hotguy's as he speaks, he’s that close. he watches as hotguy's eyes flutter shut. "that i don’t look at you the same."

grian pulls back suddenly, staying long enough to watch hotguy blink in confusion before he takes off, grinning triumphantly as he wiggles his fingers in a mocking wave. as he flies away, back home, he doesn't bother looking back.

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Watching Twisted again because that poll's results mildly annoyed me (not really that annoyed but also HOW do you consider any of the other musicals better than this one)

[zarnzarn]

lamb who kills the one who waits when the time comes to decide, furious and betrayed at being asked to lay down their life after everything they'd done, after-

they kill him, and don't stop to see what happens to the body, carried away by their celebrating followers. They rejoice the whole day, of a final victory against evil, riling each other up to the heights of joy and mania until late in the night.

And then Lamb goes to bed and blows out the lamp and the their decision finally sinks in.

what have they done.

they wake the next day trembling from forgotten nightmares, overheating as they make their way through the day's chores, blank-faced and numb. the call to sermon is waved off in face of a headache, as they try not to think about how much of what they preach no longer is relevant.

the week passes in a haze- they unthinkingly leave offerings in the wooden chest until they rot in the summer noon; call out the rituals in Narinder's language and pretend the power isn't fainter than usual, go on a crusade to get their mind off things- except the last is the worst of it all, because the crown's eye is pale pink, pupil fat with power, instead of the crimson cat-eye that Lamb is used to, and there's no getting away from the fact on how silent it is when no one is watching behind it.

how silent it is because no one is there.

yet somehow worse still is-

"hope you feel better soon, leader!" a younger follower says, tucking a camelia into their wool. they know they've been distant lately, avoiding worries left right and centre. "praise the one! he'll make everything alright."

it's like a hammer to the chest, leaving them breathless and stunned, to realise- they never commissioned a statue of Narinder, after all these years. so stubborn in only leaving the crimson eye scratched around the cult grounds as his symbol until he found an artist worthy of Lamb sharing the image of the god of death, that-

no one else except the lamb knew what narinder looked like. they had no idea whose defeat they'd celebrated.

no one but Lamb remembers their god.

..

it gets harder after that.

Lamb isn't sure how many people have left the cult by the time the Mystic Seller's demand comes through, to save what's left of the Bishops from endless purgatory, before their violent shadows disrupted the fabric of the four realms.

They stare, speechless and disbelieving, at the outrageous ask, before it suddenly sinks in that-

The bishops.

The bishops.

They run through the lands once more with eagerness, sword slashing harder each time, ruthless and relentless in their kills. They reconquer Leshy and Heket brutally, curtly setting out the terms when they are diminished back to mortal and forced to stay in the cult. They agree, and agree to keeping their peace as well when Kallamar and Shamura join them, surrounded by a cult that's flourishing once more, waiting eagerly for a familiar stranger. Lamb tells stories around the fire about The One Who Waits, watches the smiles on their followers' faces reappear, the ones who had fled their anger and depression slowly making their way back to the flock, and the cult grows back to its full potential once more.

And then Lamb runs up the stairs when it's all ready and beautiful and welcoming, beams at the Seller as they wait for their instructions.

The Seller frowns. "Yes?"

Lamb tilts their head, rusted bell on their neck tinkling. It had broken the day after Narinder's defeat, the collar finally fluttering to the ground in tatters like a cloth of eighty years should; but Lamb had repaired and maintained and polished it until it wrapped proud around their neck once again. Their heart is beating in their chest, excitement running through their veins. They'd forgotten how it felt to be on the cusp of going to meet the One Who Waits.

"The last bishop still remains," They laugh, joy spreading through them. "I have to go get him too, yes? For the good of the universe and all."

The Mystic Seller... is silent.

"Narinder was not a Bishop," It says finally. Lamb's smile drops. "The Three-Eyed Cat had completed his ascension when he mastered the resurrection ritual. He was a God."

Lamb's heart drops to their stomach, stumbling like they've taken a hit. "What? So what? Can't I bring him back?"

The Mystic Seller tilts their head. "No."

"What do you mean no?" Lamb's nostrils flare, red crown sparking as they take a step closer. "I brought all those others back, why can't I-"

"They were the pillars of the very order of the world-"

"They were fucking MONSTERS!" Lamb shouts. "And what, death isn't?"

"It is," The Seller says, unaffected by the screaming. "But you are the Bishop of Death now. The cycle has begun again."

Lamb feels like they've taken an arrow to the chest. They stumble forward, and then to their knees. "No," they whimper. "There has- has to be some way to bring him back."

The Mystic Seller stares at them. "You were the one to kill him," They point out, and Lamb feels bile rise in their mouth as their breathing gets faster. "Why would you want him back? A thriving cult, an usurped crown, his spells in your hand-"

"Shut up," Lamb hisses.

"-you have all the power you could ever want, little sheep. Your revenge against the murder of your people."

"He wasn't the one to do it!" They shout up at the Seller, despite the hypocrisy- it had been part of their thoughts when they'd raised the axe again and again and again; the resentment of if it wasn't for you-

"No, no, no, no, no," They whimper, holding onto their biceps and shaking. "Narinder."

It is the first time they have said his name in five years. That realization is what makes the tears finally fall.

Their throat is hoarse when they finish, eyes swollen and blood pooled around them, skin already healing back to perfection where they had clawed through. The Mystic Seller stares at them and sways, silent.

"No," The Lamb finally says, and gets up, determined. Walks past the Seller, to the door behind, leading to the Gateway.

They wonder how they never realized. Or maybe they did, and were just lying to themselves that they didn't.

Lamb reaches the crater, with the rusted chains and wooden crucifixes rising out from the fog around it and comes to a halt.

Narinder is exactly where they left him.

Bones only now. Blackened by all the rituals he performed, he'd told them once; perfectly placed, like he had just fallen.

Lamb still has the ointment they made with their first cult sitting in the back of their cupboard, back when they were naive enough to think it would only take months. Ointment spelled to help grow back the fur on his rotting arms, worn to nothing by a thousand years of pulling at the chains and them tightening on him every time he moved in response.

The skull could be anyone's, now.

Two ribs are broken, where Lamb's axe went through. Straight to the heart.

Lamb exhales and shakily kneels to the ground, lowering himself to Narinder's side, careful to not dislodge a single bone out of place, and molds their body around the skeleton in a perverse mockery of a lover's embrace. Violently, abruptly, they want that, so much it burns- Narinder's arms holding the close one last time. It feels unbearable, to have- to have him lowered to meet Lamb at his level, to have him attainable instead of a towering, unreachable, terrible eldritch horror, and for him to be dead.

Oh, Lamb thinks, shaking as tears form in their eyes. Oh, I loved you. I love you.

"Darling," They choke out, tracing one cheekbone. "My baby. My one. My death. Come back, will you?"

Narinder opens his eyes and shoots them an unimpressed look. Lamb sobs, shoulders heaving, gasping as claws embed themselves in their throat- whole, complete, strong, paw soft as a cloud, faint markings on the fur Lamb never knew he had now drenched with blood.

They laugh, smiling through the tears as they push forward into the claws, flesh ripping and tearing as they push their mouth closer to Narinder's.

"I am sorry," They whisper. Narinder growls. "i love you."

"Traitor-"

"Fuck the crown," Lamb breathes back, moving to straddle Narinder to interrupt him, keeping the weight on their own knees to not damage his healing ribs. His claws are still in their throat, tangled in their stitches. "Fuck the power. Fuck the cult. Fuck religion. I only ever wanted you."

Narinder stills, looking up at them with sharp eyes. Lamb laughs around his beloved's fingers. "I only ever want you. What is life without you, Antim?"

Narinder studies them. Lamb waits, bloodied and grinning, patiently waiting, smitten to have those beautiful trifecta eyes upon them once more.

"I promised you," They whisper. "I promised to break you out of here. Let me, my one. My only one, who has waited so long."

Narinder takes a breath, tilting his chin down and then up. His claws twitch in Lamb's vocal chords, drawing them down closer to him.

Lamb whoops in joy and reaches up to toss the crown to the side, fitting their hooves to the last chain wrapped around Narinder's neck, binding him still to the Gateway, and splinters it into a thousand pieces, never to hold anyone ever again.

"Come," The Lamb whispers finally, moving back and gathering their lover up in their arms, still pressing their mouths together. "Let me take you home, Narinder. Mere jaan. Meri mrityu. My one."

Narinder sighs and buries his face in the crook of Lamb's neck as they start to walk away. "Turn back around, idiot. We cannot leave without the damned crown. And I am picking out the wedding decorations."

"Of course, my love," Lamb coos, and leans in again to kiss their greatest mistake.

[walidgoldpreppy]

Perfect Conversion

Chapter 1

Noah and Ethan were inseparable. Since high school, they had promised each other that nothing would change them, that their love would be stronger than anything. When they arrived together at Ashford University, they believed the world was theirs.

Ashford was a prestigious campus filled with elite students, but they didn’t care. They stayed true to their style oversized hoodies, ripped jeans, messy hair. They laughed at the boys in blazers who walked with measured steps, always wearing the same vacant, polished smiles.

But everything changed when Noah was invited to join Sigma Epsilon, the most influential fraternity on campus.

“You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.

Noah shrugged. “Why not? It’s a great opportunity. Their members go into finance, politics… They have connections everywhere.”

Ethan frowned. “Those guys are clones, all dressed the same, all with the same slicked-back hair and empty smiles. It’s creepy.”

Noah chuckled. “Come on, man. It’s just a style. Don’t worry, I’ll still be me.”

Ethan wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 2

At first, the changes were subtle. Noah became distant, spending every evening at Sigma Epsilon.

When he came back, he was… different. It started small a collared shirt peeking out from under his hoodie, his hair slightly styled. Then, polos and chinos replaced his usual outfits. He talked more and more about discipline, ambition, and brotherhood.

“It’s good for me, you know? I have more clarity. A purpose.”

Ethan didn’t like it.

One night, he decided to follow him. He approached the Sigma Epsilon house and peeked through the window. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Noah, standing in a row with other boys in tailored suits, was staring blankly at a screen. A hypnotic commercial for ultra-shiny hair gel played, its voice whispering:

“A good boy is always elegant. A good boy is always obedient. A good boy follows the rules.”

Their eyes were vacant. They nodded slowly, entranced. Noah was smiling, his face peaceful, his posture perfect.

He wasn’t the same.

Ethan ran.

Chapter 3

Noah returned to their dorm later that night, finding Ethan sitting on the bed, arms crossed.

“Care to explain what I just saw?” Ethan demanded.

Noah smiled softly. His face was freshly shaven, his shirt crisp, his hair gleaming under the light, slicked back with a perfect layer of gel.

“You don’t understand yet, Ethan. But you will soon.”

He stepped closer, resting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“I’ve found my place. Everything is so simple now. No doubts. No chaos. Just clear rules. Elegance. Order. It’s… peaceful.”

Ethan shook his head. “No, this is brainwashing! They’ve changed you, Noah!”

Noah’s smile widened. “And that’s exactly what you need too.”

Before Ethan could move, Noah took out his phone and pressed play on a video. A soothing melody, deep voices whispering:

“Look at the screen. A good boy listens. A good boy follows.”

Ethan’s muscles relaxed.

“A good boy loves elegance. A good boy loves discipline.”

Noah ran a hand through Ethan’s messy hair. “We’ll need to cut this. And plenty, plenty of gel.”

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but instead, a blissful, empty smile spread across his face. It felt good… To stop thinking. To just listen. Relax. Obey.

Chapter 4

A few weeks later, Noah and Ethan walked side by side across campus. Their steps were synchronized. Their blazers perfectly fitted. Their ties immaculately knotted.

Their hair shone under the sunlight, sculpted into strict Ivy League cuts.

Ethan smiled, just as Noah did. He barely remembered the confusion, the resistance. Everything was so much simpler now.

They were good boys. Elegant. Obedient. United.

[shadowfalllen]

You are offering to write kisses??!?!!!?

DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE UNLEASHED???!?!?!?!!!

Kiss number 10 for Clara and Shadowheart please!

Thank you for the veeery nice prompt Eldritch ❤️ ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE 😄 For the Before the Last Brew girlies ☕ Is this happening in the future or in an alternative universe of an alternative universe, who knows but we're in Shadowheart's pov ☕

Kiss desperately

It was easy to lose herself in the familiar routine of cleaning up the espresso machine.

Knock out coffee grounds from the portafilter, rinse the filter basket, run hot water through the machine’s group head. Shadowheart went through the checklist in her mind as she worked.

Without the chatter of customers and the whirr of the espresso grinder, the café was very quiet, almost eerily so. Only the occasional sound of a distant, passing car carried into the emptied space. Someone else might have found it unsettling, but Shadowheart found peace in the quiet. It was her favorite moment of the workday.

After she finished backflushing the portafilter, she moved on to wiping down the steam wand, the smell of soap mixing with the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans. Just as she was dumping old grounds from the knock box into the compost, the door opened and closed, making the bell over Last Brew’s door jingle.

“We’re closing. Come back tomorrow,” Shadowheart called out without bothering to look up—she was too entranced by the cleaning process to really care about anything else.

“Oh, I was sort of counting on it,” a familiar voice called.

Shadowheart’s head whipped around, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Clara standing by the door. Clara flipped the sign over, declaring the café closed for the day, somehow managing to look shy as she did.

Without wasting any time, Clara made her way around the counter and flipped the main lights off, bathing the café in darkness. The LED display of the espresso machine emitted a soft, bluish light behind Shadowheart, while the golden hue from the old-fashioned small-town streetlamps streamed through the windows. They cast long shadows across the wooden floors and reflected dimly off the polished counters.

A wide smile spread across Shadowheart’s lips. “You’re early. What a delightful surprise.”

“I had to catch an earlier flight,” Clara said, taking slow steps toward Shadowheart.

Shadowheart tilted her head. “Can’t keep away from me, I see? I don’t blame you.” Her lips curved into a lopsided smirk, her voice honeyed. “How was the conference?”

“It was okay,” Clara murmured, her hands settling on Shadowheart’s hips, thumbs caressing her slowly. “But I was missing a certain barista, and I definitely couldn’t keep away from you.”

“I bet you were just missing my delicious cups of cof—mpfh!”

Clara interrupted her by grabbing the collar of Shadowheart’s work shirt and pulling her into a kiss, laced with longing that was borderline desperate.

Shadowheart quickly recovered, gripping the back of Clara’s head. Her fingers entwined in Clara’s hair and gave a firm tug. Clara let out a soft groan and pulled harder on Shadowheart’s collar. Their mouths crashed together in a hungry greeting that turned into a playful battle that left Shadowheart lightheaded and unsure who was trying to consume whom.

Shadowheart got pushed against the counter, her back digging into the espresso machine. She grabbed Clara’s hips and guided her to another side counter she had cleared earlier, pressing Clara against it instead. She did it all without once breaking the kiss, her eager tongue dancing a familiar dance with Clara’s.

Clara pulled away from the kiss, but a mischievous glint in her eye indicated things were far from over. “I have an order for you, Ms. Barista—something only you can fulfill.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m having you. On the go.”

“Are you now? Careful what you wish for—I’m so hot, you might get burned.” Shadowheart’s teeth grazed Clara’s throat as she spoke.

“I—I’m sure,” Clara said with more confidence than she was feeling.

Shadowheart’s teeth sank lightly into Clara’s throat, bringing a tiny bit of pain followed by a rush of endorphins.

“I think this cup is best enjoyed right here, in the café,” Shadowheart whispered, soothing the bite with her tongue.

“Oh?” Clara murmured, then her eyes widened with realization. “Oh…”

“Soon enough, ‘oh’ will be far from the only noise coming from you.” The way Clara trembled under her touch made it clear each word was like a searing drop of heated honey, having just the kind of effect Shadowheart was looking for.

“Up you go,” Shadowheart commanded, grabbing Clara’s hips and lifting her onto the counter.

Nimble fingers had the few buttons of Clara’s shirt undone in no time. Shadowheart’s hand slipped in, feeling the soft skin of Clara’s stomach. Clara was looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes, her breathing growing more shallow.

One hand drove Clara wild, wandering over her taut stomach and chest, teasing a perky nipple, while the other slipped down Clara’s pants. The following moan was swallowed by Shadowheart’s mouth as she crashed into another desperate kiss, looking to lose herself in Clara completely.

A/N: Check out all of my kiss prompts here.

[fbczine]

Before we open contributor applications, the mods would like to answer questions raised through responses from the Interest Check and expand upon our carrd’s guidelines/FAQ.

If you are potentially considering applying for the zine as a contributor, please take the time to look over this post and read the carrd. 

Zine’s Themes: 

For our second zine, we decided to have a centralized theme for the overall project: investigation. Solving mysteries, puzzles, and problems are key elements of Remedy games. All pieces featured within the zine will focus on these ideas. 

The Oceanview is a connecting point between the Alan Wake and Control universes. It is a place of power individuals pass through on their way to somewhere else, so it’s had many guests over the years. However, pitches for the zine do not have to feature the Oceanview, they can involve different settings featured or referenced in these games, excluding the Oldest House. 

Interest Check Feedback

During the interest check, we received several common questions we would like to address:

Can we submit pitches related to Alan Wake? 

Yes, as both Alan Wake and Control both fall under the Remedy-verse, we want the zine to have a diverse spread of content featuring characters and themes from both games. 

Are Alan Wake 2 spoilers allowed? 

The zine will release a year after the first game, so we will be allowing content featuring spoilers. All pieces with spoilers will have a warning tag in the zine’s table of contents, allowing consumers to pick and choose what content to enjoy. 

Are meta/theory-crafting pitches allowed? 

No, the zine will only be featuring fanart and fanfiction. 

What about lore related documents such as dossiers/letters/case files etc? 

Yes. As with our previous zine, in-universe documentation is welcome so long as it fits the zine’s themes and criteria. 

Can I submit something which has already been posted to social media? 

No, all contributors must submit a new, original piece of content never shared before. 

Is there any specific content which will not be allowed in the zine? 

We will not be accepting typewritten, out of context manuscript pages. If a typewritten manuscript page from Alan happens to be one part of your overall story, that’s fine. 

No pieces featuring places found within the Oldest House. As much as we love the Astral Plane, the Quarry, and the Clocks Threshold, we want the zine to feature many of the other interesting settings within this universe!

All art pieces must be polished lineart or equivalent. We will not accept sketches. 

Pitch Process 

Please do NOT submit pitches that state “I’ll draw/write anything” – these will be automatically rejected. 

Please submit three detailed pitches. Include any characters or ships featured in the piece along with the general idea. Give us the elevator pitch.  

If you’re pitching a piece featuring shipping content, please state the overall plot of the piece. The mods will not be accepting stories that do not take into account the zine’s investigative themes. 

All art pieces will need to have a background. No negative white space will be allowed. 

The mods will be trying to diversify the zine’s content through the provided pitches. Of your three pitches, the mods will select what pitch to move forward with based on the zine’s tentative content spread, so please make sure these pitches are something you are passionate about and willing to create. 

Collaboration and the Creation Process

Remedy fans are a passionate bunch. Love for these games is shown in each and every creative work. And just like Remedy collaborates to bring us these amazing games, we are looking for that same dedication for the Oceanview Guestbook zine. 

We would like each of our applicants to feel comfortable collaborating with both the mods as well as their fellow contributors. We will be encouraging contributors to share WIPs with each other through more organized check-ins to receive feedback. With each phase of the creation process, the mods will provide detailed feedback and constructive critique with each individual contributor. 

Our primary mode of communication will be through Discord. The mods will be available should contributors need any assistance, to communicate any unforeseen circumstances, or to answer questions which may arise throughout the creation process. 

Final Notes

The mods are fans of the Remedy universe and love the games. We want to talk and create with fellow fans. This project is for the community, and we can’t underscore that enough. This is why our previous and next zine are digital and free. We don’t want to hide the fanworks behind a paywall. This unofficial project is made for fans by fans as a labor of love. 

We hope you’ll join us on this journey!

– The Admin Team

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x Player)

Chapter 16, In Which You Take The Pills and Stop Seeing Things

Read on AO3

Apollonia Saintclair - La paix des profondeurs

"How bad?" you asked, rolling a cigarette between your fingers.

Angus sighed and adjusted his round glasses. 

"How bad, Dr Bambauer?" you repeated, your eyes drawn to the rhythmic chiming of the antique clock on his desk.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

He cleared his throat, fingers intertwined on the polished wooden surface of his desk. "Well, in our line of work, there isn't really a benchmark for such severe cognitive turmoil, Mr. D'Avergni."

Translation: it's bad. You sank back into the plush upholstery of the guest chair, running a hand over your face.

"Ms Berger is suffering from an intense case of delusional psychosis. She's heavily invested in her fantasies, I am afraid," Dr Bambauer began, his voice as dull as a lullaby. "She has invented her own elaborate universe centred around your alter ego - you might know him as Raphael".

At first, you found it strangely endearing - flattering - that Anya saw you as the literal devil. Less so when you found out the character who she was actually referring to.

"Not only him, though. Other characters include a certain being she refers to as Mr Goat - possibly a manifestation of her Catholic guilt - as well as Agent Cooper and the dwarf from Twin Peaks..."

"The TV show?" You raised an eyebrow. "Anya genuinely believes Twin Peaks is real?"

The office was dimly lit despite the midday hour, the walls lined with bookshelves and framed pictures of Bacon-esque paintings that were clearly meant to unsettle rather than reassure. 

"Ms. Berger's understanding of the concept of "real" seemed tenuous at best," Angus nodded. "And I too seem to have been cast as a character known as 'The Dollmaker'. According to Ms Berger, I perform lobotomies on children and sell them to sex trafficking rings”.

"And you've done nothing of the sort, I trust?" You gave him a wry smile.

You had always found Angus a little eerie, but the family would never associate with someone who fiddled with children. Plus, he did manage to keep Uncle Giovanni off the bottle. 

"Do you find it appropriate to joke about this, Mr. D'Avergni?"

There was probably no scenario on Earth that Angus would deem appropriate to joke about.

"I don't know what's appropriate in such situations," you said. 

Dr Bambauer rose from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back. He was skinny as a rake, not a muscle on him. You could learn anatomy on him, the outlines of his skull very visible through his gaunt cheeks.

"What would be appropriate is a daily regimen of olanzapine, under my strict supervision. Ms. Berger will have to stay here for at least a month”.

A month?..

How are you supposed to go a month without Anya?

“There is an issue we need to discuss, however”, he continued.

A month.

Dr Bambauer's eyes drifted across the clinic courtyard. "Mrs Berger is expecting a child. I'd say she's in her first few weeks of pregnancy; her hCG levels are just beginning to indicate implantation."

You re-played his phrase three times in your mind before it finally registered.

"Are you serious?" you asked, sounding more choked than you intended.

Could this really happen? Anya had made some casual remarks... You hadn't bothered with condoms, true... But she never seemed worried, or even to mention it; you assumed she must have been taking birth control pills, and if she wasn't, well, that didn't bother you either.

"Why would I joke about such a thing?" said Dr Bambauer. 

Then it's true. It's true. Anya was with a child; your child. Your firstborn.

"I mean..." you laughed, your hands spreading with joy. “This is brilliant news! The best bloody news I've heard in ages! That’s what you should have started with, doc!"

If only your father would have killed himself half a year later to live to hear the news. 

Angus did not smile back.

"I'm not sure you're following me, Mr D'Avergni," he said. "Mrs Berger needs to be heavily medicated with antipsychotic drugs in the first trimester of her pregnancy. Do you follow me now? There is an imminent risk of serious birth defects. I recommend a pill-induced abortion”.

The urge to grab this man by his collar and slam him against the wooden desk until his skull cracked suddenly became absolutely irresistible.

"Dr Bambauer," you said, rising from your chair, "you are talking to a Catholic man about his firstborn. Choose. Your. Words. Carefully. Anya and I will make the decision, and I can already tell you what our decision will be. We are keeping this child.”

You drummed your fingers on the table.

"I'm afraid Mrs Berger is not in a position to make a rational decision at the moment," Angus interjected. "She's unaware of her condition, and given her current psychological state, informing her could trigger catastrophic delusions. Carrying the Antichrist, for example."

He went on, seemingly unaware of the thinly veiled threat in your eyes.

"So, without an appointed guardian - and as a lawyer you are well aware what a long and complicated process that can be..."

Well, he was right. 

It is a long and complicated process unless you have a psychiatrist with the right connections behind you.

"Let's say that would be me," you interrupted.

Dr Bambauer visibly stiffened (a feat considering his already rigid posture) and gave you a long, hard look.

"Mr D'Avergni, I have to say…"

“Let me have my say first”, you interrupted.

You snatched up his notebook and pen, scribbling across the next page - two million Swiss francs in cash.

"A small donation to one of the most prestigious mental health institutions in the world," you said as you pushed the note towards him. “God knows the world needs sanity now more than ever”. 

His expression barely changed.

"Your generosity is truly boundless”, he said. “I suppose we could speed up certain procedures. I have no doubts you act in good faith and Mrs Berger's welfare is your priority."

"Seeing right through people is your job description," you replied. "Listen, Dr Bambauer... I need to get Anya out of here immediately. She can't be cooped up in this hospital all alone while she's pregnant. She needs to be with me. I can keep an eye on her."

"You cannot be serious, Mr D'Avergni. You are still taking your medication, aren’t you?"

Your muscles tensed at his comment as you gave him a stiff nod. You watched these videos from Davos over and over again. You fiddled with the cross on your chest, your mother’s; the night Anya was hospitalised, you pulled one out of the old jewellery box.

It wouldn’t hurt, you thought.

And it didn’t.

"Mrs Berger is not well. At all. She has to stay under my direct supervision," you tapped on the paper you promised money on, so that Angus corrected himself: "Mr. D’Avergni, at least until she somewhat stabilises. We are still keeping her restrained in case of another attempt at self-harm".

"Well then, do everything in your power to give her the best treatment”, you said. “I expect quick results".

"Mr D'Avergni," Dr Bambauer sighed. "I don’t think you realise… Let’s put it this way: I don't think Mrs Berger even knows what you look like".

"I beg your pardon?" 

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "One of the nurses overheard Ms. Berger describing her fiancé. Let me say, I was surprised with certain… deviations… from reality”.

***

They said if you behaved better, they would stop strapping you to the bed.

Which, of course, turned out to be complete bullshit.

"We are so sorry that we have to restrain you, Mrs Berger”.

Like hell they were. They were not sorry at all when they tied your ankles and wrists to the bed in your solitary confinement suite, a postcard view of the Matterhorn through the window. They were not sorry at all when they forced more pills down your throat, as if you were a cat fighting against its bitter medicine, and when you spit them out, they actually stripped down your trousers and injected something in your asscheek.

How disgustingly polite they were about it only made things worse; people are only polite like that to fucking crazies, and you were not crazy. You would definitely cooperate if they stopped treating you like one. It was a mistake, you told them, a terrible fucking mistake and misunderstanding, and it should not be happening to you.

No way Raphael would allow that. 

He won’t treat his little mouse this way. You know him. They do not know him, so they would regret what they are doing very, very much. You did what he wanted. You killed that woman. You deserved a treat, not a punishment. You did what he…

"You didn’t kill anyone, Ms. Berger, please, calm down. We don't want you cutting your wrists again, Ms. Berger."

Fuck you, was your eloquent reply, fuck you, and where the fuck was Raphael? 

I wish he was here. 

I wish you all would die. I wish, I wish, I wish.

You passed out before you could see if your wish had come true.

***

You were half asleep when it came true and you saw Raphael again. Black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, a bunch of roses in his hand. He looked so sorry, as if he hadn't been the one who had thrown you into this madhouse in the first place.

"You're here at last," you murmured from your sleep. "Now tell me why I've been trapped in this hellhole."

Next you tried to reach out to him, only to be held back by your restraints. He glanced at them, clearly torn between freeing you or leaving you trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and chose the latter, gently stroking your shoulder as if that would make you feel any better.

"You have too much faith in my bondage kink," you tried to joke. Didn't really land.

"Anya, mia piccola," he said softly. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you."

No, not Raul. Not him, not now. 

Where...in...the...bloody...hell...is...Raphael!?

"I never wanted to kill myself," you said. "I swear, I only cut myself with broken glass because I panicked and wanted to snap back to reality. Not because I wanted to die. Please tell them to stop strapping me to this bed, it's ridiculous. You believe me, right? You don't think I'm crazy?" 

There was a very long pause. 

Much too long a pause.

What the hell have you done to deserve such treatment? Yes, you cut yourself, yes, you wanted with him to talk about Mr Goat (you still do), you... Oh no. Was this Raphael's twisted form of revenge for fondling Mr Goat's horns? It seemed the only explanation for why he'd thrown you into this five star prison.

"Anya," Raul finally said, "what colour are my eyes?"

This is a trick question, Anya, don’t trust him. This is a trick question. He is trying to set you up and make you think you are crazy. Go for something noncommittal.

"Hazel? Honey?" Raul’s expression twisted painfully and shit - what colour were Italian men’s eyes supposed to be? You quickly corrected yourself: "Brown! Definitely brown!".

He looked at you as if you'd slapped him across the face, and not in a sexy way.

"Light. Blue." He spoke every word as if he had difficulty breathing. "Quite unusual, I know. People have been complimenting my eyes all my life. Can't you see that?"

You could not see that. You didn’t want to see that either.

Damn, of all the Italians in Italy, why did you have to end up with the one who had blue eyes? What were the chances?

"Shit," was all you could say.

"I thought you were in love with me," Raul said. "you didn't even know what I looked like." 

Damn. What were you supposed to say to that?

He got up from the chair next to your bed and repeated, his voice hollow: "You still don't know what I look like. You still… CAZZO!"

He slammed his fist against the window frame so hard that you flinched, but the glass held steady. 

He looked on the verge of tears. Please don't cry. How were you supposed to handle a grown Italian man crying? You are the one who should be crying right now!

"CAZZO MALEDIZIONE!" Raul shouted again, his voice shaking. “MERDA, MERDA, MERDA!”

Great, keep screaming and we'll have nurses rushing in here, and you bet your ass it’s not him they would be sedating.

"I'm sorry, Raul." You said as you watched him try to regain control of himself. "It doesn't mean... Doesn't mean... Just because I see you differently doesn't change how I feel about you. Looks aren't everything, right? Who cares?"

That didn’t sound right. 

He must have thought the same, because he did not say anything for a good minute and then gave you a very formal smile, all business nothing personal, which was way scarier than his outburst. 

“I am sorry…”, you tried again.

"You don’t need to feel sorry for anything, Anya”, he interrupted. “You're sick, that much is clear. It's my…. responsibility to do everything I can to help you heal”.

You don’t need to heal, you opened your mouth to say, but he cut you off YET AGAIN:

“But I do think now it would be best if you stayed under Dr. Bambauer’s supervision for now."

Holy fuck no not the Dollmaker you are not stepping into his therapy room never

“No-no-no, baby, please”, you pleaded, struggling against the restraints. “Angus is… not a good man. At all. I swear he isn’t. And not because he lobotomies children or something. He just… isn’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Baby, please. He will fuck me up”.

“I believe Angus to be a competent specialist”, Raul said, arms crossed over his chest. “Whether he is a good man is a different matter. I will have my people monitor this place - and your state - at all times, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone harm you”.

He placed a very chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“I wish you all the best and pray for your swift recovery, Anya”.

FUCK YOU AND YOUR PRAYERS YOU PASTA-GOBBLING ASSHOLE!

That’s not what you said, no. What you did was put all your most “baby please” face and plead:

“Raul…”

“Don't argue with me, Anya,” He interrupted. “I know what’s best for you.”

read the rest of the chapter on ao3

[clumsiestgiantess]

Chapter 15 of the Other-world Universe; uhhh.. where’s Erica? Wasn’t she just here a chapter ago?

all chapters linked here

[Throw Caution to the Wind]

That night I slept so soundly I didn’t hear the quiet scuffle of figures on the cliffside, nor did I notice the sun rising over the ruined city.  I even slept through the early morning bird calls that broke up the otherwise silent terrain.  When I finally woke from my well rested sleep, the sun hung far higher in the sky than I expected.  “Oh!  I woke up late!  Erica, why didn’t you wake me?”  I turned to the cliffside and stopped short.  Her sleeping bag was empty, thrown haphazardly to the side.  Ok, don’t panic.  She probably couldn’t wake you and left to go do something…  Though there is a perfectly good way to wake me, I realized, eyeing the metal scraps that Erica used to get me up.  In fact, one of the pieces had been dragged off a ways, like someone tried to pick it up but dropped it.

“Erica!” I called, “Where are you?”  I waited anxiously as the noises of late morning dwindled into unsettling silence.  After a few minutes, I began scouring the cliffside for any signs of where Erica could've gone.  Though my search came up empty-handed, and it became even more obvious that she wasn't there, I refused to believe she'd left.  Unless Erica was taken.  I felt guilty at the mere thought of her being kidnaped by looters like the ones in the city.  Or worse, those scientists from the future.  I was supposed to be keeping her safe, after all.  Had I already failed to do that?

Eventually, thankfully, my strange internal compass steered me in a direction beyond the cliff.  It was the same feeling I'd had in the city shortly before finding Erica.  She’s.. Why is she getting further away from me?  Why is she so far away?!

I took off at a run, hoping that I wasn't too late to find her safe.  With the world in such a catastrophic state, I was never really sure what might happen.  As I jogged to some unknown destination, I noticed I'd been inadvertently following a set of small tire tracks; they were still slightly fresh.  Her captors can't be too far off.  If they really were driving this small car, I can catch up to them in no time at my size.  Thank god they aren’t from the portals.  I picked up speed, passing the end of the subdivisions.  Wide patches of grass and rock spread out beyond them.  Though I’d been jogging for a while, I wouldn’t give up my quick pace even as my side began to burn.  Erica was out there, ahead of me somewhere.  I had to hurry.

Please, please let her be alright!  She just confessed how she wanted me there to protect her!  Why is she gone the very next day?  Who would take her?  Who would dare take her?  Anger forced me to go faster, and I broke out into a run.  I’m such an awful friend!  How could I have let this happen?  She’s going to lose trust in me again!  That can’t happen; it can’t!  What if I lose her?  “ERICA!” I yelled as loudly as I could, despair quickly engulfing my thoughts and my voice.  “I’M COMING!  Just wait for me!”  

Another mountain range, taller and more diverse than the one by the city, soon appeared before me.  I slowed at its edge.  My sixth sense had pointed here.  Scouring the large rock faces, I soon came upon an interesting wooden structure hidden in the foothills of a mountain.  

The structure didn’t seem very polished, yet it looked recently built.  Haphazard boards of wood stuck out in odd places, most likely scavenged from other wrecked buildings.  I touched the structure’s side with one of my fingers, studying it curiously.  Before I could investigate further, someone inside stuffed a shotgun through a hole in the wall and opened fire.  I stumbled backwards in shock.  Had I known there were people inside, I wouldn’t have hovered so close.  Quickly, I ran on, dodging into a ravine between two mountains to gain some cover.  However, I realized shortly afterwards that this was a very bad decision.  There were more wooden structures there, all of which began shooting at me.  Sure, the bullets wouldn't kill me, but they still hurt like hell.  

I was forced to turn around when even more buildings appeared further down the ravine, barraging me from every side — so much so that I feared I might get lead poisoning.  However, as I began to retreat back out of it, my unnatural sense went haywire.  Apparently, I needed to go down there.  Sucking in a shaky breath of air, I took a moment to find some confidence before charging through the mountains.  I got much further than I thought.  With every bound my sense became stronger until I was certain Erica was being held down the ravine somewhere, just beyond my reach.  

As the wooden structures dispersed, I tripped over some tripwire trap of sorts and became ensnared in a large chunk of netting.  The coarse fibers dug painfully into my skin, cutting it in some places.  By then, I was pissed off and fed up.  Everything hurt and I was in no mood to be dragged to the ground by some flimsy trap.  You're gonna regret stealing Erica from me, just you watch.  Do you really think THIS can hold me!?  I glowered as people slid out from crevasses in the mountainside to watch my fighting struggles.  All I could think of was how scared Erica seemed when I'd left her the day before.  That was only for a moment.  Imagine her now.. taken, again.

Adrenaline pumping furiously through my veins, I tore right through the netting and furiously kicked the sides of the mountain where I saw people emerge a moment ago.  The wooden structures opened fire again, but I angrily tore them down with a swipe of my arm.  "WHERE IS SHE!?" I roared, furiously battering the mountainside.  I'd grabbed a large metal beam from one of the bigger structures; it was probably a support of some kind, but it made an excellent crowbar.  I tore into the rocky slope where my sixth sense was the strongest.  Having found a tunnel leading deeper inside, I pressed down harder on the beam and gouged out chunks of rock from the opening.  

Leaning heavily against the sheer face, I wedged my makeshift weapon into the small tunnel and pushed.  At last, the mountainside gave way.  As the rubble and dust settled, a camp, no, a town took shape inside a now open chasem.  Before I could wreak my vengeance on that as well, I heard a shout from somewhere inside.  "WAIT!  STOP!  CALM DOWN; I'M FINE, I'M RIGHT HERE!"  Through the heavy dusting of rock that still wafted in the air, I spotted Erica herself racing through the town to the chasm opening, clambering desperately over rubble.

Relief flooded through me, and my adrenaline rush faded away, leaving me suddenly exhausted.  I dropped the metal beam and reached into the mountain without a second thought.  Quickly, I scooped Erica up, her little body flinching harshly against my palm.  Turning to leave, I readied a kick that would send the open chasem collapsing in on itself — a nice example of my power to show anyone else stupid enough to steal Erica away.  Just as I was about to demolish the place, Erica must have realized what I intended to do.  

"NO!  DON'T!"  I froze, foot half raised, and stepped back.  With shaking hands I brought her up to my face so I could more clearly see her.  “These people,” she explained, panting as she caught her breath, “They’re survivors of the wreckage out there.  They only took me because some of their scouts saw us fighting.  They thought you captured me.”

I shook my head, confused, “But I didn’t capture you.”  Erica nodded, “They didn’t know that, though,” she said, pointing to the chasm I created.  “Late last night a few scouts showed up to sneak me away.  I- I thought they were going to hurt me, so I ran to the alarm system to wake you, but a few of them stopped me.  There, like, leader explained who they were and where they came from.  What she described — it sounded like a safehaven.  But I.. couldn’t bring you with me.”  She turned her head down, avoiding my gaze for a moment.  “I swear I was coming right back!  I just wanted to go see it — to know if it was even true.  I promised myself that I would be back before you even woke up!  It was a lot further away than I thought and.. I guess I kinda lost track of time…  You can’t really tell what time of day it is when you’re under a mountain.”

I glanced guilty at the gaping hole in the mountainside.  “There’s a whole town down there, hidden from all the giants.”  “…And I just revealed it,” I finished numbly.  Erica shifted in my hand to look at the damage I’d done — more destruction I’d caused.  “Yeah..  Alexis, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you can’t just go around destroying everything whenever something happens to me.  It’s great that you care so much about me, but… you need to chill.”

“Ok, alright, I just-  You were gone when I woke up, and then I panicked because I really have no idea what might happen to you.  You know, with the state of your world and all?”  She nodded slowly and I realized my explanation didn't really justify the amount of damage I did.  I didn’t even want to think of the people I potentially killed. “I should probably clear things up with the refugees down there,” Erica noted, glancing meaningfully up at me.  Stepping back to the opened mountain, I placed Erica back into the town in a daze.

"Ok, I'll.. I'll just leave."  "Mmhm," Erica mumbled absentmindedly once she returned to the ground.  Already, she was focused on negotiating what to do about the terrifying destruction I'd created — reassuring everyone that I was not going to capture them.  I watched with an awful sting in my chest as the people there rushed over to her, trying to pull her safely away from me, deeper into the mountains.

She’s with her own people now, I realized, she’ll probably be happier with them.  And, I noted with a hint of jealousy, she won’t need me for protection anymore.  "Goodbye, then," I added awkwardly.  Erica barely seemed to notice me backing away as I walked solemnly down the crevasse.  Surely she was just too preoccupied to answer, right?  Was she relieved to trade my company for her own kind?  Even from my height, it was clear that these people were much more caring and welcoming to Erica than I'd first been to her.  The first 'help' I gave her turned out to be literal torture.

My pace slowed to a halt at the opening of the valley.  I felt as though I were sinking through muck, unable to move.  The oppressive force of realization weighed me down further.  She doesn’t need me…  but I can’t be so selfish as to try and get her to stay.  Erica once said she felt stuck with me, trapped even.  Here’s her chance at independence; why would I stop her from taking it?  Because I want her to stay with me, to choose me over her own people?  Of course not.  

Hours later, the sun had drifted from one side of the horizon to the other and Erica hadn’t returned yet.  I’d checked on the town twice since I left her there that morning.  The first time, I began getting gunned down again, and the second time I was told with growing annoyance that Erica would come for me when she was good and ready.  If she wanted to see me at all, that is.

I glanced back at the empty mountainsides and the wooden structures that were still standing guard at the entrance, then turned and headed to the ruined mansion.  I would collect my things and go home.  Maybe I could try to explain to my family why I'd taken fifty things from the kitchen.  Ok, more like fifteen things, but still.  I would come back in a day or two to check on Erica after I fixed up the stinging holes in my skin, and ate a couple meals worth of food.

Hey, this is a good thing, I tried to assure myself, Erica is safe; you did your job.  You can go home now!  As much as I longed for a place that fit me, I was devastated to leave so suddenly.  I wanted to ask her so many things; I wanted to say so many things.  Maybe she’ll be willing to talk to you in a few days.  Clearly now isn’t a good time.  God, why do I have to tear down every single structure I see!?  I can’t prove myself to be anything but a monster in this place. It’s what I’ve always been.

Dusty dirt kicked up in clouds that swirled smoothly around me as I trudged back the way I came.  Hopefully, I could remember where the cliffside was.  I’d already been walking for a while along the tire track trail, but that ended before anything familiar.  My strange inner sense only worked one way, and I'd basically just followed it blindly.  Thinking of it only worsened my mood.  The sense was still pulling me back the way I'd come.

In fact, it's going a bit nuts all of a sudden, what the heck?  Then I heard a vehicle speeding towards me from behind.  I turned to see one of the trucks that had been parked in the mountainside town racing towards me at top speed.  At first I thought the people living there were coming for revenge.  After all, I did destroy their clever hiding place.  As the truck rapidly gained ground towards me, I saw that it was really useless for me to run from it.  Even though I was much faster, my height made it all too easy for them to spot me from miles away and hunt me down.  I slowed and waited as the truck lurched to a stop beside me.

When Erica herself threw open the door and scrambled out, I was so genuinely surprised my heart did a little flip of excitement in my chest.  Shortly afterwards, I realized that this might just be a proper goodbye and sighed, disappointed.  I was kinda hoping to avoid this drama.  Now I'm going to cry for sure, then Erica will feel guilty and want to stay, and then I'LL feel guilty for guilt tripping Erica into staying, and then-  

"Get down here."  Erica said it so sternly I thought she might have been turned against me by the survivors.  I sat down warily in front of the truck.  Erica then climbed up the truckbed and stood on the roof.  This way she could yell at me without having to crane her neck directly up to look me in the eye.  However, now that she was closer to my face, I could see the confliction scattered across her face.  

"I-  When you left," she started, anger rapidly fading from her voice, "I thought you meant you were moving away so you wouldn't scare those people.”  Her eyes darted between both of mine, confusion and concern flickering in their gaze.  “Alexis, why did you say goodbye?"  Erica stepped closer to me, only to nearly slip down the windshield of the truck.  She glanced around quickly, searching for a way to get closer to me and still maintain the height she had.  Finding nothing, she turned back to me.  "I came back as quickly as I could! I wanted to talk with you the moment you put me down, but things got messy… You were going to leave me there?"

I wasn't sure what to say.  "You didn’t come back, and I just-  I couldn't ask you to stay with me,” I explained, “Not after last night."  Erica looked even more confused, so I continued.  "You said you only needed me to survive, but now that you have that whole town to keep you safe..  I mean, of course you want to be with people of your own kind, I get it.  It’s alright, Erica.  Don't worry about me.  You'll be safer with them."

Erica gave me a pitying glance.  "Look," she began, "In the short amount of time I've spent in that town, I've learned a bunch of things, and yeah, it is nice to be around others my own height.  And it's super safe, probably safer than I would be with you, out in the open.  Plus, I know a few people there.  Turns out they weren't taken after all," she shrugged.  "It’s basically the safehaven I’ve been wanting ever since I was first trapped in the city.”

Erica studied my expression closely before continuing.  “But when I had the chance to stay with them.. I stole a truck, drove out to the middle of nowhere, and found you.  Because honestly, who cares if you're ten feet taller than an office building?  I think that’s really fucking cool.  I'd choose your protection over theirs in a heartbeat, and I’d rather travel around fighting hazmat giants tooth and claw with you than hide under a rock with everyone else.  I finally figured it out, Alexis," she stated with unwavering confidence.  "It’s-  It’s been a long time coming, but I know for sure now.  If you’re really leaving, I want you to know.  What you do afterwards is entirely up to you."  

Erica stepped off the roof of the truck, across the hood, and onto my knee while I sat there, cross-legged.  I'd been leaning over with my head propped on my arm, and my arm propped on my leg.  This way, we were at least somewhat eye level.  Once she was balanced nicely, Erica strode up, lifted my chin off my hand, and brought my face to herself.  She looked at me head-on for a heartstopping moment.  Determination lit her eyes with such a fiery passion I was struck still.  Then Erica pulled me closer and planted a small kiss on my lips, binding us together for an immortal moment before shying away a few steps backward, her face flushed a rosey red.

"I don't know if you-  I mean-  I-I love you.. have loved you.  You don’t have to-” she stuttered, "I'msosorryIdidn'tmeantodothat."  Erica stepped backwards a bit more, her head tilted away from me in an attempt to hide her blushing expression.  “You don’t h-have to do anything in return, it’s.. I.. just wanted to…”  She cleared her throat, trying to back away, nearly falling headlong off my leg.

Dumbstruck, my thoughts only came in snippets of their usual size.  Holy shit.  This can't be real.  I love her.  She loves me too!  Why?  How?  Before Erica could back off completely, I swiftly scooped her up and kissed her in return, my lips accidentally covering her entire face.  I held Erica back a moment later, worried that I was suffocating her.  Scrutinizing her little expression, I found she seemed at once both shocked and ecstatically delighted.  Her jaw-dropped expression slowly melted into a radiating smile as she reached for my face again, so I kissed her over and over until she was breathless in my hands.  I peppered her entire body with kisses instead, afraid of accidentally hurting her in my excitement if I kissed her on her face.  

The unspoken words between us suddenly had no meaning.  Their weight lifted from me like bonds finally broken — a constrained creature no longer burdened by its chains.  

Once the euphoria died off, I carefully set Erica down beside me and lay back in the dirt in blissful disbelief.  Erica immediately lay down herself, chest heaving.  She laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all, and I chuckled along with her.  "Wow!" Erica exclaimed after my laughter faded to a delighted sigh, "I didn't think that would work!  I mean, I knew you'd come around to me wanting to stay with you, but I didn't think you would react so… well to.. the other part."  All I could do was nod, too choked up to say anything.  A few minutes ago, I thought we were saying goodbye.  "Now what?" I asked once I found my voice, turning my head to look over at her.

Erica sat up, "We do whatever we want," she answered happily.  "But first, let's go home."  "If that's what you call the few feet of mansion still standing,” I sneered, "then we better get started.  I don't even know how to get back."  I stood up and scanned the horizon; the sun was setting already.  "I think I know.  Let me show you the way."  Erica gestured for me to put my hand out for her, and I eagerly obliged.  She hoisted herself effortlessly over the side of my palm, falling happily onto it.  I grinned down at her, cupping my fingers slightly closer around her.  However, when I lifted her up and started walking, she stopped me.  

"Wait, wait, I've been wanting to try this for a while now, but I've never been able to ask you."  Erica slowly stood in my hand, using one of my fingers to balance herself as she got up.  "Can I sit up there?" she asked, pointing to my shoulder.  "That's not really safe," I noted, glancing at the small space beside me.  Erica grumbled, "Oh, come on.  I'll hold on to your shirt so I don't fall off.  I'll be fine."  After a few more pleas, I gave in and brought the edge of my hand up to my shoulder.  "Just don't hurt yourself," I sighed.  

Erica eagerly planted herself onto the middle of my shoulder, grabbing the fabric of my shirt like reins.  “Alright, that way home!  Let’s go!”  She pointed somewhere to my left, so I walked off in that direction.  However, it wasn’t long before Erica’s grip slipped from my collar.  At the last moment, she managed to grab the back of my shirt as she nearly fell over backwards with a little yelp.  “I told you this was a bad idea,” I said in a warning tone, straining to look backwards at her.  Reaching around my back, I picked her off my shirt and held her out in front of me.  Erica only crossed her arms in defiance and turned away.  "I'll get the hang of it eventually," she grumbled, "but I guess I can sit like this for now."

In the end, Erica rode in my hand yet again.  This time, she was comfortable enough to kneel right on my fingertips.  I had them slightly cupped, trying to ensure at least some safety, but Erica giddily leaned right over them, watching the scenery.  Annoyingly, she somehow evaded every bit of security I tried to give her — rather enthusiastically, too.  I was slightly convinced she put herself in danger just to give me something to save her from.  With one hand pointing out the directions home, and the other gripping my finger for balance, Erica and I headed home together.

Now that she’d confessed how she felt about me, Erica’s whole demeanor had changed.  She was no longer cautious with her actions around me, as if she’d been holding back just as much as I had.  Knowing that I had loved her secretly while she had secretly loved me brought out a new side of her I’d yet to witness.  Her fear of getting too close to me was completely unnecessary now as she threw caution to the wind and confessed what she wanted to tell me.  If only I had been that brave.

With Erica's surprisingly reliable navigation, I managed to make it back before nightfall like I'd hoped we would.  If it had gotten dark while we were still a ways out, I doubted we'd have found our way there.  With Erica safely set on the cliffside, I could finally eat.  My stomach had been growling the last stretch of the trip.  We'd joked about it for a bit before I realized my hunger was slightly more serious than I thought.  Once or twice I had to stop and close my eyes for a moment because my vision kept spinning.  Only then did I realize I hadn't eaten or drank anything all day.  No breakfast; I'd panicked over Erica's disappearance.  No lunch; I was busy waiting at the ravine.  And so far, no dinner either.  I quickly gathered up enough provisions for a decent meal and chowed down.  Erica could only watch me, baffled, as I proceeded to eat more food in that one meal than she could eat in a month.

"Shit," she laughed uneasily, "Why are you always starving?  It's kinda unsettling, really."  "I'm not always starving," I corrected her, "I literally haven't eaten all day.  And yesterday I didn't have lunch, either.  I have to ration this food somehow, or I won't have anything my size left to eat.  My house only has so much food that I can steal."  Erica thought for a moment while I finished scarfing down my buffet for one.  "How did you get my food?  Before we stole stuff from the houses?" Erica asked once I'd finished eating.  "I put mine the shrinking box like I used to do, why?"  "What if," Erica reasoned, "you just make a box that can grow my food to your size?  Or create a box that'll just make food."  

I stared at her blankly, "Do you think that'll work?"  "I don't see why it wouldn't work."  "I'd have to go to my world to make one, though.  Do you think you can hold out alright up there while I disappear for a bit?"  Erica nodded slowly, "Sure, just don't be gone too long, you know?"  I agreed and vanished to my world for a while, again surprising myself with how bright it was before remembering the time difference.

I worked quickly, knowing my father could come back down at any moment.  All I had to do was make a box big enough to fit food my size.  With the table completely barren, I had to search the basement for a bin of building blocks I could use to make it.  Eventually, I found a massive bin of miscellaneous bricks I could use.  It was smooth sailing from there.  Building a large rectangle was easy enough.  Most of the objects I made were box-shaped simply because it was the easiest shape to build.  

I brought my mismatched box into the zone of the weird energy, and concentrated on it; this was how I'd made the previous few objects.  When I put my hand on this box and ask it to produce any type of food, or drink, I added quickly, the item or items will appear instantly within this box.  There, that should do it.  It still looked like the same flimsy, mis-matched creation in my world, so I couldn’t immediately tell if it worked or not, but I would soon find out.  Just before I left, I grabbed two pillows and a blanket off the couch.  I was tired of sleeping on the ground with nothing but my clothes for warmth.

Back in the other-world, I appeared before the cliffside again, box in hand.  It was now a plastic gray rectangle, much more even and sturdy than what I made in my world, and one side was hollow and open to take food from.  "Well, here it is," I held it up for Erica to see after putting down my other belongings.  "Now let's see if it actually works."  I cleared my throat and placed the box on the ground with my hand still on its side.  "Box, make me a banana."  Nothing happened.  I sat on the ground, perplexed.  "What the hell," I heard Erica complain from the ledge above me, "I really thought that would work."  

Quickly, I ran through what I'd created it to do in my head.  I've noticed that when making these things, you have to get the wording as precise as you can or there will be a loophole of some kind.  Sure enough: When I put my hand on this box and ask it to produce any type of food…  I hadn't been specific enough.  I'd told the box to do something instead of asking it like I'd said when I created it.  See what I mean?  The universe always finds a loophole.  I grabbed the box again and asked, "Can you make me a banana?"  Just as I uttered the last syllable, a banana materialized in the box.  "Hey!  You got it to work!"  "Yeah, sometimes these things can be a bit finicky," I replied.

I wasn't really hungry after eating my other stolen goods, but I ate the fruit anyway, simply out of the satisfaction that my box worked.  Then, I settled down on the cliffside, placing my pillows onto the rocks before laying back.  It was blissfully cushy now.  The cliffside really was becoming more and more of a chair to me.  It was the same height, and now it had a similar softness too.  I was sure an actual chair would still be comfier, but I’d take what I could get.  

I sighed happily and watched the night sky.  It was slightly cloudy that night, and what might've been a pretty view was obscured by deep grey clouds that melted into black.  Something suddenly whacked my shoulder and I flinched in fright, but it was only Erica.  "Could you at least give me a warning next time you do that?"  I gave her a peeved look.  "I nearly flung you off."  "That would've been funny."  "No, that would've been stupid."  "Well it's a good thing you have such nerves of steel then, huh?"  Erica snuggled down into the same spot as the night before.  Her feet stretched lazily out down my shoulder, and her head rested halfway up my neck.  I tried to look at her through the corner of my vision, not daring to turn my head.  She seemed so damn comfortable.  Meanwhile, I was stuck with the bare minimum.

We sat together for a while, the two of us surviving out in the destruction of the old city.  I never even bothered to learn its name.  “Hey Erica?”  I felt her shift beneath my jaw, “Hmm?”  “What.. made you decide to come back for me?  How did you know you- you liked me?”  There was a light silence, but after such a heavy question, I couldn’t stand it.  “I’m just asking because…  Well, the whole reason I didn’t say anything was because I thought..  We’re from two different worlds, literally, and-”  “Stop, stop,” Erica told me, placing a hand lightly at my throat, which was right beside her.  “I don’t care where you come from.  I don’t think like that.  Us being friends was one of the best things that happened to me, so when you ran off, I slid back into my old habits.. then the hazmat giants came.. and then.. John.  In short, everything was kind of a melancholy downward spiral from the day you left.  And- And the more awfully I was treated, the more I wanted you back.”

Erica shuddered and I gently placed my hand on my shoulder beside her, assuring her that I was with her.  She gripped one of my fingers tightly to herself, then continued.  “That’s why I said all that stuff about how I wasn’t sure I wanted to be with you, because I wasn’t sure if I genuinely loved you all this time or if I was just desperate for someone to treat me decently for once.”

“And?” I replied nervously.  “And,” she repeated, dropping my finger and scooting closer to my neck.  “I found that it was a bit of both.  But when I was settled into the refugee camp in that mountain with everything I needed, yet still wanted you there, I realized that it was more than just trauma or survival.  I wanted you.”  A large grin stretched across my face and Erica laughed softly.  “Ok, so what’s your story?  I wasn’t going to confess anything because I thought there was no way in hell that you would think of me that way.  I mean.. last time we were together you didn’t exactly think of my kind as worth very much to you.”  

I sighed tiredly and my grin fell.  “There was a time and place where I didn’t think much of you, either,” I confessed, “Just like there was a time and a place where you thought I was a horrible human being, I’m sure.”  Erica nodded slowly.  “But that was.. five-ish years ago, I think.  I’ve learned since then that your kind is basically a smaller copy of mine.  Or, if you prefer, mine can be a larger copy of yours.”  

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I was thinking it.”  I chuckled, “I don’t really know what started it, actually.  From the very first time I saw you, I’d been attracted to you in some way.  Why else do you think I was so persistent in trying to help you out?  I was thrilled that you let me befriend you.  I think it must’ve been sometime around the day we stayed in and watched movies together when I started to feel.. different about you.  Anyways, it just kinda.. hit me.. a few weeks ago that I felt a bit more strongly towards you than I’d realized.  I’ve been keeping it to myself ever since.”

“Aww, I was wondering why you chose to mess with me and not literally anyone else.  If your methods weren’t a few steps away from psychotic, I’d have found it endearing.”  The frown returned to my face; Erica could feel it from the side.  “I was being sarcastic; don’t get too upset,” Erica assured me.  “I understand what you were trying to do for me, even if I don’t quite understand why you did it in that way.  Besides, that’s all in the past.  Like you said, it’s been five whole years; things have changed.  A lot of things have changed,” she reiterated, gesturing to the ruined landscape in front of us.  “So, we’ll start again again, with the truth this time?”  Erica nodded eagerly, burying her face in the side of my neck, “Yes, please.  I’ve only been daydreaming about that for the last four years.”  “Hey, me too.”

Twice I nearly drifted off right there, but I still refused to sleep with Erica so close.  It was too dangerous — even she had to realize that.  Eventually, I could hear light snoring to my left, signifying that Erica was down for the count.  I don't know how she can fall asleep there.  If it were me, I'd be terrified I'll roll off the shoulder's edge unconsciously.  

Sliding Erica into my hand, I sat up and searched for her sleeping bag again.  Just as I'd found it, slight movement brushed against my palm.  Looking down, I saw her staring up at me with wide eyes.  Then she yawned, and smiled at me sleepily.  I smiled softly back, setting her down gently by her things.  "Nooo," Erica grumbled as I released her.  "Just five, no, fifteen more minutes?  Please?"  I sighed, "Get some sleep, Erica.  I'll let you ride on my shoulder tomorrow, but I need rest."  She nodded tiredly and slid into bed.  "Goodnight."  I shook my head slightly in amusement and spread out the blanket and pillows I'd borrowed off the couch.  Today has to be my favorite day in the other-world so far.  Except for the kidnaping, but everything worked out in the end.  I think…

[neallo]

29 | she/they | follows from @blondiest

my caard

hi there! this is a compiled list of all my deathnote writing. this is a sideblog (i follow from @blondiest) and is also sometimes explicit. minors - please do not interact w/ explicit posts or fics.

ships i write for in practice: mello/near, matt/mello/near, matt/halle

ships i write for in theory: matt/light, halle/naomi, halle/takada

below is a list of fics i have posted, separated by completion status. i also sometimes share excerpts/snippets of my writing, which can be found under the my writing tag; answered asks can be found under asks; original posts can be found under neallopost. i am not always that good at tagging things unfortunately :-) but i am. trying <3

please see here for my ficlet masterpost for works under 1k that are not part of a larger universe!

complete:

hot soup on a cold day

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 5/5 | words: 15.6k | series [1/2]

“Roger,” Near says urgently, tapping the old man’s shoulder. “Roger, Mello needs another pillow.” Roger gives Near a questioning look, slight disapproval in his eyes “He’s not making me get him one,” Near clarifies. “Mello is asleep right now. He just doesn’t look comfortable, that’s all.” Roger looks like he’s about to protest, so Near adds— “And I have my mask, so I won’t get sick.” The headmaster sighs, pointing down the hallway towards the linen closet. Near retrieves the perfect pillow— not so old as to be sagging, but not so new as to be overly stiff. Once he props Mello’s head up better, gingerly moving the older boy’s head as he sleeps, he finds Roger again. “I think Mello’s room is too cold. Do you have a space heater I could use?” Roger massages his temples. “Ms. Peterson may have one in her classroom,” he replies / “Very well, I’ll ask her. Thank you, Roger.” The white-haired boy shuffles away, determined. He’s distantly aware that he's being a pest to Roger, but it's all in aid of a good cause. Mello is sick. Mello almost never gets sick, and Near is the expert on being sick, so Near is going to make sure Mello is as comfortable as possible.

hot tea on a cold night

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 800 | series [2/2]

Mello is half-asleep when it happens. He’s half-asleep, and he thinks Near is totally asleep, but then the younger boy wriggles in his arms, burrowing closer under the covers, and murmurs: “I love you.”

Minutes to Midnight (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

[part 2 of Time Together]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 3/3 | words: 14.8k

This is the only issue Near has with letting Mello do all their debriefings: it’s easy for Near to stare, undetected and uninterrupted, for a long, long time. In New York, he mitigates this by spreading out on the floor and surrounding himself with toys or cards or dice. Whatever he needs to do to occupy himself. When they’ve travelled for cases before – which isn’t common by any stretch of the imagination – Near has relied on the movements and sounds of their colleagues to pull his attention away instead. The squeak of Rester’s chair, the tapping of Gevanni’s polished shoe, the sound of Lidner shuffling through papers. He uses whatever he can to keep his eyes off Mello. Out of sight, out of mind. Right now, he’s out of luck.

it’s you and me, that’s my whole world

[part 1 of together (always)]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.5k

Once she reaches the first floor and steps out of the elevator, Near hears a voice floating down the hall. It’s a woman’s voice, so it must be Lidner, but the pitch of it and the cadence of speech seems painfully similar to the way Mello talked, even without being able to hear the actual words. The closer she gets, the more it sounds like her dead lover, and Near curses how cruel her mind’s tricks are. She has to grit her teeth and breathe in deep to get herself to push through the door into the main office, feeling almost nauseous with grief again already. A blonde woman in a red winter jacket stands with her back to Near, but she turns when the toy in Near’s hand clatters to the ground. Mello’s eyes are tired, underlined by dark circles, but she grins. “Hey, Near.”

i know i’m gonna lose you (but god, i don’t want to)

[part 2 of together (always)]

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.5k

Near’s bedroom— her tidy little suite in her untidy little makeshift headquarters in a high-rise hotel in Tokyo— is lit only by the shine of the city and the glow of the moon. Because the moon is full and because the city is bright, Mello can see her perfectly. Every little hair on her arms and legs catch the light as she sheds her soft, simple bra. The only thing Mello has taken off so far are her gloves. -- In which Mello rings in 2010 with some good old-fashioned lesbian sex and a minor emotional crisis. prequel to it's you and me, that's my whole world.

there's nothing i want but you

[part 1 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.5k

Though Near doesn’t really mind Mello’s tendency towards jealousy, he also doesn’t understand it. There’s no one in the world Near wants the way he wants Mello, no one who matters the way Mello does— he’s everything to Near. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous of anyone else. Near doesn’t get jealous of anyone else. Until, one day, he does.

nothing hurts like you do

[part 2 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.8k

Mello shoves him against the wall, his free hand moving from Near’s hair to the center of his chest as he holds the gun just inches from his forehead. He gives Near a once-over, quick, and at first Near thinks he hasn’t noticed anything amiss, but then an unkind smile unfurls on his face. “Hands up,” Mello says, grinning manically.

i want to hold you (hostage)

[part 3 of i want to hold you (hostage)]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 4/4 | words: 21.7k

Rico asks, casual, what Mello will want next, what he’ll aim for after he gets the notebook, and suddenly it’s like the ground has dropped out from underneath him, because the first thing that comes to mind is Near. His stomach sinks as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, fighting off imaginings both tender and cruel, furious with himself for being so weak-minded. Near, he thinks forcefully, is in the past. He isn’t an option for what’s to come— and even if he was, Mello wouldn’t want him. (He wouldn’t.) (He wouldn’t.) (God. He can’t even convince himself anymore.)

love enough to drown it out

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.7k

Even when Near is not himself, he’s still Mello’s.

my only one, my smoking gun

[part 1 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 4/4 | words: 3.3k

For as long as he can recall, he’s ached over Near. It wasn’t always like this, though; he didn’t realize he wanted Near until it was too late to actually have him. He should be grateful, really, because he’s been able to linger here after death, and that’s more than he deserves, but God, Mello would give anything to kiss him just once.

heaven is a place on earth with you

[part 2 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

There is no blood or body of Christ, no priest and no pews, but it’s here and now that Mello finally rediscovers a long-lost sliver of faith. Hands on Near’s hips, Mello lowers his face and presses his mouth to Near’s soft abdomen. “I love you,” he murmurs, head bowed and eyes shut as if in prayer.

replication in reverse

[part 3 of our love is god]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

Mello mumbles something into his neck, something to the effect of waiting until Near is ready for him to move, but Near only halfway registers it. Golden hair tickles his nose, and he pictures mitosis— prophase, metaphase, anaphase, telophase— then imagines cytokinesis in reverse. Two cells pushed together until, somehow, their membranes connect, two phospholipid bilayers self-arranging into one continuous structure, cytoplasms mingling. He swallows thickly and longs for something impossible.

starry eyes sparking up my darkest nights

[part 1 of you got your eyes from the stars]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 930

Near has a nightmare on the flight back to New York after the end of the Kira case; Mello, still tipsy off of the red wine they served in first class, is unexpectedly tender.

fireworks somewhere far away

[part 2 of you got your eyes from the stars]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2k

It’s the fourth of July. Or, rather, it’s still the fourth of July in the United States, which is where they live, but they’re in Madrid at the moment, so technically where they are it’s the fifth. It’s not hard math to figure out what time it is back home— it’s a little before six in the morning here, so it’ll be a little before midnight in New York. Somewhere on the West Coast or in the Rocky Mountains, though, there are fireworks going off. That’s what Near is thinking when Mello kisses her for the first time.

engaged

[part 1 of marital bliss]

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.4k

“So, like, I suddenly realized… Near is into me. Like, Near wants me.” He pauses as if to allow this to sink in, looking at Matt like this is still a groundbreaking revelation the second time around when it in fact was not even groundbreaking the first. Near’s crush has been obvious to literally everyone but Mello for the past ten years. “Yes. This surprised you. And also me, because I definitely did not know that Near was into you before you told me fifteen minutes ago.” Mello nods, satisfied, entirely missing Matt’s sarcasm, which might be for the best. “So, naturally, I slept with him.” “Naturally,” Matt says. Mello does not miss the sarcasm this time. “If you’re just going to be a judgmental bitch the whole time, I’m not going to explain it again. You should be smart enough to remember what I fucking said the first time anyway.” “No, yeah, I actually think most well-adjusted people would sleep with their sworn enemies the moment they find out they’re into them.” Matt smiles tightly. “It wasn’t the moment I found out,” Mello says petulantly. “I waited like, four hours.”

married

[part 2 of marital bliss]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3k

Being married to Mello is, Near finds, better than he could have ever imagined. For the last two months, every day has started the same way. He wakes up to the sound of their alarm, surrounded by Mello. Mello’s chest warm against his back, Mello’s breath tickling his neck, Mello’s arm curled around him, solid and sure. Near has to squirm out of his embrace to turn off the clock, and said squirming inevitably wakes Mello. By the time Near has silenced the alarm, his husband is propped up on one elbow, staring. “Get back here,” Mello always says, his voice coarse with sleep and low enough to make Near shiver.

it’s friday, i’m in love

[part 1 of (not so) casual sex]

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.7k

Mello abandons a night out in favor of seeing (and holding and kissing and sleeping beside) Near.

early arrival

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.5k

It’s one in the morning and Near is wide awake, talking to Mello in hushed tones as the other passengers sleep soundly around them. According to the small screen on the back of the seat in front of him, they’re more than halfway through the flight, but it’s far from almost-over— it will be another three hours before they touch down in London.

Distraction (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.9k

The small pout Near offers in response would, under normal circumstances, result in the rapid undoing of Mello’s resolve. Worse still is that Near has begun writhing in his lap; not quite grinding on him, but shifting his weight in a way that’s troublesome nonetheless. Mello huffs. Near is fully aware of what he’s doing. He knows the effect he has on Mello. He’s teasing him. If that’s how this is going to be, then perhaps Mello will do a little teasing of his own.

unknown caller (part 1 of unforeseen circumstances)

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 3.3k

“What are you wearing?” Near’s brow furrows in confusion. “What I always have worn.” “Mm. It’s summer, so— linen, right?” “Correct.” She wonders, then, if Mello asked the question to prompt Near to ask the same in return. Sometimes people do that. This is something she has learned since Mello left. “What are you wearing?” Near asks politely. “I am wearing,” Mello says, breathy, “black lace. It’s this— this fucking expensive set, you know— nice lingerie. I look good in it.” The description is extremely vague. Near does not know what nice lingerie looks like— she wears the same kind of cotton boyshort underwear every single day and a soft, thin bra. She also does not, honestly, know what Mello’s aim is in telling her this. It seems unlikely that she would call for the first time in five years to gloat about her finery, so there must be some kind of purpose to it, she just— “I’m touching myself,” Mello announces. Near drops the phone.

unexpected visitor (part 1 of unforeseen circumstances)

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 7.2k

By the time Mello makes her way to New York and into Near’s bedroom, she has both seriously pissed Near off (by using the murder notebook to kill half her organization) and permanently disfigured herself (by blowing up a building while she was still inside it). She’d imagined slightly rosier circumstances for taking Near’s virginity, but Mello is nothing if not adaptable. She’ll make do or die trying.

shot in the dark (collaboration with @empressofthewind)

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 8.2k

Mello’s posture changes, abrupt but liquid-smooth, shoulders squaring and spine straightening as he raises the gun until Near is staring down the barrel of it. Blood rushes in his ears, loud. Mello licks his lips. “Get up.”

something stronger than the drinks in the bar (matt/halle)

rating: M | category: F/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.3k

A former CIA agent and an exonerated felon walk into a hotel. There’s no punchline. They just fuck.

tobacco tongue

rating: M | category: F/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 800

When Halle wakes up, her resolve is stone: she is not going to fuck Matt again. -- In which Halle swears it's the last time (for the fifth time).

three part harmony

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 2/2 | words: 6.1k

The thing is, whether Mello wants to admit it or not, there’s clearly chemistry between him and Near. It’s not like what he and Matt have with one another; it’s more intense. A little volatile, maybe. It used to be almost painful for Matt to watch, because it made him feel excluded, but he thinks that was probably more a product of his own insecurities than anything else. Now, though... well. Now it kind of turns him on. The first time he realized that, it startled him, because he wasn't just turned on by Mello being in his element, staring intently at Near as the two of them talked over the details of a new case. No. Something about how Near was looking at Mello, the gleam in his eye, the serious set of his jaw— Alright. Matt has a type, okay? He doesn't know why freaky little geniuses do it for him, they just do. Mello probably broke his brain when they lost their virginity to each other in L.A. five years back. It's not Matt’s fault.

untouched

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.5k

The storm is the only reason Near is here, and the only reason Mello let him in. That’s what Mello is trying to tell himself, anyway. — In which an old habit turns into something new.

good boy

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 5.3k

Mello’s stare is warm and constant, and the comforting exhilaration of it builds and builds within Near until he feels like he may burst. There is something he wants to say to Mello, but he doesn’t know what it is. Before he can ever say anything at all, though, Mello stands to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. Before he goes, he gives Near two lists. One for the night. One for the next morning. Near always follows them to the letter. — In which Mello and Near form a dom-sub relationship centered entirely around shared meals and to-do lists.

THE END IS NEAR

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.7k

So here they are now, in the middle of the bible belt with a disposable camera and an unspoken agreement to ignore the elephant in the room. Or— elephants, plural, because there are a whole host of things they aren’t discussing. The Kira case is one, and maybe the biggest, but they also haven’t talked about Mello’s photo or the words on the back of it, and Near hasn’t dared to voice the question that he keeps asking himself: Why am I here?

better than him

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.2k

In which Mello thinks Near has a boyfriend, and Near thinks Mello has an infidelity kink.

to have & to hurt

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 7k

Five times Mello is harsh with Near, and one time he is very tender.

august 18th, 2010 (two-hundred days)

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.6k

Near is sitting in his office. He is sitting at his desk in his office, which is also Mello’s office, because they share one, now. Mello is under two meters away from him, sitting at his own desk and glaring at his backlit monitor like he wants to kill it. This has been their status quo for about seven months. Near knows the exact figure— two-hundred days— but he usually avoids acknowledging that he knows it, even in his own mind. Having this information on hand feels slightly illicit, because he knows the only reason he recalls the duration of their professional partnership with this degree of precision is because of what happened immediately before it began.

starving

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.7k

Near is hungry. No— not hungry. Near is famished. He’s starving. Mello can see it in the pronounced pallor of his face, the dullness of his eyes. In life, he could go for a day and a half without eating and barely notice. It wasn’t good for him, but he could do it without issue. In undeath, he is not so resilient.

clean cut (bleed slow)

[set in the universe of what doesn't kill me makes me want you more]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2k

The sting of alcohol is sharp on Mello’s split lip, but she suppresses the wince that threatens to surface. It’s bad enough that she lost her shit in front of Near; like hell she’ll let Near see her look weak, too.

a world transformed

[set in the universe of what doesn't kill me makes me want you more]

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 1.7k

In which a gift transforms the way Near understands the world.

a hard day's night

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2.5k

Near wakes to find himself in a soft, inky darkness, completely unable to move. His paralysis is not immediately noteworthy to him. At first, as he is rising from the depths of unconsciousness, it strikes him as quite natural. Comfortable, even. With his mind still half-blanketed by sleep, his thoughts slow and blurry, the weight bearing down on him feels almost like an embrace. This thought is what first brings his attention to the strangeness. Physical affection— physical contact, full-stop— is not part of his daily life. The only people who ever touch him are doctors, dentists, and Mello, though Mello only grabs him when he is about to walk through a puddle or into an obstacle, or, occasionally, when Mello is especially frustrated with him. No one embraces Near. -- In which Mello sleepily invades Near’s space, and Near puzzles through both what is happening and what to do about it.

the end of a long winter

rating: T | category: F/F | chapters: 1/1 | words: 2k

Five years after the end of their relationship, Matt visits Mello in Minneapolis and meets her not-so-new girlfriend, whose face is a lot more familiar than he’d been expecting.

Impetus

[a sequel to Impulse by @/empressofthewind]

Ten full days after Near had cruelly and callously broken Mello's heart over email— over email, for God's sake— Mello began to experience what could only have been demonic possession or divine inspiration. Or maybe that was just the whiskey and the wishing. -- In which Mello pines and plots to win Near back with a pizza and a few bad lies.

works in progress:

there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 6/7 | words: 21.6k

“Ah, good morning,” Near says, and solely from the look on his face Mello knows he is missing some key fucking information. “I thought maybe you had left.” Mello shakes his head. He’s somewhat distracted by the fact that he still can’t tell if Near is naked; he’s shirtless, though, and that’s already ten times more of Near’s skin than Mello has ever seen before. Or, it’s more than he can recall seeing, anyways. And now Mello can’t stop staring at his chest. It’s so stupid, because Near is thin and scrawny and all pasty but Mello cannot tear his eyes away anyways— “So—” Mello’s voice fucking cracks as he finally manages to start speaking, a clear sign that some higher power is out to get him. He presses onwards anyways. “So, last night was…” He trails off, not even sure how he wants to finish the sentence, or if he wants to finish it at all. Near brings a pale hand to his hair and idly twirls a strand “Surprising,” Near completes the thought before glancing away. “But… not entirely unpleasant.” — In which Mello wakes up in Near’s bed after a night out and arrives at a wildly incorrect conclusion regarding the events that landed him there.

bury us both

rating: E | category: F/F | chapters: 12/15 | words: 23.4k

Mello is demonstrably capable of killing, and has perhaps more reason to want Near dead than anyone else on the face of the earth. They were once rivals, and Near knows a fragment of that resentment lingers even now. She is also likely the only person who could successfully bring Mello to justice, so her very existence is a threat to Mello’s, in a sense. If that weren’t enough, there is the fact that Mello could make a fortune, too, were she to kill Near. There are no shortage of people who would pay a handsome sum to see L’s head on a platter. And it would be so simple for her to do it, so easy. She’s had countless opportunities— the two of them alone, Near in all kinds of vulnerable positions, any number of potentially deadly weapons within reach— but she’s never taken one. Despite having every possible motive and every possible chance, Mello has not killed her. On more than one occasion, she’s even protected Near. This is how she knows Mello loves her in her way, even if she has not said it aloud. Even if it isn’t enough to make her stay. -- Mello and Near through the years, in love and in agony.

what doesn't kill me makes me want you more

rating: M | category: F/F | chapters: 3/? | words: 6.3k

“Poor Near,” Mello says, stepping closer and pulling Near’s head back further, tilting her face up as Mello cages her against the wall. “How long have you liked me?” Near’s heart is kicking against her ribcage so hard it almost hurts, and her ears are burning with embarrassment. She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to hold the blonde’s gaze. “Mello, I...” she tries to speak, hoarse. “Has it been months?” Mello asks, her voice getting closer as Near feels her lean down. She braves a glimpse through her lashes and watches as Mello bends her head to brush her cheek against Near’s, putting her lips next to Near’s ear. “Years, maybe?” The older girl teases. Near finds it in herself to squeak out a “yes,” and almost jumps at Mello’s sharp intake of breath. “Years,” Mello marvels.

all’s fair in love and war (and this is both)

rating: T | category: M/M | chapters: 3/4 | words: 15.1k

Near has Mello under siege, dragging him into a battle of wits, strategy, and stealth, one that has him in a state of constant vigilance, ever-ready for an attack. With his dignity and his ego on the line, Mello throws himself head-first into psychological warfare against his longtime rival, trying any tactic he can to help him turn the tide in his favor. The game is as complex and mind-bending as four-dimensional chess, and Mello has to think twenty moves ahead just to keep up, but he’ll be damned before losing to Near at this. Or: Near accidentally gaslights Mello into being his boyfriend, and Mello does Olympic-level mental gymnastics in order to read Near’s actions as sinister.

an unusual proposal

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 2/? | words: 4.5k

“So,” Mello says. “What do you think?” Near scrutinizes his rival. Mello fidgets with the chain attached to his pants, seemingly anxious but still gravely serious. The proposal is… unconventional, to say the least, and logistically rather complicated— there are at least four-dozen things that could go wrong, and that’s just off the top of his head. It won’t be easy. His decision, though, is easy. He does not want Mello to die, and this, strange as it may be, seems like the best way to protect him. “Yes,” Near says. “I’ll do it.”

love chained

[part 2 of (not so) casual sex]

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 1/? | words: 4.7k

Against his will, his mind momentarily drifts to Near. He thinks about how Near gets chilled if he isn’t held close enough after he’s been fucked, and how perfectly his body fits against Mello’s own, how comfortable it is to curl around him. It never really bugs him that Near wants to be close after sex. There’s a sort of irresistibility to him, actually, that pulls Mello in— his skin damp and flushed, his breaths uneven, his limbs slack in the aftermath of his orgasm. Near smells kind of nice even when he’s all sweaty, and he makes this happy little sound when Mello’s face finds its way into the crook of his neck, and he’s so quiet and still when he falls asleep that it somehow soothes Mello into slumber, too. God damn it. At the end of the day, this is his problem. He shouldn’t have thoughts this fond about Near; it’s weird, and not at all casual, and if he lets it continue he’s going to completely wreck what they have.

15 Totally Chill Ways to Flirt With Your Crush

rating: M | category: M/M | chapters: 2/? | words: 3.8k

He scanned through the table of contents. Hot Trends to Try This Summer. 20 Best Affordable Lip Glosses. How to Take Care of Your Mental Health in College. None of these were right. Near was not interested in fashion, suspected lip gloss would be unpleasant to him from a sensory perspective, and was already the picture of excellent mental health. He kept searching, a small frown on his face, until— lo and behold— he found the page number he was looking for and flipped to the article that would, he assumed, completely change his life: 15 Totally Chill Ways to Flirt With Your Crush.

faded to oblivion

rating: E | category: F/M | chapters: 2/? | words: 3.6k

When Near phoned and asked to see him, he had a few vague guesses as to what she might need from him. This was not on the list.

a game of chance

rating: E | category: M/M | chapters: 3/4 | words: 4.7k

“Um.” Mello wrinkles his nose at the objects in his palm. “What’s the point of this again?” They are standing in the living room of their shared apartment, and also possibly on the precipice of a new and thrilling chapter of their relationship, though Mello is—by design— unaware of this latter detail. — In which Near uses a special set of dice to shift the tides of his relationship with Mello.

[sonderinghiraeth]

Who We Are || Loki/Reader Chapter Three

A lot of things change in your life, but the bar never fails to stay the same.

Niall's was oddly quiet tonight with no sign of live music or open mic. Only the buzzing of neon lights and the low tone of random Irish blues melodied your ears when you entered. A few regulars eyed you when you entered, but soon went back to their drinks when you gave them a little wave. It was abnormal for you to come to the bar alone. You always had Lauren or another friend in tow with you to walk each other home. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.

You took a seat at the bar, the bartender greeting you with a smile.

"Look who's back, it's only Monday." He commented, already pulling out a glass from the cooler.

"Cosmopolitan. It's already been a long week." You muttered, brushing your hair back.

"Oh really? How so, dig in." The bartender, whose name was Andy, urged you.

Andy was a genuine character. He went to Columbia University with a major in Business, and that's all you had ever got out of him.

"Got this guy who's being rather intrusive in my life." You attempted to be as vague as possible, resting your chin in your hand. Your thoughts lingered back to the raven-haired God who was more than likely tearing your apartment to shreds at this very moment.

You dreaded going to classes tomorrow. It would just be another bicker-fest that would lead to a rather threatening and arousing altercation between the two of you.

"Need me to take care of him?" Andy partly joked, but you knew he would be serious if you asked.

You laughed, shaking your head. "It's nothing that serious." You lied. "He just gets into my business way too much, and I don't know how to say no to him."

"You've always had problems with turning stuff down." He mentioned, handing you your cosmo.

You sighed in relief, squeezing in the lime and taking a rather big swig of the glamorized vodka cranberry.

"I know, but this guy is different. He just knows how to press my buttons in all the worst ways."

"Sounds like you're in love."

You gagged, swiveling in your barstool. "No, I am far from it."

Andy laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Suit yourself."

You took another swig of your cocktail, predicting you would already be ordering another. You still weren't sure how to go about telling anyone. Soon, Lauren and Kayden would try to drag you over to the frats, or you would have to go to work or school, and what if he showed up? Word would spread like wildfire among dead timber that Loki was here, and he was in your apartment of all places.

"Well if it isn't cowgirl."

Your eyes practically rolled into your brain when you heard those words, knowing exactly who was coming to burden your already terrible no-good night.

Two men crowded around you, sitting at the barstools on either side of you. You never bothered to remember their names, but they were regulars to Niall's, much to your dismay. They had made multiple pitiful and creepy attempts to try and get you to go home with either of them.

"We haven't seen you in a while, where have you been?" The man to your left mentioned, a Pabst Blue Ribbon in hand.

"Actively avoiding you." You retorted.

"Oh, so much for that southern hospitality." The one to your right teased.

"Leave her alone." Andy piped up, polishing a draft glass. "She's stated too many times that she has no interest in the two of you."

"Oh come on, she's our cowgirl!" The one to your left finished his draft, eyeing your drink.

You quickly finished it, passing it back to Andy. "Might as well have another if these two are going to pester my one moment of peace."

"One moment of peace?" The right quirked an eyebrow, leaning onto the bar.

"Yes, my life is busy. I don't waste it flirting with men at bars." You quipped, hurriedly downing the second Cosmopolitan that Andy handed over to you.

"Flirting with you isn't a waste. I can be your cowboy, and what's that one song? Save a horse, ride a cowboy."

You wanted to gag, taking a look at Andy that screamed 'Please get them to leave'.

"Okay, you're crossing the line of harassment, boys. I'm not afraid to boot you again." Andy threatened, making his way around the counter to the two of them.

They both burst into a fit of excuses and pleas, waving their arms in all different kinds of gestures. "Oh c'mon! We haven't seen her in forever!" The shorter one exclaimed as Andy gestured them to the door. "We were just teasing her, she takes things too literally!"

"You can see her again another night. Go home." Andy shooed them all the way to the door, garnering a good bit of attention from other customers at the bar.

You wanted to shove your face into your arms and scream. You couldn't go home to peace and quiet, and the bar wasn't any better. You had nowhere to escape yourself until Loki left.

"I'm sorry," Andy called your name, walking back around the counter. "How about a glass of wine? If you have a third cosmo this fast I'm afraid I won't be able to let you leave for a while."

You sighed, opting to lean your arm onto the counter. "Just do a light Daiquiri."

He nodded, turning around and prepping the blender for your cocktail.

"So this guy, is he in college with you?" Andy tried another attempt at casual conversation, but it really just stirred more anxiety within you. You hated white lying.

"No, I just met him out in public." You wanted to keep it as vague as possible, tracing the rim of your martini glass.

"That's a red flag for New York."

You snorted, trading your martini glass in for your Daiquiri.

"How was your hometown?"

You cringed, taking a sip. "Eh, I don't wanna talk about it."

"You're being quiet. You're usually bursting at the seams to tell me all the details." Andy mentioned, leaning on the counter. "I'm not pushing, but I won't judge."

You smiled, already halfway done with your drink. If it were anywhere else someone would have guessed you were pregaming. "It's different this time. Let it muddle for a while and then I'll tell you."

"If you insist. I'll put all this on your tab." He nodded, walking away to assist another customer. Finally, some quiet.

Your mind wandered to what Loki could be doing right now. You prayed that when you came home everything would still be in one piece. In reality, he was probably digging through all of your dresser drawers and kitchen cabinets.

Why you?

It could have been in Colorado, Texas, Alaska, or even North Carolina. It could have been some old man who would have reluctantly taught him the ways of the world to give him comfort in his lonesomeness. It could have been a bimbo that would have gladly worshipped at his feet and catered to his every whim. No, it was your sorry sap self that he chose to approach.

Stop.

You couldn't. You hated that Loki knew how to get under your skin so easily, even if he was the god of it. It was also the fact that your body involuntarily responded to him that angered you even more. No man had ever managed to wrap you around their finger in months like he had in one day.

You finished your Daiquiri, slowly standing up from your barstool to pretend you were sober. You knew you weren't, you were spiraling.

"Good night, Andy." You called to him, waving as you put all of your concentration on walking straight until you got to the outside.

"Have a good night." He called after you, but you were still too busy focusing on your stance.

Once out of the bar, you let out an audible sigh of relief and slouched over. Unfortunately for you, you had barely made it a couple of feet before far too familiar voices pierced your ears once more.

"Cowgirl! We've been waiting for you!" The two of them cooed, and your better judgment told you to go into the bar and ask for Andy to walk you home, but the fightin' side of you screamed to tough it out and just get home.

"Then you've been waiting for nothing." You retorted, hurriedly heading in the direction of your apartment. You stumbled, cursing to yourself.

"Come on, just once. We would love to see how cute you've dolled up your place. We know you have the best sense of fashion just by the look of you." One of them purred. Again, there was one on each side of you as you walked.

"Leave me alone." Your voice faltered, causing both of them to laugh.

"If we wanted to, we could whisk you away right now. It wouldn't be that hard." One of them grabbed your hand, pulling you to the side.

"Stop." You attempted to pull your hand away, but his grip was tighter than expected.

"Come on, just one kiss." The other one grabbed onto your other hand, causing you to duck away from the both of them.

"No." You stepped back, stumbling over a trash bag on the sidewalk. The man to the right of you caught you by the armpits.

"Looks like she's too drunk to stand, we better take you home." The other teased. lifting you back to your feet.

"Stop, I'll call Loki." You slurred, forgetting the aspect that you had a tendency to become twice as drunk once the liquor in your system moved around.

"Loki? She really is drunk, Chandler. She's blackout."

You cursed at them, or at least you thought you did. Now that you think about it, maybe you should have brought Loki along.

In the midst of their blurred muttering, you could make out short phrases such as "Let's just do it here really fast" and "Dude she won't remember by morning". You really needed to stop getting so drunk by yourself.

"You called?"

You felt the two pairs of hands let go of you, but they hadn't run away.

"Hey! Let go of me!"

You managed to look up through your blurry vision, blinking away the drowsiness as you made out a third figure among the two troublemakers. You sighed in relief, assuming that Andy had heard the three of you bickering outside of the bar.

The third figure lifted one of the men up by the collar, pulling him close. "Get near her again and I will have your head or worse. Do you understand? I will pull you apart limb by limb until you are nothing but a head." The voice was much lower than Andy's, you made another poor attempt to focus your eyes. You currently had the vision of a housefly.

You finally came to the realization that the figure in front of you possessed horns. Oh, the actual devil had come to take you now. How did this keep happening to you?

The figure slammed the man to the asphalt beside you, the other haphazardly helped him up as they both took off running down the alleyway to your left.

That left just you and the devil.

"You won't be going anywhere by yourself anytime soon." The voice became more familiar to your ears as it approached closer. You glanced up, realizing who had unlikely come to your rescue.

Loki scooped you into one of his arms, helping you stumble along the sidewalk towards your apartment.

"I hadn't realized that you're such a hot commodity." He commented, finally taking you into both arms to carry you the rest of the way. He smelled like your body wash.

"That's the nicest thing you've said to me all day." You slurred, lolling your head back in his arms.

"Don't expect much more."

You felt the leverage of going up the stairs, digging your face into Loki's arms to prepare yourself for the blinding light of the lobby way.

"I didn't expect to get this drunk. I was scared they were going to spike my drink, so I drank fast." You poorly ground out an excuse for him, like he even needed one.

"Something tells me you said the same thing last night when you were drunker than Stark."

"I wasn't that drunk."

"Your actions spoke otherwise."

You heard the jiggle of your apartment door. Had you really made it all the way up the elevator without even noticing? You just kept your head limp, resting in Loki's arms.

"Do you do this every night?" The starch of your couch welcomed you. You shook your head.

"Just loving being back in New York." You let your head hit the cushion, sinking all the way into the throw pillow.

Silence lingered, and finally, your thoughts breached from your mind. "You could've left me there to die and you would have had this apartment all to yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous, I still need a maid." You felt Loki's weight down on the other side of the couch.

If you were sober, you would have cussed him. You laughed instead. "I will not be your maid. I will hardly be your roommate."

"We will see."

A beat.

"Why do you care so much about my family?"

Your eyes were closed, but you still wanted to talk to him while he was open to conversation.

"Family is important."

"What is left of my family is lonesome. None of them view the world the same as me."

"I can understand that. Rest now."

"You wouldn't have a clue. You're a God."

You felt a throw blanket toss over you, and that was all it took for you to welcome your drunken sleep.

-

The morning sun never came.

You blinked your eyes open, putting your weight on one hand to lift yourself up.

You glanced around the living room, catching sight of one of your throw blankets duct-taped to the upper sill of the window, shielding you from the light.

Your memory of last night was murky. You could hardly remember the exact timeline of events that went down. You remember those two assholes, and you remember being picked up by Loki.

"She stubbornly lives to see another day." Loki's voice came from the right of you. You turned to see Loki lounging upon your loveseat with your copy of Jane Eyre in hand.

You groaned, falling back onto the couch. "Every time I get drunk I do so in hopes that you were just some nightmare."

Loki stifled a snicker. "It is some people's grandest dream to serve me."

"Those people must live low lives." You muttered, reaching for the glass of water on the coffee table and the bottle of NSAIDs.

"You're welcome." Loki stood up and headed into the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee. "You're a spoiled brat."

"Thanks." You called after him, taking two pills followed by a huge gulp of water. You finished the glass in three sips.

"What time is it?" You felt around for your phone, finally standing up to hear the satisfying crack of your joints.

"It is 9 a.m."

"I have to go to class."

"Then I suppose I will be attending."

"You will not be attending. Do you know how fast news would spread that you were still in New York if you went to a college campus?"

"How can I trust you will not get belligerently drunk on the way back? You have a horrid habit."

"I won't get drunk in the dead middle of the day. You can't come to class with me."

You trotted off down the hall, closing the door to your bedroom and digging through your dresser drawers to find an appropriate outfit.

"What of last night?" Loki asked through the door.

You paused, grunting to yourself as you slid on a pair of jeans. "What of it?"

"I saved your life."

"You saved my life to benefit yourself, but if you're looking for a thank you, then thank you."

Once dressed, you opened the door to your bedroom and went to the bathroom to freshen up your hygiene. Loki followed in your wake.

"I demand you stay here."

You laughed through your toothbrush, almost coughing on the toothpaste.

"I demand you stay here!"

You spit out all of the paste in your mouth, washing it out and putting your toothbrush back in its holder. "No."

"No?"

"No. I am going to class. My future is in my hands and I don't foresee you handing me a diploma." You went back into your bedroom to look for your backpack.

"What are you even studying?"

"Communications. I'm going to be a speech writer or an editor." You slung your backpack around your shoulder and headed towards the door with your keys and wallet in hand.

Loki yelled your name, grabbing your wrist as your other reached to pull the doorknob. "If you do not stay here then there will be consequences. I must be tended to."

"Are you scared to be by yourself or something?" A hint of a smirk pulled at your lips, slowly letting go of the knob.

"No, you are my servant. You've already proven to be a sorry excuse for one, but that does not mean I won't exert my force to mold you into a good one." He threatened.

"Your Highness, I suggest you let go of me before I uppercut that chin of yours." You retorted, snatching your hand back from him.

Loki snatched it back, dragging you dangerously close to him. You could feel his hot breath bristle through the strands of your hair. "That mouth is going to get you into a world of trouble."

Your eyes widened, and your brain told you to take a step back, but you were frozen in your current stance. "Let go of me." Your voice was weaker than intended.

Loki took his other hand to clamp upon your neck, thumbing around your jugular. "I will not hesitate to carve a piece out of that neck of yours." He mocked your threat, then abruptly let go of you.

"Go to this 'class' then return to me immediately. You would be ever the wiser to follow my commands you brat."

He slammed the door behind you, leaving you to the screaming of your own thoughts in the hallway.

Your foresight is impeccable.

Classes made your brain wrack more than you would like to admit.

It was only two days of living with Loki and he was already all you could think about. Every single possibility ran through your head on what could possibly happen next.

Even when Lauren and Kayden tried to strike up a conversation you were short and the tone that cinched your voice was more than evident. You knew the topic was about to loop around when the two gave each other that look.

"Okay, listen-" Lauren began, but Kayden interjected. "Did something happen at home?"

You shook from your thoughts, whispering just below the voice of the professor. "No, it's just stressful being back."

"Come on, we know that's not it. You love New York." Lauren sloppily wrote down a note off the projector screen.

"Just because I love New York doesn't mean I can't be stressed with getting used to the busy schedule again. The online work was easy."

"All of your classes but two are online anyways." Lauren commented.

Kayden smirked at Lauren. "Did you meet somebody? You only get this quiet when you have a crush."

You pretended to gag, shaking your head. "No, no crush. Far from it."

"Oh, but there is somebody."

Your blood pressure spiked, and your heart rate picked up at Lauren's words. What were you to say? Usually, you tell them everything under the moon. They would know something is up if you were secretive about this one thing. They would find a way to find out. Should you tell them? Would it be easier to just tell them instead of them finding out on their own?

Horror peeled through your veins thinking about what could possibly unfold if they showed up at your apartment unannounced. Loki was not about to kill your friends.

"Guys if I tell you you have to pinky promise this with like a double stamp that you will tell no one, you won't freak out, and you will be as open-minded and understanding as you possibly can."

"God I hope you're not fucking your cousin."

Lauren shoved Kayden, who contained her fit of giggles. "We triple promise."

You sighed, shoving your face into your hands. Here goes nothing.

"So like, that Loki guy is living in my apartment right now."

The two of them fell silent. Their expressions dropped to a contortion of equal amounts of confusion and horror.

"I'm sorry, you mean the guy who you literally left home to escape?" Lauren leaned over the table, the conversation became much more quiet. "You're joking."

"Yeah, him."

"How? Was he there when you came home? Did he rob you? Threaten you? I thought he was arrested!" Lauren shushed Kayden.

"He was arrested, and then he went home his dad or something banished him back down here without his powers. So he's like, a wimp right now." You wouldn't exactly say a wimp could choke you out with one hand, but you had to play this off like it was no big deal as much as you possibly could. "He stopped me on my way home and uhh.. I was drunk. I didn't really know what I was doing."

"So this God of mortal terror is staying in your apartment because you got drunk."

You sighed in exasperation. It sounded much more embarrassing aloud. "Yeah,"

"Oh my god. Oh my god. How are you not dead?!"

"He claims he wants me as his maid and upkeep. He's actually kind of hospitable in a really weird way. You gotta remember he's without his powers." You couldn't believe you were defending him right now.

"Does your mom know?"

"No, and she will not know."

They both quietly groaned your name, and you groaned back at them.

"Are you going to call the police?"

"No! I'm not getting involved in all that! I'd rather reluctantly have him sleep in the guest bedroom for now until I figure out what to do."

"Then where are we going to sleep after the frats?!" Kayden pouted.

"On the couch." You simply replied.

With that, class was over and you hadn't paid a lick of attention. All of the other students around the three of you rose and headed out the doorway.

You awkwardly stood up, your backpack around your shoulder. "So, guys. I'll see you around. You're still welcome to come over, I guess. I know this is a lot."

As you walked past the professor, she called your name.

"It's good to see you in class again! Don't forget next week we'll be having a career seminar with a few agents from SHIELD."

Her expression was chipper as ever, and you prayed she couldn't see the sour crinkle in your nose. You were about to be face to face talking to SHIELD agents next week who probably already knew your name, age, social security number, oh, and that a hell-raising God was squatting in your apartment. How many times were you going to be forced into this treacherous cycle?

"Oh yeah! I'll be there, thanks for reminding me!"

This couldn't possibly get any worse.

[epicwinsft]

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[a-drabble-a-dray]

Veilsmoke, Prologue Chapter #2: An Early Morning.

“Volk!” Scarlet strode in through the door, slamming a pile of documents down on her desk.

The office was perfectly silent. Owing to its previous purpose, the entire building had downright impressive acoustics, which should’ve allowed Scarlet to at least hear her associate walking down the stairs from the third floor.

Asleep. She sighed, stepping out into the lobby. Her shoes tapped rhythmically on the polished hardwood floor, melodic thumps tracing her path as she hovered between the various shelves and bookcases, organizing Volk’s usual mess. The cups from last night still sat on the central table rectangular, lowered to be level with the couches facing it on either side. 

Scarlet took the cups, bringing them over to their proper place in the nearby break room– And there, her real quarry was found. On the counter, a half-full coffeepot sat, untended since last night. It was cold. Bitter. Subpar at best.

Scarlet did not hesitate.

A moment later, she came to, blinking as she stared at her reflection in the bottom of her cup. She shook her head, bitterness clearing up her mind even before the caffeine began taking effect. 

She quickly set aside the various misplaced cups by the counter, and double-checked to make sure the rest of the room was in order. A moment later, she rushed across the lobby and back to her office, carefully lifting the large corkboard on the far wall and flipping it around to its other side– Which contained a map of Saint Roche City.

Retrieving a collection of colored thumbtacks from one of her drawers, she returned to the pile of police reports she’d just placed, beginning to re-organize her thoughts.

Disappearances in black. She spread the pins evenly throughout the entire map.

Drownings in blue. The pins dotted the eastern harbor, with a few landing on the two rivers dividing the city, and one or two pointing to private pools.

Shootings in red. Their distribution coincided more closely with population density, Scarlet carefully fitting multiple thumbtacks in certain downtown alleyways.

Stabbings in orange. Those followed the previous pattern, though she pondered for a second, noticing the strange density of stabbings in the upper-class west side– Even as little to no shootings occurred there.

Diseases in purple. The even distribution bent heavily towards the east of downtown– The old city, where her own headquarters sat. She took a moment to hope no occupied buildings nearby still had asbestos.

Accidents in yellow. Unsurprisingly, the industrial areas past the southern river bore the majority of pins. The singular pin sitting in the university campus to the North, however, made her a bit ill, knowing the body count of the single accident.

Poisonings in green. She shuffled through the last few papers, locating the crime scene and pinning it on the map before moving on to the next, meditatively repeating the motion– Until she paused. The scattered green pins around the map were one thing, but the densely-packed ring of green sitting in the northern old city confirmed the suspicions she’d lost sleep over.

Jackpot.

Finally, as she sat down on her desk, the telltale sound of bare footsteps echoed faintly. She didn’t bother standing up to greet its source, instead simply stretching her arms, feeling the tension in her shoulders after the long night.

The office door opened after a long moment. Volk peered in, dressed in a loose-fitting top and low-hanging pants, still looking half-unconscious– But still having hair neat enough to make it obvious he brushed it the moment he woke up. “...Wiped your shoes?”

“Of course.” She scoffed, leaning back. “Lectures put me to sleep.”

“Hmph.” His expression softened, offering a tired semblance of a smile. “Good morning, Scarlet.”

“‘Morning. How’re you doing?” She returned the smile, enjoying the pleasantries before she dragged him out for the day.

“Missing the food coma, honestly.” He sighed, drowsily scratching his exposed stomach. “...You?”

“Still sore from the heels.” She grumbled, standing up off the desk.

“...Training, then?” He stepped away from the door, glancing at the pin-covered map.

“Mhm.” She stretched an arm, bringing her elbow over her head. “Figured I’d wait for you to wake up.”

“Oh.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “...Oddly generous of you.”

“I’m just like that.” She shrugged, walking past him and towards the back door in the lobby.

“...Scarlet.” He imposed. “We’re not working today.”

“Oh, really?” She smirked. “We’ll see.”

She slipped through the door, and out towards the back of the building.

—

Scarlet carefully pulled the cover off the sandbag. The mass of magnetic sand easily retained its shape, though it was always worrying to use it. The self-regrouping material at least meant she wouldn’t have to clean up afterwards.

She took a step back, tying her hair in a high ponytail and kicking off her shoes towards a corner. The small room used to be a concert space, and as such had the walls and floor especially reinforced. Eventually, its size made it perfect for training after the agency was established.

The small window on the far side of the room shone through, sun reflecting off the glittering sand. The light in her eyes, at least, had Scarlet stop reminiscing long enough to move.

Her first motion, as always, was a straight punch, delivered with purpose to the top of the sand pile. The impact was softened by the material, crunching satisfyingly under pressure, and slowly starting to reform as soon as she pulled her fist back.

Another punch, from her other hand, hit the side of the grayish, amorphous dummy. A series of alternated jabs served to compress the sand, which led to a left-side uppercut as the first move to break off a piece.

The chunk of sand flew through the air, splatting unceremoniously on the mat-covered floor. Scarlet paused just long enough to watch the scattered powder begin returning to its mass, before she switched gears. 

Pulling her arms back into a guarding stance, she bounced from side to side on her feet, working out the soreness from yesterday with a series of kicks. Repeated lateral strikes ran up and down the target’s height, before switching sides; frontal kicks caused the whole dummy to partially collapse into a lean, only for a spin-kick from the back to straighten it back up.

Soon, she was practicing landing a whipping motion once more. Her foot landed, over and over, on the side of the dummy, sinking into the softened sand. Each time, she paused and focused, envisioning the particular flow of strength she needed to harness.

She stepped forward, breaths steadying. The target was already softened from the blows, and simple impact wouldn’t do much to it. Scarlet shifted her stance, pulling her right leg back, carefully adjusting her weight distribution– And then letting it loose, snapping around as her leg shot forward, carrying the momentum of her spin as she concentrated it in one spot.

Her foot connected with the sand. A split second later, the other side of the pile burst out violently, force carried through the full width of the dummy.

She stepped back, satisfied, barely even bothered by the fact she immediately stumbled onto the floor as her legs gave way after the exercise.

She sat there for a second, breaths heavy, sweat dripping off her chin and onto her white shirt, feeling the well-worked muscles bulging through her skin and twitching with pain.

She couldn’t help but giggle to herself as she stumbled out of the room, yelling out at the stairs leading to the residence above. “Volk! The shower had better be free!”

She needed to get ready. There was work to be done today, after all.

[xtruss]

The Growing Peril of National Conservatism! It’s Dangerous and It’s Spreading. Liberals Need to Find a Way to Stop It

— February 15th 2024 | Leader | The Right

Image Credit: Pete Ryan

In the 1980s Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher built a new conservatism around markets and freedom. Today Donald Trump, Viktor Orban and a motley crew of Western politicians have demolished that orthodoxy, constructing in its place a statist, “anti-woke” conservatism that puts national sovereignty before the individual. These national conservatives are increasingly part of a global movement with its own networks of thinkers and leaders bound by a common ideology. They sense that they own conservatism now—and they may be right.

Despite its name, national conservatism could not be more different from the ideas of Reagan and Thatcher. Rather than being sceptical of big government, national conservatives think ordinary people are beset by impersonal global forces and that the state is their saviour. Unlike Reagan and Thatcher, they hate pooling sovereignty in multilateral organisations, they suspect free markets of being rigged by the elites and they are hostile to migration. They despise pluralism, especially the multicultural sort. National conservatives are obsessed with dismantling institutions they think are tainted by wokeness and globalism.

Instead of a sunny belief in progress, national conservatives are seized by declinism. William Buckley, a thinker of the old school, once quipped that “A conservative is someone who stands athwart history, yelling stop.” By comparison, national conservatives are revolutionaries. They do not see the West as the shining city on the hill, but as Rome before the fall—decadent, depraved and about to collapse amid a barbarian invasion. Not content with resisting progress, they also want to destroy classical liberalism.

Some people expect all this to blow over. National conservatives are too incoherent to pose a threat, they say. Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s prime minister, supports Ukraine; Mr Orban has a soft spot for Russia. The Polish Law and Justice party (pis) is anti-gay; in France Marine Le Pen is permissive. Besides, the obsession with national sovereignty would make people worse off, as trade collapses, economic growth stalls and civil rights are curtailed. Voters would surely choose to restore the world liberalism made.

That view is unforgivably complacent. National conservatism is the politics of grievance: if policies lead to bad outcomes, its leaders will shift the blame onto globalists and immigrants and claim this only proves how much is wrong with the world. For all their contradictions, national conservatives have been able to unite around their hostility towards common enemies, including migrants (especially Muslims), globalists and all their supposed abettors. Nine months before America’s election, Mr Trump is already undermining nato.

National conservatives also deserve to be taken seriously because of their electoral prospects. Mr Trump is leading the polls in America. The far right is expected to do well in European parliamentary elections in June. In Germany in December the hard-right Alternative for Germany hit a record high of 23% in polls. Anticipating a lost election for Rishi Sunak, stridently pro-Brexit and anti-migration Tories are plotting to take over the party. In 2027 Ms Le Pen could well become France’s president.

And nationalist conservatives matter because when they succeed in winning office everything changes. By setting out to capture state institutions, including courts, universities and the independent press, they cement their grip on power. That is what Mr Orban’s Fidesz party has done in Hungary. In America Mr Trump has been explicit about his autocratic designs. The people working for him have drawn up policy documents that set out a programme to capture the federal bureaucracy. Once institutions have been weakened, it can be hard to restore them. In Poland pis had the same agenda, before it was ousted in elections last year. The centre-right coalition that defeated it is now struggling to assert control.

How, then, should old-style conservatives and classical liberals deal with national conservatism? One answer is to take people’s legitimate grievances seriously. The citizens of many Western countries see illegal migration as a source of disorder and a drain on the public purse. They worry that their children will grow up to be poorer than they are. They are anxious about losing their jobs to new technology. They believe that institutions such as universities and the press have been captured by hostile, illiberal, left-leaning elites. They see the globalists who have thrived in recent decades as members of a self-serving, arrogant caste who like to believe that they rose to the top in a meritocracy when, in reality, their success was inherited.

These complaints have their merits, and sneering at them only confirms how out of touch elites have become. Instead, liberals and old-style conservatives need policies to deal with them. Legal migration is easier if the illegal sort is curbed. Restrictive planning rules price young people out of the housing market. Closed shops need busting apart. To have the truly open society they claim to want, liberals must press for elite intellectual institutions—the top businesses, newspapers and universities—to embody principles of liberalism instead of succumbing to censorship and groupthink. For all that the illiberal left and the illiberal right are mortal enemies, their high-octane rows over wokeness are mutually sustaining.

To diminish the national conservative fear that people’s way of life is under threat, liberals also need to stake their claim to some of their opponents’ ideas. Instead of virtue signalling, they should acknowledge that the left can be illiberal, too. If liberals are too squeamish to defend principles such as free speech and individual rights against the excesses of the left, they will fatally undermine their ability to defend them against the right. Instead of ceding the power of national myths and symbols to political opportunists, liberals need to get over their embarrassment about patriotism, the natural love of one’s country.

Liberalism’s great strength is that it is adaptable. The abolitionist and feminist movements broke apart the idea that some people counted more than others. Socialist arguments about fairness and human dignity helped create the welfare state. Libertarian arguments about liberty and efficiency led to freer markets and a limit on state power. Liberalism can adapt to national conservatism, too. Right now, it is falling behind. ■

— This Article Appeared in the Leaders Section of the Print Edition Under the Headline "The Peril of National Conservatism"

[lavendermunson]

i could see you as my addiction - steve harrington

chapter 3 of miss americana and the heartbreak prince

summary a perfect date makes you forget about all the worries, the insecurities and the future. even if this time you weren't careful, who's keeping tabs anyway?

content warnings +18. some mentions of insecurities, so much fluff. allusions to sex. dry humping. slight nipple play. heavy make out, touching. no p in v next time babes.

w.c 3.5k

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Something is wrong, something is definitely wrong. 

You find yourself sitting on the sofa at your private studio, no one joined you today since you came in a rush trying to come up with the melody for a song you wrote, about him. 

But it’s odd, nothing comes out of your head, and you let your fingers linger on the strings of one of your favorite guitars, the one with flowers painted by one of your artist friends. It’s been two hours and nothing comes to your head, not even the first note. If you could, you would smash this guitar right on the floor so it breaks, you are sure it’s some type of curse, usually, you lose sleep working but right now you are too tired to do so, and truthfully, your mind has been thinking about another thing, Steve.

Not necessarily on his large hands, his cute face, or his soft lips. No, it’s the worry that eats you alive. You wish the sofa could swallow you whole and teleport you to another universe where life is easier, when your life is not printed in newspapers and your face isn’t in every corner of the city. You love your life but it’s overwhelming, more so when it comes to dating, to love. Past mistakes tattooed in your head, dreadful memories and bad luck, seems like you are not worthy of love and you’ve been believing in it until you saw him.

Robin is right, she always is. Some things look like a fairy tale. Like it’s a dream and you are going to wake up, empty-handed and never knowing if someone would ever love you for who you really are. 

Your heart starts to ache, your teeth now biting off the rest of the old nail polish making it look chipped now. The buzz of your phone makes you flinch, you look at your hands in disgust and realize you are more than nervous. You catch a glimpse of the screen and see his nickname, causing a smile to spread across your face.

little secret: hey beautiful :) 

about tomorrow… i decided to skip practice, i know, don’t lecture me about it

it would be better if I took a day off to be with you, does that sound okay?

unless you have other plans, i’ll understand but i kind of have a plan so i hope i am lucky enough for you to take a day off with me

The typing bubble goes away indicating it’s your time to reply. Steve never sends so many texts in a short span of time, was he nervous? Anxious? Excited? You had a combination of the three emotions sitting right at the top of your belly.

you: hi handsome <3 yes, absolutely! all day with you sounds perfect. 

don’t worry, no lecture for today because I know how good you are at what you do. where are we going? 

little secret: do you wanna make me blush? 

uh, it’s a place a couple of hours away from the city… a farm, garden… i don’t know a friend owns it and we can have all the privacy we want

Perfect, privacy. Not that you don’t want to scream the world that you are dating the most perfect guy, but it’s exactly what you need, some moment alone with him.

you: privacy? to do what? ;)

little secret: oh i have a few things in mind…

You joke, trying to get rid of your nerves. But you blush at his reply.

little secret: eight am sounds good? Is it too early? i’ll pick you up

you: no, it’s perfect. i’ll send you my address!

little secret: great, have a nice day beautiful

you: you too, handsome <3 can’t wait to see you again

——

The next day comes, and you are hyper-aware of your nerves as you look in front of the mirror. You’ve changed your outfit at least five times, the room is full of clothes on the floor. You shouldn’t worry about it but you are, you want this to be perfect. 

It’s almost eight am and the only thing you can think about is how are you going to get out of the city without being seen and followed. You guess Steve has it covered but… what if he doesn’t?

Sixth change of outfit and last, you fix the hem of your skirt and put on some cherry chapstick, this time you went for a natural make up look to be more comfortable. You get your purse closed and sit on the couch while you check social media. It has never been your favorite hobby but it’s quite gratifying to see your friend’s faces and their new adventures. 

Robin’s “good luck” text pops up on your screen, You thank her and moments later Steve arrives.

You prepare yourself for what's coming, praying everything goes well and that your nerves won't eat you alive.

“Hi, beautiful. You look amazing” he says, standing close to the black SUV. He leans in to leave a kiss on your cheek and hand you a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey handsome” you blush at the feeling of his lips against your face, something you are addicted to. “These are so pretty, you really didn’t have to”

“Or course i did, i have to spoil you”

He winks and takes your hand to help you get into the vehicle, you see it’s completely dark so no one can look into it.

——

After the total chaos of switching cars in an empty dark parking lot and Steve’s driver keeping the secret of you two together, you are now in a quieter part outside of the city. The road looks empty, it’s a place you’ve never visited but you get intrigued at how calm it is. Your hair flows with the wind thanks to Steve’s old and classic convertible, the sun hits his face when you look at him. Sunglasses sit on the bridge of his nose and you miss that spark in his eyes whenever he sees you. His hand lingers on your thigh, feeling your hot skin under his soft fingertips, his hand keeps moving up with seconds and you let your body relax, your back pressed against the seat. 

The radio has been playing old songs and there’s a quick change to modern songs. The first one is a new song from your friend Vickie, following up it’s one of Corroded Coffin’s most popular songs and then you hear a melody too familiar.

“Oh, I love this song” his hand travels from your thigh to the radio’s tuning knob to turn the volume up. Missing the feeling of his warm hand on your skin, you take his hand in yours and place it on your thigh again. 

He grins at you while the song starts to play louder and you hear your voice.

“No, no, no!” you cover your face with your palms, shaking your head as you hide the red tint on your cheeks. 

“What? I love this song, it’s fun” Steve sings along, surprised he knows the words when you look at him with a smile on your face. A laugh falls off your lips when he gets to the chorus, screaming the lyrics of your song. 

“It's time, oh-oh. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-two” he keeps singing, taking your hand up in the air and dancing. “Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you” he takes a quick look at you, dedicating your own words to you.

You eventually join him, not only singing your song but a few that pop up on the radio, making the ride smoother, feeling like it went away quicker and you finally arrive at your destination. 

“I’m sorry about your ears,” he says, letting go of the steering wheel and taking the keys out of the ignition. A frown forms on your face, watching every one of his movements. 

“Sorry for what?”

“Your ears, I know I am a really bad singer but I do love music!” His laugh is contagious, seeing him smile so much is a thing that will be in your head forever. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t know how to play baseball so I think we are even”

“Are you admitting I'm a bad singer?”

“No, no I didn't mean it like that”

As soon as the car comes to a full stop, he gets out and rushes to your side, holding the door open for you and extending his hand to assist you in getting out. You take his hand and step out of the car, accidentally bumping chests with him.

“I didn’t mean it like that” you repeat. 

“I know, honey” 

He takes off his glasses, placing them on the collar of his shirt and his free hands find your waist. You do the same and tangle your arms around his neck, getting closer to him and brushing your lips with his in a quick kiss.

“I can teach you to play and some other things” he whispers on your lips, you nod and close the gap between you quickly.

As his lips move against yours, his hands squeeze your waist and his tongue finds its way into your mouth, it bumps with yours making him groan. Your head leans to the side to give him more access, the kiss becomes quicker, hotter and you feel so desperate to get more of his taste. Cigarettes, mint and a dash of cherry from your lips. He pulls away to take some air and looks at you with a smile, your chest rises up and down quickly as you try to do the same. 

“I- we should get inside and eat something. I’m starving”

You pinch your brows together, knowing how you both seem to push each other when it gets too much. Just like you at the concert, afraid that anyone will see you and start to scream. Anxiety sits on your stomach again, knowing that even if no one is watching you there is always a wall between you and Steve that will be hard to break.

You join him inside the house, it’s small but pretty. Pictures of his coach, Hopper with his wife and kids are all over the walls. They look so happy.

When you ask for a vase for the flowers he shows you where they are, not leaving his sight of what he is getting from behind the kitchen counter.

“I’m ready, let’s go!”

Steve has a picnic basket in his hand and a bottle of wine in the other. You follow him to the back door after placing your flowers in the vase along with some water. There’s a nice, big garden and to a big tree that casts a big shadow that looks like the perfect place for you to sit down and eat, you look around and see a lot of vegetables, fruits, and flowers planted on the floor. You notice the family likes to do gardening and eat fresh food, it all looks perfectly placed and taken care of.

You find Steve on his knees, taking the food out of the picnic basket. There are sandwiches, fruit cut into tiny pieces, a cheese board, and some chocolate truffles. You sit close to him to help him, getting the plates out along with some cutlery and the wine cups.

“You… Did you prepare all of this?” a smile shows on your face, which Steve loves. He nods, pressing his lips together to hide a grin.

“I had a little help but… yeah I did”

“Help? From who?” you ask.

“Uh, my friend Nancy”

You remember her, noticing how she was so close to Robin and it made you smile. 

“Nancy, yes. I haven’t officially met her but my best friend, Robin… she couldn’t stop talking about her the other night and I-” Your pause makes Steve’s brows form a frown. 

“You okay?” he asks you, not knowing if it’s something he did or hasn't done. He doesn’t know what’s happening but you are completely frozen in your place and your smile disappears. 

“Your friend, Nancy. Does she know about us?” 

“No, she just- I told her I had a date but I didn't say with who” He lies.

“Does your friend Robin know about us?” he asks, you can see his curious eyes scanning your face. 

“No, I- nobody knows. I haven’t told anyone” You lie and it feels very wrong.

Robin is your best friend, you tell each other everything and it is inevitable for you to not tell her but you lie because, of course, you don’t want Steve to be disappointed. He told you this was a secret.

“Oh, yeah, same” he sits down, his back pressed against the tree while he takes a sandwich and starts eating. He looks at you, taking pieces of fruit on your plate and being quiet.

If you asked Steve’s friends, they would tell you he gets distracted pretty easily whenever he is outside his games. He isn’t used to catching when someone needs to be comforted until the other person mentions it, because for him it has to be obvious. If someone is mad, they have to be screaming or making aggressive gestures because that’s how Steve grew up. His parents were always tossing things at each other, when Hopper gets mad he yells, and when Eddie is pissed he calls him an idiot.

But with you, it’s different. When your smile fades away, Steve thinks that it is normal but you are now quiet and not looking at him, he is missing your attention and his brain finally wakes up.

“Is there something wrong?” 

When you finally look at him, you get closer to him. Your arms bump with each other and Steve’s arm comes behind your neck to rest on your shoulders and leaves a small kiss on your cheek. He lets out a sigh knowing that he knows you still want to be close to him.

“Speaking hypothetically” Not ready for the answer but pretty impatient for it, you decide to rip the band aid off. “If I told someone else about us, would that be bad?” 

You lied to Steve. He lied to you. It’s a rough start but it’s a little lie, something you can manage.

“No, not if you trust that person” Steve bites his lips, your head rests on his chest and he rubs your thigh. “But I think we should keep it between us, still. I- I think it’s more special that way”

But it’s not, and Steve knows. He is used to lying to protect himself, lies are better than saying what he actually feels.

“Totally, it’s more special this way” You try to convince yourself but it’s not working, yet, you try to change the subject and ask him about this house, Hopper, and his kids. 

He tells you all of their stories. From meeting him to meeting his kids to his fight with Jonathan and Will’s friends hanging out with him as if he were the babysitter. Eventually, he found a family in all of them even if they aren’t connected by blood.

He asks you how you met Robin, and you start by telling him she has been your friend since you were kids and even though you had nothing in common she has been your rock and you’ve been hers. She is the one you trust more than anyone else.

The sun has been setting down, leaving the sky in a shade of pink and orange but the warmth of the day never leaves. You are not sure of when you got to this, your legs straddling him as his back presses against the tree, the empty plates scattered all over the place while you sit on his lap. His hands are all over your skin, fingertips traveling all the way to your breasts to give them a light squeeze. 

You stop kissing his neck leaving soft kisses on his sharp firm jaw and leaving a peck on the corner of his mouth before entangling your lips with his. After giving him permission, your head leans to one side as you cup his face gently, thumb tracing his cheek where his moles rest. Your lips brush against his tenderly, he savors the taste of your cherry chapstick and the remnants of strawberry, chocolate, and wine that make his heart flutter as the way he is becoming addicted to your lips, to you. 

As the kiss deepens, your tongues meet for the first time, dancing in a perfect rhythm leaving a trace of passion and longing, an intimate moment you both needed so much. The world seems to disappear around you when one of his arms goes under your skirt to touch the soft skin of your ass, his hands are soft but the warmth of his palms elevates you. His other hand sneaks to the back of your body to unhook your bra with one hand, impressive, you help him get rid of your bra and he breaks away from the kiss to admire your hard nipples under your top.

"You are so fucking pretty" he whispers against your lips, his words tingling on the bottom of your lip before they touch his mouth again.

His hand goes back to squeeze your breasts again, pinching your nipples with his fingers to give you extra pleasure but it's not enough. Your hips start to rock involuntarily against the hard bulge in his pants making him hide his groans over the kiss combined with your low moans. Wetness pooling on your panties as the rough material of his jeans gives you a pleasant ammount of friction.

He is lost in you, in the way you move over him and the way you are kissing him. He has never felt this, he has kissed other girls but no one has earned a place in his heart like you. He is putty in your hands, goosebumps adorning his arms as his heart beats as fast as when he is playing. It's a feeling he has never felt outside the field, the power you have over him is something unmeasurable.

As one of your hands rests over his cheek, the other goes under his shirt to touch every inch of his skin and try to memorize it. You feel the same, lost in him as your heart bumps against your ribs like a hammer. You swear you can see the stars, the questions, and the doubts fading into insignificance as you explore each other's bodies with warmth and desire. 

You break from the kiss, both trying to catch your breath as your chest rises up and down. His gaze is heavy on you, looking at your pretty eyes with so much desire and admiration, his hands leave your body to cup your face and squeeze the soft skin of your cheeks.

Steve looks at your face, your perfect glowy eyes making him feel warm. 

He smirks at the sight of your flushed cheeks and your pink puffy lips knowing he caused this. You are an angel, he thinks, you are here to save him and to make him happy and he wants to keep you forever. 

"If you could look at you the way I do, you'll see how much I want to scream to the world that I like you a lot" Steve hesitates for a moment, being trapped in the lavender haze of your presence and your bodies being connected, tangled.

"I like you so much too, i'd give up the stars just to see your face every night" You look at him with the biggest smile on your face, he leaves a peck on your lips and smiles with the same happiness you are feeling right now.

"Do you think we could-" He gets interrupted by a ring on the kitchen phone, is incredibly loud it makes you both jump. He freezes in his place, not wanting to leave his position, he is so close to you that it makes him crazy. 

"You should get that, it could be important" 

Steve helps you get up, telling you to wait and not move from where you are. His unfinished question is still on your mind. Do you think we could... what? Have sex? Tell the world we love each other? Wait, does he love you? Do you love him? Already? Is it too soon?

He comes back to you jogging, short of breath and with a sad frown on his face. 

"I'm sorry, Nancy just told me I have to get back. Hopper wants to have dinner and if I'm not there he is... I'm sure he is going to kick my ass"

You nod, looking at him with the same sad frown but trying to smile so he doesn't get to read your mind and see your worries. "Don't worry, it's okay Stevie" You know how much Hopper means to him, how Steve feels he owes him so much for helping him get to where he is now.

His heart skips a beat at the nickname, Steve sees you reach down to get your bra back. He is quicker than you and grabs it for you. 

"Let me help" A mischievous grin shows on his lips.

You turn around giggling as you take your top off, he sighs when he sees your naked back and the soft fabric of your top on your hands he misses the view he was waiting for, dreaming of.

"C'mon! you are not doing this to me!" Steve yells, defeated as he gets closer to you and helps you put your back on.

"I'm sorry, maybe next time handsome" You tease, a soft chuckle leaves his lips and helps you get dressed, hooking your bra and helping you get your top on again. He hugs you from behind, hiding his face on your neck and kissing it. 

His wet kiss turns into a bite, where he starts to suck on your skin to leave a mark. You shut your eyes, appreciating the little sting on your neck, but the smile never leaves your lips knowing he is marking you. No one will know who did it, but everyone will know you already belong with someone. 

"I'm sorry we have to go, i really wanted you to stay" his arms lock you in with your back pressed against his chest. "I hope we can see each other again and soon"

"We will, we will see each other many times from now on" Your hand finds his face and then his hair, you play with it for a moment just enjoying this hug before he takes you home.

The night comes, and the day ends. But this is just the beginning.

tags @eddiesguitarskills @hipsternerd9 @afraidofshrimp @rexorangecouny @crowssixof thank you for the support!! (comment if you want to join the tag list!!)

I hope you like this series, feedback is appreciated! don't forget to REBLOG TO SUPPORT THE AUTHOR! . ♡

this chapter is very cute but there's some angst coming...

[florescentcannibal]

The onset of the day fell in sequence with the jumpstart of Aves’ existences. 

Red. Blue. Green. 

Maybe it’s all just microwaves? The possibilities weren’t quite infinite but they sure didn’t fit inside his head, even if we all spent all afternoon stuffing, compressing, encoding and sealing. If he started on the wrong note, he could lose several drives of data. That wouldn’t do. To chase and be left behind, he might as well run while lying down. 

The ringing doesn’t stop. 

“Hurry, we don’t have much time. He doesn’t like it when we’re late, you don’t want him to be mad do you?” 

“No, no, no sorry…. We’ll come back here, right?”

But there’s no answer. Or at least he never remembers if there is. It’s always here that it ends and begins.

He pops into reality like the reboot of a device called him at the demand of the moment. The voices hop frequencies crescendoing far off from the poster plastered walls to the cupboards all the way out to the horizons of the universe where the sphere of thought folds in on itself.

Sparks fly through his nervous system, commanding his heart to pump blood to his brain, his lungs to breathe, his consciousness to become an ego, and lastly the sum of all those parts evolve into the human he is for that moment. In the race between mitosis and conditioning, plasticity might encourage regression. 

Spoilt milk is in a state between milk and yogurt. The idea comes in as fast as it comes out. Whether the boundaries of inside and out can be delineated is a bit much for him this morning. But practically speaking, we can just pretend to be separate, agree to disagree? An expiration date is a suggestion.

Sometimes the break isn’t so haphazard, he might recall an experience squeezed into the tiniest most defining second. That so important exam that he woke up too late for. That he shouldn’t be sleeping on his side. Or that he may have crushed his glasses from sleeping too late. 

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I was trying to find a star. 

Time is always a mystery for him; never ready for the next period of existence unless he obsesses over it like hands on a new toy. The colors may flow over the individual pieces but the film as a whole remains sketched. Does this lightcone ruin my dress?

If he were to author himself, it would be a life’s work of waste. Is that a contradiction or a tautology? 

Dreams pointed out crucial decisions he had to make to fall in line with themes. And in some ways the rhythm of life beat more exquisitely in that wispy alien world of sleep. A cat writes a dissertation on the intricacies of why ants are able to overcome their constitutions. Squid falls from the sky to prevent human conflict. A girl carries on his day with only four fingers on their left hand. The fork in the road runs narrow making the choice ultimately meaningless.

A walk in the park could follow media beginning with opportunity and ending with the turning of the moon and the strike of the midnight watchtower. Yet the contagion of yesterday’s moments, or the homeless man lying on the road across the bed of carnations, or even the weakness of the body and its betrayal to chemical addiction whispering sweet nothings all vacuum the experience of our magical fiction. 

Laying in his natural filth, the clothes sticking to his misformed body like yesterday’s glue, his body felt as alien to him as the day ahead of him. He medicated himself, physicalities, emotions and thoughts in that order. Top down he re-ignites each lever, polishes each spindle, and straightens each cable, breathing in the acidities necessary to drive out the unwanted impurities. His eyes open clearer and the world spreads into him with a slight fluorescent flavor. The hum of the engine settles deep within making room for the opaque chorus. 

He turns left and right, in search of direction, this cycle settling the slightest little bit more to the right. Then he shifts his body down and his spirit up, and finally the frame falls short of the horizon. He’s looking in your direction, though not at you. A slight twitch in his shoulder or the lip gives away the frailty. Can he see you in the same way that you can see him? 

His obsession and reliance on these sort of correcting workflows were a great burden on him. A fundamental inability to exist without the drug. 

[vazaha-tya]

i spent a bit of time trying to figure out what kind of creature fic i'd write. i did a bit of research, and settled on empusai, the servants of hecate, goddess of magic, necromancy, crossroads, graveyards and the moon. in greek mythology they're described as having a single copper leg, but this is the harry potter universe where a spin on folklore is not only expected but required, so i had fun with it. it's a bit rushed since this is me just getting a feel for it. i'd expand a few things if i publish it.

i'm not sure this fits the creature!fic requirements, i haven't read one of those since i was sixteen, but do tell me what you think.

trigger warning: descriptions of violence and gore

*

Everyone seemed to be under the impression that Aunt Petunia was a muggle woman. Harry found out at a young age that this was not quite right. 

Aunt Petunia loved being mundane and she played the part well, but Harry spent more time in the house than both her husband and son combined by virtue of being considered their chore boy. Early into this arrangement, he’d had to be taught how to cook, clean and generally meet the expectations of the Dursley household. He learnt at her knee, and it was unpleasant for both of them, but he found out a lot about how to read his aunt and her habits.

Which is how he noticed Aunt Petunia took care to always have her nails painted an understated salmon pink colour and that underneath the polish she conscientiously applied, her nails naturally grew copper. Not just the colour of copper, but the hardness of it too. Her nails were sharp as knives.

He never asked about it, and never mentioned it to anyone.

Ultimately, it didn’t change anything. Did it make his aunt a hypocrite? Yes. Would pointing it out change her behaviour? Hah. Good joke.

When he received his Hogwarts letter, he thought he’d finally found an explanation. He was wrong, and Aunt Petunia’s disdain for wizards was the only proof he needed. During his free time, Harry’s curiosity pushed him to research in the library for any sign of a magical creature or a condition that would cause one’s nails to grow copper. He was after all pretty sure it wasn’t any sort of muggle illness.

Then he saw the image of his mother inside the Mirror of Erised and a suspicion grew, which was only confirmed when he received an album full of photos of his parents.

Lily Evans had copper hair, which she took pains to conceal and disguise as mundane as much as Aunt Petunia did her nails.

Harry didn’t know what pushed him to keep it to himself. He could have asked Hermione and received an answer, but something stopped him from telling anyone else. 

Intuition, maybe. A desire to keep this small family secret private.

He wasn't sure.

But he had kept it to himself and saw no reason to change, until he found himself in a graveyard, Cedric died in front of him, and he returned to Hogwarts to announce that Voldemort was back. Sirius had embraced him, and then he’d been carted off to the Dursleys, alone with his nightmares.

Beyond the grief and the horror, there was an ache in his chest since it happened. He found himself pressing a hand to his sternum often, his brows furrowing in pain.

The bad dreams never stopped, so the Dursleys didn’t pay attention the night it all came to a head. Uncle Vernon had come to howl at him to shut up before going back to bed, grumbling under his breath about ungrateful orphans disrupting hard-working people’s sleep.

That was when the ache turned into sharp needles stabbing into his heart, and cold started spreading through his veins. Harry grunted in discomfort, then the screaming started. At first, he couldn’t even tell it was his own voice making these awful sounds. He’d just been startled awake by a sharp sensation that sliced through his dreams and the pain had steadily increased until he was writhing on his bed. He'd been deaf to anything but his own terror. He clawed at his own chest, desperately trying to rid himself at the sensation, until a voice broke through the fog of anguish.

“Ξύπνα, Χαρίλαος!”

Wake up, Harilaos!

Harry abruptly opened his eyes. His aunt was standing over him, a pinched expression on her face. 

“Remove your shirt,” she instructed.

“Aunt Petu– what…?”

She repeated, unmoved, “I will not say it another time, remove your shirt.”

Harry numbly followed her orders. His aunt grabbed his arm and forcibly sat him up, which made him realise that she wasn’t wearing nail polish today. Doubt began to creep in, but the pain was too intense for him to think. He was sweating and shivering, whimpers pouring out of his lips, his voice hoarse from the previous screaming.

When his aunt’s hand hovered over his chest, he barely had the presence of mind to weakly raise his arms up, hoping to fold them over himself in a protective gesture. He did not get the chance. A second later, his aunt was digging her copper nails into his skin and forcing his ribs open, clicking her tongue all the while.

“Damn you all the way to Tartarus, Lilika.” She rolled her eyes as he howled in pain. “But no, that goody-two-shoes went straight back to Elysium, didn’t she?” She stopped moving, and narrowed her eyes, scrutinising something inside of the gaping hole in of his chest. “Now that’s curious. And certainly not how things are done.”

She sniffed, then kept on rummaging inside Harry’s ribcage. He faintly thought he should be able to break free, but some instinct was telling him to keep still and he was listening despite himself. Besides, strange as it was, it seemed like whatever his aunt was doing was working: the pain was receding.

Which made no sense, considering Aunt Petunia had just plucked his heart out of his chest. The blood dripping from it was falling on his hips and thighs as she brandished her prize over him.

The woman hummed as Harry stared on in horror, unable to speak.

“Perhaps your kooky headmaster is right and your true power is love. A copper heart, really? I suppose it is the alchemical element of Aphrodite. Only Lilika’s child could cause me this much trouble.”

“You’re not Aunt Petunia,” he whispered.

She laughed sharply. “Oh, I am. But I am also an empusa, undead servant of Hecate.” She flashed her blood-covered copper nails at him with her empty hand. “And you, Harilaos, are the child I was charged with rearing in exchange for this life, since your useless mother was apparently Fated to die a mere year after birthing you.”

What about Dudley? Where did he fit into all this, he wanted to ask, but his strength was leaving him. He looked at the heart she was still holding in one hand, then down at himself. As his aunt said, in place of his heart of flesh laid a copper mimicry of it. He wondered if the blood it pumped through his veins was still red, or if it was made of metal too. 

That was the last thought he could muster before he lost consciousness.

*

When he woke up, his chest was sewn shut. It looked like the wound was days old rather than the consequence of an amateur’s late night surgery. He brushed against it disbelievingly. He turned to his right. His aunt was painting her nails at his bedside. His discarded heart of flesh laid on a pillow at the bottom of the bed.

“You certainly took your time, lazy boy,” she sneered. “I suppose you want your explanation now.”

Harry nodded warily, and sat up.

“Do you know what empusai are?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She clicked his tongue. “Of course. What else did I expect? An empusa is a spectre, revived and put into flesh by the first necromancer, the goddess of magic herself. They are generally restless spirits malcontent with their lot and willing to serve in exchange for their wish to be granted. They are also generally female, but the Lady sometimes makes exceptions. You are one of them.”

Harry blinked.

“I am dead?”

Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes. “You were born dead from an undead mother. That makes you a liminal being, I suppose. But you are alive. That was Lilika’s wish. Your mother. She wanted her son, Harilaos, to get another chance. He died in infancy, and she hated that his life was cut short before it could even begin. But it’s not enough to make us serve, Hecate’s gifts always come with caveats; Lilika had to die again for you to live. But that was fine by her, she’d only bargained for your soul. Her own is now at peace, and her service over. I'm sure she hadn't expected her husband to die as well, though,” she added snidely.

Harry digested that. His mother had pledged herself to a goddess so she could birth the same son again and give him a chance at life, only for him to spend it abused and haunted by the bad choices of others. He understood what Aunt Petunia meant by caveats.

“Why did you make a show of hating magic?”

“That wasn’t a show,” she spat out. “I promised to serve in exchange for the chance to raise a normal child.” She paused. “Lilika and I weren’t truly sisters, but empusai with similar wishes serve together. I should have known when she received that damn letter that the freak I’d be saddled with in exchange for my wish would be her get. Thirteen years, I’ve raised you.”

She nodded at the heart on the pillow. “The heart on your chest was your mother’s. That it rejected you means that Lady Hecate will soon call on you. The copper within us is how we get in and out of Hades, the realm of the dead. Dead mortals pay the toll: an obol of copper for Charon to cross the river Styx. The undead carry a copper attribute to avoid being confused with them.”

“Mum’s heart was in my chest," he said faintly.

She nodded, unconcerned.

“I recommend bringing it with you when the Lady calls. It will be during the Dark Moon.” The last remaining crescent of a waning moon, remembered Harry. He knew at least this much from Astronomy class. “And after that, don’t come back. My service will be done, so you won’t be welcome here anymore.”

people who despair over the fact that i keep posting new wips instead of finishing what i've started, i want you to be aware that the next cliché i'll try to turn into something i'd find readable is probably the "creature inheritance" one

idk how i'll manage it, but subverting cliché is so fun, i wanna try so bad