#mihael when he keehls you.........

[applestorms]

ok, well. if last time i talked about parallels between near & light, i guess it’s only fair that this time i talk about parallels between mello & misa. yap central on this blog lately.

the main thing that stands out the most about mello & misa, and the reason why i will forever Defend them and their place in the story, is that in my mind they both function in a similar way on a narrative level: namely, both of them are incredibly active wild-card characters that keep the action going and the story moving forward when the other main characters like light, L, & near start getting too passive.

notably, while i often see this trait praised in mello, usually in the context of a comparative criticism of near for his overly-abundant passivity, i have also seen it used as a criticism of misa's character, that she breaks up the status quo of DN too significantly and thereby makes the story feel less realistic. this last point in particular is an odd argument to make imo, as if anything misa's presence only increases the realism of DN by adding some extra luck/random chance into the story in a way that is ultimately still character-motivated and thus easier for the audience to go along with-- something DN in general is very good at, often introducing elements through pure chance but keeping them grounded in characters enough that you almost don't even notice.

take light meeting naomi misora, for example: the only reason he runs across her at all is because he offers to run an errand for his mom on a bored laundry day, literally stumbling across her right at the exact moment she is divulging important insights she is literally the only person capable of making about kira. yet this moment does not stand out as particularly aggravating or out of place in the story, as ultimately the only reason why light is able to get out of that situation is his own quick thinking and ability to calm himself while under immense pressure, squeezing his way out of a potentially run-ending situation he didn't even know existed moments prior.

(not a fan of that big joel video, if you couldn't tell. lmao.)

point is, mello & misa both fulfill about the same narrative function in the story by being so aggressive in their actions, catching the others off guard even if their plans aren't as well thought out or careful as they could otherwise be. they're both incredibly passionate, dedicated characters as well, tough enough to take the hit when it inevitably comes, and in my opinion neither of them are nearly as stupid as the other MCs like to make them out to be. to some degree, i think both of them are aware of the fact that they can't win at the Mind Game Cold War Bullshit the others are inclined to get involved in, so they instead choose to carve out their own place in the story through sheer perseverance alone.

which, speaking of passion: one of the most interesting parallels i think you can make between mello & misa is the ways in which they idolize their respective heroes, misa's obviously being light while mello's is L. allow me to elaborate.

as this post points out, DN has some very interesting use of its religious imagery & theming, and in particular its use of christian/catholic gothic imagery in its story and especially its art. however, as op notes, a lot of this is quite superficial, ascribing to an aesthetic of "kitschy Catholicism," that was characteristic of a lot of early 2000s japanese goth style. yet, while i admit that a more serious consideration of religious elements in the art & story could add some interesting flavor to the story, i also think that, regardless of intention, the superficiality of DN's religious elements works really well in the context of this particular story. as i stated in my tags on that post: light is a superficial god. he is a fake, a scam, some idiot human that stumbled across the powers of a real shinigami and got his head up his ass about it. and a lot of the arcs of other characters in DN is about their reaction to light's claims-- whether they choose to follow him (e.g. misa, mikami), follow somebody else (e.g. mello), or follow nobody at all (e.g. near, also kinda soichiro?), and the implications that has for their lives and personalities.

this is all to say that while you can, on a surface level, connect misa & mello pretty easily as the two aggressive, fashionable blondes of the series, i also think that these somewhat superficial traits betray a greater connection between the two of them. if we understand the christian/catholic elements of misa & mello's fashion as a demonstration of their connection to not just a higher power but a lie, a superficial deity simply reflecting the sunlight of powers greater than himself, then i think we have great insight into another key element of both their characters.

do not forget: in the world of DN, heaven & hell do not exist. at least in the context of death itself, the realm & lore of the shinigami reign supreme, a point which the DN musical makes even more overt: "Isn't it a laugh? / Isn't it a shame? / Thinking there is someone in heaven to blame?" and "Going through the motions / as if there will be a reward / Oh, while we stay eternally bored!" (BEST SONGGG.) everyone is destined for the same fate of MU, the same void of nothingness awaits all. no reward, no punishment, no greater deity looking down upon us than the bored, slothful shinigami, lazing about in their realm and picking people off only when necessary (for the most part).

misa & mello are thus dedicating themselves to false idols, and we can see the negative effects this has on them in almost every facet of their character-- particularly for mello, who is perhaps more self-aware and has more of a mixed emotional outlook on his idol, but maybe even to a more extreme degree for misa. i keep going back to this idea of equating boredom with depression in DN, but where light/L/near are all "bored" in a very quiet, passive, stewing-in-bed late at night kinda way, misa & mello are characteristically a lot more aggressive and intense about it-- while neither of them are super overtly suicidal, necessarily, their actions still betray a distinct lack of care for their own safety or lives, expressing the same thematic sentiment as the others. even if they still don't straight up say it, through their actions they're a lot louder about not liking themselves, and seem to take the problems they see in the world more personally, shouldering the blame as a failure within themselves instead of projecting it outward like the others: e.g. light taking his unhappiness at the emptiness of his life at the start of the story & placing the blame on the world for "going to shit" & humanity's moral failings, versus misa being willing to literally & figuratively give up her life for KIRA the second he demands it, whether that be in the form of shinigami eyes or killing her own friends w/o second thought-- all because he was the only thing to bring justice to her own parents' deaths, an almost undoubtedly traumatizing/horrible experience for her considering how much value she places on KIRA/light afterwards.

to clarify, this is not to say that all of these characters are actually and literally depressed and/or suicidal, though you could certainly make that argument for some/all of them-- this is just one way that i think you could interpret their roles in the plot, and their thematic attachment to the story. even if DN isn't all that interested in considering the True Moral Answer to ethics/the justice system/human society/etc, it definitely takes at least some interest in the emotional viewpoints of characters in relation to those concepts, so i think this is a fair enough approach to take. or to say this another way, it's less about justifying the claim that "the world is shit," and more about trying to understand the emotional motivation & experience of feeling like the world is shit, if that makes sense.

that being said...speaking more on the whole "not liking themselves," thing: even if she doesn't say it aloud often, if ever, i think that misa is deeply aware of the fact that she was not supposed to live this long, that her existence at all is a pure stroke of luck that let her live on past her destined date. she dedicates herself to light so fully, not even necessarily expecting reciprocation (though she at least reserves herself the possibility of such), because being a disciple to her god at least gives her life some kind of purpose. similarly, i think mello is also aware of just how out of reach the one thing he wants is, how his desperation in and of itself is ironically the one thing keeping him from surpassing near and truly being #1. it's important to note that pre-time skip misa & post-skip mello are almost exactly the same age, around 20 years old at the time of their main arcs. they're immature, and in the case of mello especially, are lashing out at the world in whatever way they can because they know they don't quite fit into it in the way that they want to or should. regardless of the intent behind it, mello & misa both still make the conscious decision to kill with the DN-- perhaps in a way that still keeps their humanity, at least following near's logic, but it's a decision to end a human life either way.

anyways, going back to my previous point, this "worshiping of false idols," idea has some interesting implications-- for misa & mello yes, but also for L and the ways in which he contrasts again light, as under this logic mello's treatment kind of inherently gives L a similar status as a sort of false god/idol. which-- actually makes a lot of sense? or at the very least, viewing wammy's house as a kind of mystery cult a la the eleusinian mysteries is a neat approach to take. L & light's mutual alienation from humanity fits them both filling a false god status, anyway. also there's another thread of analysis you could follow here where near is instead fit into the role of the person mello is fixated on which AAAAAAAAA has interesting implications but jesus fucking christ, this post is long. some thoughts for another time, i suppose.

[rawrlight]

(template on pinterest)

[beetlevvings]

mello matt headcanons for me to forget

[official-mello]

does rod ross have a crusty scalp yes or no

I can't answer that... for my own safety.

[paradisepoisoned]

“Bang! Bang! That awful sound…”

This was just supposed to be a quick doodle, but as you can see… I got a little carried away.

P.S: Curse you @brothercrush for saying it better than I ever could. You saw the vision.

“BOYKING WHO WILL NEVER BE HIS DADDY.” 🖤

[threshasaurus-writes]

In Charge, Chapter 29: Honesty

Fandom: Death Note (no Death Note AU)

Characters: Near, Matt, Mello, L, Teru Mikami, a whole bunch of cameos from canon characters as supporting cast

Ships: Shippy Gen with a friendship triangle (whee!)

Rating: M for violence and Mikami (you'll see) Summary:

Summary:

Matt, Mello and Near work under their mentor, world-famous genius detective L, training to become detectives someday themselves. Matt is generally okay with being in third place when compared to Mello and Near, but things are about to change. When Near suddenly collapses while he and Matt are home alone, the redhead finds himself in charge for the first time ever.

Matt rushes Near to the hospital. Just as a friendship begins to form between the two boys, Mello arrives and complicates the dynamic. Things go from bad to worse, as Near's obsessive nurse Mikami abducts him from the hospital, and Matt, Mello and L must work together to recover him.

(Continuing to add to my Death Note fanfic I first published in 2008. it's only a few chapters from finished after this, so I'm gonna finish it once and for all. We have to get Near some closure for all that I've put him through...

Chapter 1 has detailed content warning info, so be sure to read the author's note!)

Read it here on AO3!

Read it here on FFN!

[god-of-this-new-blog]

Death note characters draw themselves — inspired by @ponury-grajek and the extra bit in the manga about Misa drawing!

[satorusluver]

Minors DNI

Mihael "praise kink" Keehl who scoffs and rolls his eyes when you teasingly call him a good boy. But then you see him leave and come back a few minutes later having inexplicably put on one of his dramatically long coats indoors because he most definitely popped a boner from it and those leather pants do nothing to hide it.

[alarici]

State of decay

Rated T, 950 words

-

In the years since the Kira case, with Near at the helm, and L and Watari long since buried in the plot beside the west wing, what was once called The Wammy’s House decays.

It takes seven years to fully dismantle the program. The youngest children need to find foster homes or new families or other, carefully vetted, well-funded programs to matriculate into. The older children are graduated and placed in the best universities around the world—set to become the everyday successes of tomorrow. Tsinghua, Juilliard, Cairo, LSE, UCLA, Tohoku, ETH Zurich, Oxford. The residual funds are allocated appropriately to make sure that everyone is well taken care of. Study funds and stipends, merit grants and insurance.

Personally, Near sees to the edge cases. Kids who, according to the headmasters and the instructors, never lived up to the promise of their aptitude testing—the weak, the attention deficit, the headcases. He speaks to each one—Do you want to live alone? Do you want to learn a skill and work? Do you want to go back to where they found you? What are your medical needs.

It’s dispassionate work that he takes on in his limited spare time. The dismantling of the program was not necessarily his idea, but he saw it to the end.

By 2024, L Lawliet has been dead for almost two decades. Enough time for a child to grow and have a child of their own. Near has no children—will never and can never—and finds this fact amusing.

At exactly 13:23 GMT on 21 October, 2024, Near celebrates a homecoming of sorts.

—

The grounds have been left to wither. The estate is unsellable—or, nobody wants to bother selling it to a Silicon valley expat or a London financier’s portfolio. After all, it was a school. Renovations would be required.

When Near is driven into town and left there—”I’ll get there from here, thank you,”—he overhears, in a quiet cafe, that the children think the mansion on the hill is haunted. “Halloween” is an American holiday that is not celebrated in England. The evening is foggy and limpid. The sky threatens an afternoon rain.

He arrives at the wrought iron gates at 15:13. He knows there is nothing for him, here. But he’s already been given this time to pay his respects. A holiday of sorts. Never in the past twenty years has he kneeled before graves. He expects he won’t today, either. There is nobody here to pay respects to. Mello is buried in an unmarked plot in a quiet district of Tokyo. The stake on the eastern edge of the property in Winchester—In Memoriam, Mihael Keehl—is growing moss. Near stops by this landmark, first. Many colleagues and coworkers, commanding officers and cadets, have died since Mello. Near has not kept track of many of their names.

Mello’s memorial has not been cared for. They stopped sending groundskeepers to the property in 2019. Near carries a book in one hand, his plastic cane in the other. He stares at the spike, leans on the arm brace, and considers the most respectful acknowledgment of this memorial. This isn’t what he came here to do. Mihael Keehl—no, Mello—has been dead for more than a decade. In that time, Near has solved more than five hundred cases. A-Kira. The Hong Kong murders. The Dubai trafficking ring. A few stray Death Notes.

In the years elapsed, the loss has simmered. Like soup, which Near has seen others make (his current boyfriend is fond of cutting the mirepoix into centimeter by centimeter cubes) the thought of Mello is turbid and wafts around him constantly. However, there is no room for the what if. There is only the course the universe bent, that day.

Near, in his own way, has paid his respect. Said his thank yous, if he owes any thanks. He bows, as far as he can manage, to the spiritless grave. He does not kneel.

In Tokyo, Mello’s bones are likely rusting, rotting in the temperate soil. Were he buried here, at 51° latitude, he may still have his skin, in death. But this is unimportant. He would not wish to be buried here.

Near bows, and says two prayers for the dead. He knows a Latin version as well as a Hebrew. To this day, he does not know if Mello died religious—died believing in any gods beyond those he had met and been scorned by.

“Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.”

“יִתְגַּדַּל וְיִתְקַדַּשׁ שְׁמֵהּ רַבָּא.”

He adds a hymn Mello might have sung for his parents in the dialect he most likely spoke before his life as a successor began.

“Святой Юмо, Святой Куатле, Святой Колыдымо, мемнам серлаге.”

Near has been told not to pass judgment on the irrationality of faith, so he has learned the hymns. The grass grows tall around Mello’s stake.

One year, Near had gotten angry about it. Back when he was twenty one or twenty two—inconsequential—and awake for forty hours, Near had raged at a silent room over it, and never again. And the anger was not about the death, nor about Near’s inheritance, his duty. Not Mello’s mistakes nor his sacrifice. Likely, looking back with the hindsight and wisdom of a man ten years older, Near images he experienced as much grief as he was capable of, that night. There was no grave to stand over, and there was no body, in the small room in Cape Canaveral when Near was twenty one. No surviving images of him. No letters nor notebooks. The bout of rage, insanity, grief (he cautions to call it) was triggered by a smell (something sweet burning), of all things. And had subsided with the yellow dawn.

The frustration was likely at being left alone. Of his own inefficacy in his first trial, and the acknowledgement that a man like Mello had deserved to live to see more days. Had deserved better than a pine wood stake on a lonely corner of the grounds of the school where he was raised and an unmarked plot in Adachi City, Tokyo.

Next, Near walks slowly towards the house itself. A jackrabbit sprints across the lawn in front of him. A hawk circles to the north. 

[morphinejunkie]

hii how are you? i hope you’re doing well :) i really love your fanfic crush, i’m writing a mello fanfic myself, but i’m having such a hard time capturing his essence, sometimes i get carried away writing him but then i realize it’s not really accurate, i either make him too angry, too much this, too much that, idk, do you have any tips for me? (only if you want, i just really love how you portray him, i think it’s really accurate so i thought what’s better than to ask you?) <3 ✨🌸

thank you very much!

mello was a character i struggled to write at first too. he’s a delicate tightrope walk between intelligence, aggression, coolness and (in my opinion) brevity. personally i find that the hardest thing is striking a balance that encompasses all four.

so i’ll break it down, this is what worked best for me.

1. use canon

the way i wrote mello, i referenced the original manga (and voice/diction in the dub anime) a lot. i would first listen to his lines and try to internalize his voice. and then i would study his body language in his panels and try to shift that body language and attitude into whatever scenario i’m writing.

mello is a pretty layered character, which i think a lot of people struggle with. he plays up the characteristics that people often associate with him (i.e. in the call with the president, he acts taunting and brash) when on his own turf he’s actually very calculating and careful (i.e. any scene in the mafia - he’s often staring into space, sprawled into a relaxed but aggressive position, and thinking).

i think a big thing to remember too is that mello made many decisions in canon that need to be backed up to create a holistic view of who he is. reverse-engineering mello’s character from his actions was a huge part of how i developed my mello as well - “why did mello do this? what motivations were urging him to do the thing he did? why are his emotions this way while he’s doing it?”

general rule of thumb is: if your mello would not do the things that canon mello did, the way that canon mello did, he’s probably ooc.

2. take him as a whole - not parts of him

i focused a lot of my energy on trying to capture mello as a whole. a lot of it is meeting mello where he is, not where you want him to be. assuming he is fully formed, an actual person, and you are getting to know him, not creating him from scratch. when i was no longer concerned about making mello do things that i wanted him to do, and instead interacting WITH mello as a fully formed character, i found it natural to hear his voice. near the end of crush i felt like i was just documenting them with a camera while matt & mello did what they did. they moved almost completely on their own and i was just there to capture it.

for me, especially in the beginning, i would often “practice” by throwing both matt & mello into a scenario with no expectation or plot, and seeing how they play off each other, without trying to move them from point a to point b. i found that let me understand their characters better — better than say a character study or a self-reflection would. in fact the bar scene was that exercise for me, and ended up setting the tone for the rest of the fic.

3. figure out all the different ways you can read mello, and figure out which works best for you

the one thing is, even if you study mello and take him as who he is, there’s not a lot to work from off the original series. a lot of him is further developed in fandom, and so there are various camps of interpretations of mello that are all equally valid & sound. i found that mapping out exactly how mello can be interpreted and figuring out where my mello lay on that scale helped me a lot in determining what i found was personally ic/ooc.

funnily enough this matrix was really helpful even though it was just a stupid joke post from back in the day. i really liked the way “mihael keehl” talked, i found it so cool and grounding. “priss” still exists though the details or manner of speaking has changed over the years, in fact twinky/glamourous mello remains one of the most common interpretations of his character which i personally rejected (i don’t think it reflects his body language in canon at all). “batshit” mello is time and place for me, but ultimately, not how i like to write him (as it only explains some of his actions in canon but not all).

of course writing mello in the end is wholly depends on your personal preference - you could do all of this and still end up with a different vision of mello as i did. as long as he is fully fleshed out to you, the details don’t matter.

[vamphorica]

kinktober day xxiii: worship

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga)

Relationship: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl

Characters: Matt | Mail Jeevas, Mello | Mihael Keehl

Additional Tags: Worship, Church Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Catholic Prayers, Kissing, Altar Sex, Top Mello | Mihael Keehl, Bottom Matt | Mail Jeevas, Canon Compliant

Series: Part 23 of Death Note Kinktober 2024 | @dnkinktober

Summary: When Mello goes missing again, Matt goes to church.

────────────────────────────

When Mello doesn’t return to the flat for several days, Matt drives down to the Catholic church about an hour away. It is said to be favoured by the Mafia, with the security it provides ensuring that it can remain open for twenty four hours every day. Matt is reassured at the very least that regardless of Mello’s proclivity to mania, his tendency to drink a little too fast and sometimes snort one too many lines of coke, that shit doesn’t fly in the house of God. By the time Matt collects him, Mello is usually cold hard sober.

He pulls up outside of the building, grinding his cigarette butt into the ashtray on his dash as he acknowledges the bright red neon cross glowing above the doorway. At three in the morning, it haloes in the dark, a stark reminder of God. Matt has inherited the Wammy’s atheistic outlook of the world, all that is unexplainable now presumed to be understandable at a later date. He envies Mello’s ability to remain in close proximity with the discomfort of ignorance. To believe that everything happens for a reason greater than himself. It is pleasantly naive. Matt gets out of the car and slams the door behind him.

“Mello here?” Matt asks the two mafiosos who guard the doors.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Friend of his.” Matt digs deep into his jean pockets and pulls out a purple chocolate wrapper. British imported chocolate was hardly uncommon if you knew where to find it, but no one was as picky about brand consistency as Mello and as the two men look at one another momentarily, Matt knows they have little to challenge him on.

“He arrived yesterday. He’s the only one in there right now.”

Matt gives a brief nod and walks into the foyer. Leaflets and posters neatly line the walls, declaring solutions to societal woes through God’s omnibenevolence. Matt considers whether Mello looks at this selection of material, decrying homosexuality as a sin and drug use as an abominable act, and feels himself to be lesser. Perhaps he seeks refuge in the exclusionary nature that organised religion encourages; a reminder of the House in its intolerance of anything deemed inadequate.

The church is rather underwhelming for one that is so obviously revered by the local crime syndicate. Large, stained glass windows dominate the walls, the darkness of the early morning muting their colours, the saints condemned to a fate of mundanity until the sun rises. The pews hide in the shadows cast towards the back of the chapel, dusty hymn books and bibles remain neglected. It is the altar which is afforded the blessing of light, a variety of candles carefully positioned to carve out an invitation to prayer at the foot of the platform, before a model crucifixion.

This is where Matt always finds Mello kneeling, with his head bowed in such a manner as to let his hair veil his face. His ungloved hands are clasped together before his chest, almost earnest. Slowly, Matt approaches him from behind listening for his hushed voice in the silence. He had interrupted Mello during prayer one too many times to know such a risk was never worth the blonde’s subsequent irritation. As Matt arrives close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder, Mello’s silence is unmistakable.

“Hey, time to go.”

Mello looks up at Matt, his eyes red as if he has been crying, or as if he’s high. There is still something hauntingly beautiful about him, even in this erratic state, and Matt feels an urge to run his fingers through his soft golden hair, before guiding him out of the church and back into the car. To make him promise that they’ll leave this city and forget about the Kira case to find another purpose in life. An ambition that doesn't rip him to shreds like this.

“Matt… My guardian angel.” Mello whispers, nearly too quiet for Matt to hear.

“You alright?” Matt asks in response – Mello was typically vexed by Matt by the time he would come to fetch him, as if his arrival broke some kind of fantasy of divine salvation he had erected in his head. Matt never expects the softer language or the affection to return for a few days as Mello confronts lingering hangovers and whatever religious revelations he endured during his periodic hysteria. Even then, such affections are small, quiet things whispered in the bedroom. Matt has never known Mello to speak to him in such a way in public.

Mello takes Matt’s hand as a means to pull himself up onto his feet, “I am now that you are here.” His breath smells like booze, and Matt wonders if the men on the door had been covering for him.

“Come on, man, we need to get you cleaned up.” Matt sighs. He never judges Mello, as often as Mello would take the opportunity to act morally offended by the redhead’s crack pipes and needles. However, there is something increasingly exasperating about how Matt so often chases Mello, as if it is a given that he will be there to take him home. Matt swallows his fear to enter those dark spaces Mello frequents to pull him out every time. Matt can never say Mello returns the favour.

Damn right, I am your guardian angel.

“No… Let’s stay.” Mello pulls Matt’s sleeve. It is a small gesture, but one that was reminiscent of something more. That silent pull of a sleeve in the dark. Two boys in a dormitory.

A kiss.

Matt feels Mello’s lips on his, soft and full. An apology, or at least an appeal to their relationship. A declaration of love in a sacred space. Matt takes Mello’s face in his hands and gently eases him away from his own.

“Here, Mels?”

“Where else can I worship you?” God, he really is fucked. Matt shook his head. Mello is bound to regret this. Matt opens his mouth to object but Mello cuts him off, “I thank God for you everyday, Matt.”

Matt blushes, despite himself. His frustration at this stupid bastard for scaring him so often aside, he cannot deny how his heart aches when hearing such a sentiment from Mello. Matt is not well acquainted with God, but there is something about the manner in which Mello’s devotion flows out of him, Matt can taste something close to a miracle on his lips.

Matt’s eyes dart to the entrance, to which Mello smirks, “They know not to come inside.”

Fuck it. Matt leans back in and the two press their bodies close as they fall into the deepness of the kiss. They stumble up onto the platform until Matt feels himself being pressed up against the altar table. He plants a hand behind him, in an attempt not to fall upon it.

Mello has other ideas. He disengages before shoving Matt onto the table so that he lies flat along the surface, his face contorting slightly on impact. Even Matt feels they are engaging in a rather overt expression of blasphemy here, but as Mello crawls on top of him, his hair hanging down and framing his face, Matt understands what is meant by omnibenevolence. Unconditional love is the best way Matt can describe how he feels about Mello.

“Thank you, Lord, for the blessings you have bestowed onto me.” Mello begins unbuckling his belt, and Matt swallows, his dick tight against his underwear in anticipation of what the blonde intends to do to him here. He finds his own hands peeling his jeans down beneath Mello as they both expose themselves hurriedly. Spiritual consequences be damned.

“You have provided me with more than I could imagine, more than I ever deserve, in Mail Jeevas.” Matt doesn’t know whether it is Mello pressing his erection against his own or the way in which he says his real name that sends a shockwave of sensitivity up his spine, causing him to moan quietly. His hands grab Mello’s hips as he spreads his legs, arching his back as a means to push himself closer to Mello’s body.

Mello spits on his palm and begins to rub his own cock, his other hand gently caressing Matt’s face, “Lord, I am a sinner, and yet you have extended your mercy and grace by bringing an angel into my life.” Matt closes his eyes and hums gently against Mello’s thumb stroking his cheek, smiling when the blonde plants a kiss there.

“We praise you and give you glory.” Mello moves his hand down to grab Matt’s thigh, and with his other hand, directs his dick against the rim of Matt’s ass, thrusting his hips so it goes in all at once. Matt gasps, his nails digging into Mello’s hips as he processes the sharp sting of being entered.

“Amen.”

[lydiablack-m]

It’s Mihael... Mihael Keehl... |Mello x Reader|

Pairing: Mello x Reader

Warnings: Angst, heavy angst, hurt/comfort/hurt, reader is from Wammy's house, the story takes place the night before Mello's attempt to kidnap Kiyomi

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: yep, I did it again, posting for Death Note, while having a dozen fandoms to write for.

P.S. I don’t know, if anyone ever said this, but Mello OWNS the Leave My Body song by Fever Dreamer. The heavens said so, not me. Highly recommend to listen to it while reading as did I for about 5 hours in a row. 

"This work can be considered as the second part of the storyline. The other parts you may find here"

Another sleepless night, full of endless calculations, checking maps and plans again and again. Another night that he spends alone, sending her to sleep and listening to the beeping of computer signals from the next room, where Matt is working on hacking city networks.

 Another night... The air rings in the ears with increasing tension, the blood beats an uneven pulse in the temples, forcing to frown painfully and clench the fists, so that nails scratch the palms.

 He heard a slight rustle at the door and turned around. A young girl stood in the doorway, rubbing sleepy eyes with her sleeve.

 “Hey, are you okay?” His tired gaze, clouded from long work at the computer, began to clear up, and softness flashed across his face.

 “I can't sleep,” you muttered, leaning against the door frame. “I’ve been thinking...  Are you sure this is gonna work out?”

 His face became serious and detached again, he turned back to the monitor.

 “I'm sure,” he said shortly.

 “I'm sorry ...” you guiltily lowered your eyes to the floor. “It’s just... I'm just afraid of losing you, you know...” You looked up at him and your lips trembled. “I'm afraid of losing you and Matt, I'm afraid to stand on your graves and mourn your short lives, cursing myself for not being careful enough, not being attentive enough. I'm afraid to go back to an empty dark apartment where your voice will never sound again. I'm afraid to be left alone...”

 You gently put your hands on his shoulders, and buried your nose in the golden hair, inhaling the barely discernible scent of engine oil and heavy cologne. Memories flashed in your head of the day when, along with a bag of daily products, Mello brought an extremely expensive bottle from the store, which he stole from under the noses of the guards.

 Over the years of working for the mafia, he got used to a luxurious life, got used to the fact that he could indulge his little weaknesses, get everything that he could not have in the Wammy's house. Now he no longer had the funds of the mafia, but no one could take away his skills and ability to get anything he wanted.

 “Please... I beg you... Let me stay near you,” you whispered. “Please, let me help. If something happens to you, I will never forgive myself for inaction, when maybe I could have saved you. I beg... Please...”

 You heard Mello sigh heavily and covered your hand with his palm, slightly squeezing.

 “Y/n... You're everything I have, everything I've ever needed... I want you to be happy, I want Matt to be happy. I want both of you to live your long and happy lives. But mine... I lived long enough to make dozen mistakes and... I don't care anymore... If I'm going to die this time it will be just a part of the investigation, just a piece of puzzle for Near to solve. I already know, that I'm not the one to end this. I never was.”

 The way he said it, the sharp bitterness and doom in his words made your heart sink. You felt like something broke inside you. For the first time he accepted his defeat. For the first time, you felt scared.

 Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as you clenched your teeth to keep from crying of helplessness.  

 “Please... Don't say it like you don't care about your death.” you wheezed. “I'll kill them all. I'll come to their fucking headquarters and kill everyone. I'll kill them for you. One of them is Kira, so I won't miss. I will kill everyone. I... don't want to live without you. If you die, I can't...”

 Your hands were trembling and you shut your eyes to do not let the tears flow. You couldn't say it, as if the mere thought of the possibility of a negative outcome was a betrayal, as if you were giving up on him.

 A quiet sob escaped from your throat, causing Mello to flinch and turn to you.

 “I don't want to lose you again…”

 You couldn't hold the tears anymore and covered your face with your palms. With every second it seemed to you as if reality was slipping away, as if everything was happening outside of your consciousness and you couldn't help it. Over the past few months, Mello has been distancing from you, completely devoting his strength, energy and rage to the investigation. You didn't interfere because you understand how important it was, but now... Everything had gone too far and you couldn’t fix it anymore.

 You felt hands fall on your trembling shoulders and Mello pressed you to him, nuzzling the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes and pressed closer, clinging to him like a life-saving straw, holding together the fragments of your world falling apart, breaking at the seams.

 “I love you,” he murmured into your neck. “I love you with all my fucking heart. If we were in another world... In another life... If we could be like this forever...”

 “But we can,” you pulled away, looking into his eyes. “Mello, we still can do that. Let's quit the investigation, let's move somewhere unknown, buy a tiny cottage in a quiet village and do some shitty normal stuff other people do. Run a business, buy a dog...

 Please Mello... I thought... I thought we could’ve become a family…” you timidly looked into his eyes. “You, me, Matt... What more could we want?..”

 His long searching gaze seemed to look through you, into the very soul, laying out each of its components, studying and exposing all hidden fears, worries, hopes. You got scared that you said too much, that you could damage the fragile connection between you, that you disappointed him.

 He quietly raised his hand and touched your cheek. His thin fingers weightlessly outlined the line of your cheekbones, descending to the lips. He touched the lower lip with his thumb and pulled softly.

 There was still doubt in his gaze, but you saw how his eyes were filling with calmness and the heaviness of tension was fading away.

 He gently lifted your chin and moved closer to your lips.

 “You know... in the end every time you appear to be right,” he chuckled bitterly, shortening the distance between you.

 You felt the metallic taste and the rough skin of the lips, bitten in moments of nervous tension. Your hand gently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, softly stroking the place of the scar on his beautiful face. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer by the waist and guiding your chin with two fingers.

 Lately, when the investigation occupied all his thoughts, there was nothing but a brief kiss, fleeting sparks of feelings, unconscious hugs, when you happen to sleep together. Now he was kissing you sincerely, demanding, tenderly, as if begging you for something that you couldn't understand yet. As if he was speaking in another language, afraid to say out loud what he had to say long ago.

 “I love you,” he whispered into your lips, pulling away.

 Now you saw in front of you nothing but a boy from the Wammy's house, the one you remembered so well, the one that shared his dreams and achievements with you, the one that beat the walls and swore to win Near during the next test. The boy who came to your room and made a promise to find you, looking at you with a long wistful gaze, before leaving the Wammy's house forever.

 “Y/n, I... I cannot change it anymore. We have to do it tomorrow. And we will. It's more than me, it's more than us. I know what I gotta do and I will do it. I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I cannot promise you anything this time... I will try my best for you, but... You have to know, no matter what's gonna happen tomorrow, I love you and I always will. Don't blame yourself, alright? You couldn't change anything. You're the best thing ever happened to me and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

 He once again pressed your hand tight and quickly headed back to the computer, as if he was afraid that at any moment, something in him could overpower, break his determination.

 “I hid the rest of the mafia's savings in the basement. They will be enough to change documents and buy real estate in Canada. They're yours now, and... Take care of Matt, okay?”

 You walked stiff-legged to the door, realizing this was the end. You failed. Your throat was dry, your tongue wouldn't obey you, there was a fog in your head, as if you could pass out at any minute.

 “And... One more thing.” he said quietly over his shoulder. “I know, maybe it's stupid but... I want you to know my name. In the end... I don't want you to remember me as Mello...

 It's Mihael...

 Mihael Keehl.”

[pillow-anime-talk]

gender swap.

request: how do you think a female wammy’s boys, lawliet and light would be?

# tags: headcanons; gender swap; slice of life; mostly fluff; maybe angst or drama; also comedy (a bit); sfw

includes: light yagami, l lawliet, beyond birthday, nate river, mail jeevas & mihael keehl {death note}

— LIGHT

↘ Oh, she is definitely one of the most beautiful women in the university and gets a scholarship every year for her academic achievements. She is not competitive and doesn’t try to be; she simply has an innate talent for quickly remembering informations and numbers and uses it to get the best grades, and thus awards or recognition among professors.

↘ She is not very interested in relationships; many boys chase after her, but she doesn’t care at all. Brown-haired girl much more prefers to focus on her career and private goals (both in the Kira case and her job in the investigative department).

↘ Nevertheless, if the situation requires it, she will use her charm and grace to achieve what she needs. This woman will stop at nothing when her own life is at stake.

— LAWLIET

↘ I imagine she’s wearing these cool, fluffy hoodies and huge pants tightly tightened around the waist. She is the definition of a woman who likes to play video games, drink energy drinks, watch anime and sit in her own room (alone).

↘ Just like the original L, she also likes sweets and juicy fruits. I imagine her favorites are mango or peaches. In my head I think that she is a vegetarian and cooks well to maintain a healthy, balanced diet based on the right products.

↘ She is an introvert and it’s hard to make friends with her, even though I personally find her a very attractive woman. However, she seems to be unapproachable and therefore has no success in friendship or love.

— BEYOND

↘ She is a loner who devotes herself to her own projects. She has at most one friend, but she lives alone in a small studio apartment with her beloved cat (she is definitely a cat-person).

↘ She studies criminology or forensic psychology and likes to listen to podcasts. She has very good grades, but very rarely appears in class (he comes to universities only when there are exams). The professors have no problem with her, but they know that she is a rather mysterious girl who struggles with personal problems. Nevertheless, she does very well, although she is an outcast.

↘ That girl enjoys night time and loves spending time with her cat while watching crime shows on Netflix. She definitely has trouble sleeping.

— NATE

↘ Another nerd. The best student in the year, the best student in the field and the best student in the entire university. In addition, she is artistically and musically talented (playing the violin and piano, #canon). Although she doesn’t have many friends, she is quite popular and her white hair catches the eye of most students. She is very liked by the professors, even if she looks at the window during classes and does not write anything in her notebook.

↘ I think she is fluent in French, German, English, Japanese and Swedish. She likes to learn new things – she remembers everything so easily. And also has a natural talent for this type of thing.

↘ She doesn’t have a driving license and is afraid to drive. She’s definitely using other people for a free ride.

— MAIL

↘ Not studying. I think she found work as a graphic designer, game tester or digital game designer. It’s something she likes and she’s really good at it. In the future, she would like to set up her own studio where she would create games.

↘ I have a vision in my head that she is sharing a room in an apartment with several people and she is that girl who likes to party and come home late. Plus, she smokes cigarettes and likes to sleep in late – a real example of a bad girl you don’t have to worry about if your boyfriend hangs out with her after school on a project.

↘ Nevertheless, she is a girl who sleeps with her favorite stuffed animal at night and I have no excuse for that, I just feel in my heart that she has a little brown teddy bear without one eye that she got from her favorite grandma and always sits on her bed waiting for her to come home.

— MIHAEL 

↘ She has many friends, but only one true bestie, with whom she is perfectly matched in characters. She swears, she smokes, she’s always late, she’s sophisticated, she’ll take your boyfriend away if you get in her way... She does not like nosy people and gossip about herself, which is why she always deals with such matters personally, preferably behind the walls of the building or between the garages.

↘ She is brutal and emotionless. She has definitely not yet met a person who could heal this little, wishing for happiness heart. Currently, she lives alone and spent nights in the arms of random men. She doesn’t mind.

↘ Somewhere in the back of my mind I have a vision that she has been to the police station more than once for theft or battery. But she has a rich dad, so she gets away with everything. 

[lightyaoigami]

domicile || near's birthday || day 2: memory

rating: G | category: gen | chapters: 1/1 | words: <500

“Roger.”

Mello strode purposefully into the administrator's office without knocking.

“Good evening to you too, Mr. Keehl,” replied Roger, bemused. He had been in the middle of removing a bag of chamomile tea from his large white mug with the Wammy crest emblazoned on its side.

Mello straightened his posture. He couldn't back down now—not when he had stormed out of his room and barged into Roger’s office well after quiet hours.

He inhaled, deep and slow, through his nose.

“I need,” he said calmly, “a room reassignment.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. Mello laced his hands together at his waist. He almost started to explain himself, but thought better of it before his lips could move.

Roger placed one hand overtop of his mug and looked at his desk. Mello couldn't read his face; Roger was always a bit more taciturn than Watari, and for this Mello preferred his counsel.

He lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. “Mm. Chamomile is so calming before bed. Can I offer you a mug of your own, Mihael?”

“No, sir. But, please, my room—”

“Is there an issue with Nathaniel?” Roger asked, speaking deliberately.

“Yes,” Mello said too-quickly. “He's horrible. He pours out my cordial and he puts my toothbrush on the carpet so it gets all hairy. He throws out my socks and cuts holes in my underpants.”

Roger looked surprised. “Holes in your underpants,” he repeated.

“Well,” Mello said. He did this sometimes, lying for effect. It worked on most grown-ups. Most people, even. But it didn't always work on Roger, and it never worked on Near. “One pair. It might—maybe it was the washing machine. But the point is—”

“Mello?”

A small voice came from somewhere behind him, and the back of Mello’s neck burned. He turned slowly over his shoulder to see Near inching past the doorframe into Roger's office.

“Ooh, tea,” Near said. “Roger, may I have some?” His voice had a tone of smugness to it that only Mello could hear—it made Mello dig his nails into his palm to keep from screaming.

“Of course, son,” Roger said jovially. “I'm glad you're here. Now, Nathaniel—perhaps you could illuminate some things for me. Mihael's underwear, for instance.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Near smiled. Mello turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

[fan-therapy]

How would the wammy boys (and Light) take to a reader who dresses grungy metalhead style and listens to nirvana SOAD koRn and Slipknot and is antisocial and clingy to them also GN reader and preferably headcannons (established relationships because duh) sorry if it's kinda long but I want to know if they'd like me

Wammy Boys with a Grungy Metalhead Reader

hi! so i made these all SFW, also im not super familiar with the metal scene but i tried my best! i hope you enjoy it! thanks for the request anon <3

L Lawliet 🍰

-he doesn't really get it at first.

-he thinks its a little strange, the music you listen to.

-also, the clothes?

-he just wonders why you wear so many dark colors!

-on the personality part, he surprisingly lovessss the clinginess

-he doesn't mind having you clutching onto him and sitting with him while he works! he likes it!

-he's also antisocial, so he likes that definitely <3

Near/Nate River 🧩

-he loves the style!

-he thinks the look is really cool, even if he doesn't think he himself would dress that way

the music, though, is another story

-i'll say now that it's NOT a deal-breaker for him

-but he doesn't like it.

-he thinks it's too loud and intense and overwhelming. he's the type of person to listen to classical so metal is too much for him tbh

-just like L, he's also antisocial, so he likes that aspect of your personality. the clingy side of things isn't an issue either. he doesn't mind it!

Matt/Mail Jeevas 🎮

-oh god he ADORES you.

he's not antisocial so he might try to pull you out of your little hole, but he's also okay with sitting back and playing some games with you

-hes even clingier than you lmao...

-like, he LOVES your attention. he needs it and he thrives on it.

-he loves everything about you.

-especially your style! he thinks you look so cool.

-when you two started dating, he was introduced to metal for the first time and now he's fully obsessed with it.

Mello/Mihael Keehl 🍫

-i think he also likes metal!

-he listens to the same bands, goes to the same concerts, all of that

-when he was younger, he might have even tried making some metal music himself.

-y'all dress kinda similar too, so you go together really well.

-you would totally go to concerts together but that's not relevant

-on the clingy side of things, he might not always be super affectionate but he won't ever get pissed at you for wanting his attention

-he doesn't mind your antisocalness, he's not too antisocial but he doesn't really mind that you are!

Light Yagami 📓

-good lord you two are polar opposites.

-like, he can't stand metal music and says it distracts him and makes his head hurt

-but if you really wanna listen to it, he won't stop you. he might just put some earplugs in though...

-he doesn't mind your clothes.

-like, he thinks it's cool, but he's not nearly as obsessed with it as matt.

-he will never ever stop you from clinging onto him. he doesn't mind it at all, so why should he stop you?

-he does try to get you out of your shell though!

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

In The Deep Woods [Chapter One] Propensity [Mello/Mihael Keehl]

Summary: Eliana Moore, an anxious forensic photographer with an eye for details, catches the attention of the third L who sends her to a rural mountain town in Tennessee to investigate a series of unexplained disappearances. Together with Mello, an unconventional detective, and his companion Matt, the three must uncover what dark secrets the town of Misty Pines hides, including what might be lurking in the nearby woods.

Warning(s): AU, supernatural elements, forensics, murder, cryptid, OC, anxiety attacks, slight gore.

No Minors Allowed!!

This was the part of her job that Eliana Moore hated the most; the part where her anxiety threatened to impair her. Murder was, to her dismay, ubiquitous. She could not control the propensity for violence in humans, just as she could not control her fear when thrown into a situation that triggered it. The former, she could at least do something about. That was why, even though she was on the verge of tears, she pressed on. After all, she agreed to take on the job, didn't she?

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Gianna Barella asked, raising a curious brow.

She was the lead photographer within the department, a woman well in her mid-forties. While she was hopeful to pass the torch onto Eliana this time, she was also uncertain. The call came in at noon, a body had been found inside the laundry room of a residential apartment building in the heart of "the Big Apple." There was not much else the team knew, but Gianna unfortunately was on her way to another crime scene and Eliana was the first eager face she had come across.

"Of course, I don't mind," Eliana retorted.

It did not take a genius to know that Eliana had an issue with tight spaces; the entire team could see how uncomfortable she was with them. Her trauma was not overlooked, but it was the reason she was snubbed by some of her peers. 

The look on Gianna's face slightly irritated her; she felt pitied by her superior. 

"I've got this."

Eliana left the department shortly after. It took her fifteen minutes to drive into the city and find a place to park that was close enough to the scene. Law enforcement stationed outside gave her no problems, letting her cross the barrier once she presented her laminated badge to them; she was one of the last of the team to arrive. Even the coroner was already there, waiting. 

After she redressed in a pair of white Tyvek coveralls, she followed an officer whose name tag read ‘T. Philips’ into the building; a key card was the only way to open the doors; each was locked at all times with a door lock that used RFID (radio frequency identification) technology, he explained. If she left the building at any time, she would have to find him to let her back in. He only spoke once more to her, to show her where the basement was. Eliana was on her own after that. She took a set of narrow stairs down into a shoebox of a room that in her opinion was straight out of a horror movie. It gave her a bad vibe. The overabundance of investigators only made matters worse. Why were there still so many people? The team should have almost been done. 

Eliana waited for a moment by the stairs for them to finish, but she was starting to feel uneasy. It was hot for some reason. She tapped her foot to distract herself, but the stagnant air was starting to suffocate her. As much as she tried to ignore it, the sensations brought back the memory of something she wished that never happened; the onset of her fear. It was all coming back to her, replaying like a film reel in her head; the fear of death and the sound of her panicked screams. Her heart started to race and she realized that she might have a panic attack. She had to quickly step away.

–

It was on her, Eliana admitted. She said yes to Gianna when she knew there was a possibility this would happen. But it was fine, she would be fine. She just needed a moment alone. 

Her warm sweet-scented breath, due to the dust mask she wore, wafted against her face as she took a series of deep breaths. Eliana was embarrassed for having to tuck tail and run, hiding at the end of the hall near the stairs, and while no one batted an eye, she was certain that they would talk; they always did. 

One half-assed pep talk later, she was as ready as she was ever going to be.

As she walked down into the basement again, Eliana was relieved to see that a few of the team had left. It was time to get to work. She clutched her Digital SLR against her chest and recalled the 3-3-3 rule that her therapist taught her. It was not necessarily meant to be used to do her job, but it helped her focus.

At a glance, what do you see?

Eliana carefully scanned the scene, noting how cluttered the laundry room was; a jumble of empty detergent dispensers and wads of lint were strewn about as though whoever left them there expected someone else to clean up after them. It was as one would expect the basement of a cheap residential apartment building to look.

At least there ain't any fuzzy creatures from outer space wanderin' about.

Just her team. Investigators in matching coveralls walked the grid. It was not required, since the crime scene was small, but there was a lot that could be overlooked, especially amongst the cobweb-covered boxes and rusted tools that added to the mess. It was a hoarder's paradise, and if not for the pungent scent that filled the stagnant air, the polyester suitcase, the one hiding the dismembered body that the police had yet to identify, would not have been found.

The deceased was discovered, to her knowledge, by a young man. She did not know much about him aside from the fact he had come down to find out what the overwhelming smell was that had come up through the vents into his mother's apartment. That led Eliana to the next detail. What did she smell?

Death was apparent, but based on the scent alone, she was able to determine how long the deceased had been dead. It was not pleasant, sometime after the decay phase. The fluids in the body after death are released through the orifices, a nasty process. In this case, the fluids had leaked from the suitcase and stained the concrete floor a dark greenish-brown; she could see it from the stairs where she stood. It was a cocktail of rotting flesh that she could not mistake for anything else.

Among that, however, she could smell the musty scent of mildew and something that was out of place; sharp and minty like peppermint. It was odd and a bit unexpected. Eliana ignored it for now and moved on to the next step. Movement. 

Her footsteps, muffled by the booties she wore, were slow and deliberate as she walked the grid; one step at a time. Eliana approached the first number tag, marking the evidence that was found, and raised her camera to snap a picture. She had to bend to one knee to get a better angle the second time, due to her boss, Henry Conners walking into the frame. He was the crime scene leader, a man who was as strict as he was full of himself.

"You took your time getting here. The coroner is pressing me about collecting the body," he mentioned.

Eliana frowned behind her mask. She had no excuse other than how uncomfortable she felt in such a cramped room. Redirecting was her only choice to avoid being scolded. 

"Are these the only scuff marks found?"

"Yeah, which is odd considering who we are dealing with," Henry answered.

Eliana raised a curious brow. She did not expect the person they were dealing with to be a seasoned killer. 

“Who?”

Henry's eyes narrowed in elation, an action that made Eliana feel uneasy. 

“The Artist.”

A few things came to light at that moment. The reason there were so many investigators in the room was because ‘the Artist’ or as the media coined them, ‘the KDD (Kill. Dismember. Display) Killer’, was elusive. They hardly ever left evidence at a scene and when they did, there was nothing much to go on. Her team ran through each of the crime scenes with a fine tooth comb but to no avail. Then there was the scent.

It was peppermint oil. 

‘The Artist’ used it on the bodies. No one knew exactly why, but theories were that it masked the scent of decay to an extent. Each of the victims, both men and women typically between the ages of twenty-five and forty had traces of the liquid on them when they were displayed to the public; a macabre form of art. There were similarities, but some of the details made no sense to Eliana. 

“Why here though? This isn't their–”

Before she finished the sentence, her eyes widened in realization. There could only be one explanation. In the half year that ‘the Artist’ operated, they had never made a mistake. Until now. 

“They were in a hurry and got sloppy,” Eliana uttered. 

Henry shook his head. 

“Which leads me to believe that whoever is in that suitcase is a tenant in this building.”

She had the same thought. How else would the killer be able to gain access to the building? It required a key. But did that mean he was forced to kill them in the building? An air of excitement washed over her. This could be it. What sort of evidence did ‘the Artist’ leave behind for them?

Eliana stood with a grunt and strode past Henry to the next numbered tag. He followed, spouting off his theories, but she ignored him. Without the rest of the evidence, she could not paint an accurate enough picture of the crime scene. What it came down to was identifying the deceased, then she was hopeful that new leads would surface.

Bending to her knee near the final evidence tag before the body, Eliana snapped a series of pictures. The scent of peppermint oil was strong, making her nose itch. She sneezed, a cute ‘choo’ that made her eyes water and her cheeks burn in embarrassment. As she stood and approached the body, she vulgarly sniffed in the snot that began to seep from her nose, unintentionally taking in the pungent scent permeating the air. It made her stomach churn, but something was odd about it. The peppermint oil was not quite as strong near the body as it was away from it. 

Eliana narrowed her eyes in question, then backtracked, earning a look from Henry. 

“What are you doing?” 

She did not answer him, leaning down to take in another sniff. It was just as she thought, the minty scent was stronger near the third tag; the colored glass.

“Any idea what sort of glass this is?” Eliana asked. 

“No idea,” Henry answered. “Could be a multitude of things, but there's just not much of it to say at a glance.” 

She frowned. He was right. Forensics would be able to identify it. Leaning down as if she were about to press her nose to the floor, she took a 3rd sniff.

“It smells like peppermint oil.” 

Could the shards have been from the bottle the oil was in? Eliana sat up and looked around the tag. There was no sign of it, unfortunately. To her right was a blank open space, and to her left there were four machines shoved against the furthest wall; two washers and two dryers, cheap and old; one of them even had a handwritten note taped to it that claimed it was ‘out of order’.

I wonder.

“Do you have a light?” Eliana asked, directing her question to Henry.

He called over an investigator with an aluminum case, Sally was her name. She handed Eliana a slim pocket flashlight, then the latter turned it on and directed the beam under the broken dryer. At first, she did not see anything of importance, but then the light caught the glare of an amber-colored bottle and her heart began to race. 

“There's somethin’ under here.”

It took two investigators to move the dryer out, but what was collected made it worth the effort; a broken glass bottle of peppermint oil with a dropper attached to the lid. She knew not to get her hopes up, but Eliana could not contain her smile.

–

“At noon today, the New York Police Department, headed by Officer Kenneth Woodrow, arrested thirty-five-year-old Joseph Carter, the man seen here, for the gruesome murders of–”

“Look at him,” Gianna Berella interrupted. “He looks so…normal.” 

Eliana agreed. She stared at the screen of the TV in the breakroom as reporters escorted ‘The Artist’ in handcuffs to a police cruiser outside his studio apartment. He was, in all manner of the word, normal. There was absolutely nothing odd about him aside from the self-centered disposition he displayed while in custody. 

Carter was a Caucasian man with dark hair, wearing square-shaped frames over his dull eyes. He stared at the cameras as he passed, smiling and nodding his head as though he had just been awarded ‘the National Medal of Arts’. It was nauseating.

“Why do you suppose a guy like that decides to just wake up one day and kill people?” Gianna asked. 

Eliana had no idea. There were a multitude of different reasons murderers did the things they did; sometimes because of a Traumatic past, or simply because they wanted to reenact a dark fantasy of theirs. What she did know was that all of them felt their reasons were justified. 

“I guess we'll have to wait until the trial to find out. What matters is that we helped catch him.”

Gianna could not mistake the look of disappointment in her blue eyes. She rested a comforting hand on Eliana’s shoulder. 

“It was you who found that bottle. That's something to be proud of. Don't let your thoughts get you down.”

It was, but it did not make her feel any better that Henry Fucking Conners took full credit for the find. The bottle had a partial fingerprint on it, a fourteen-point similarity to Carter's on-record fingerprints from a B&E felony when he was in his twenties. When the police searched his apartment, they found his sketchbook with drawings of the victims before and after the murders, a metamorphosis into something significant, he claimed. It was a huge success for the forensics team, and while they were credited in general for their effort, Henry was the only one named. 

Eliana honestly felt snubbed again. She forced a smile. 

“I am proud.”

There was some truth to her statement. After all, she helped catch a serial killer, but she hardly felt appreciated. Henry could take the credit, for all she cared, but he could have at least told her that she did good. Approbation was all she wanted. 

It shouldn't matter though. 

But it did.

The sound of her name being called suddenly and loudly brought her out of her brooding thoughts. Eliana raised her brow as Captain Dani Perez of the New York Police Department (NYPD) waved her over. She spared Gianna one final, curious look, then stood and approached him.

“There is someone who wants to see you in my office,” he mentioned in a thick Spanish accent. 

Who? She raised a brow, but Dani did not offer her a name. He motioned for her to follow and led her through the bullpen to a narrow room at the top of the stairs. 

“Leave it like you found it,” Dani stated. A polite way to say ‘Don't touch a damn thing’. 

He waited outside, shutting the door behind him after she walked in. Eliana had been in Dani's office before. It had not changed a bit, devoid of personality aside from a picture of him and his husband the day he was awarded his position as captain; a title he took pride in. 

The only thing that stood out to her was the man standing behind the desk. An open laptop sat on the tabletop in front of him, though she could not see the screen. He smiled kindly at her and motioned to the chair in front of the desk.

“Have a seat, miss.”

Eliana was hesitant but did so. She had no idea what was going on. 

“How are you feeling?” The man asked. His blue eyes studied her as she shifted uncomfortably. 

“Concerned,” Eliana admitted. 

He hummed. 

“You're honest,” he pointed out. “That is good. I only have one question then.”

Eliana raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. 

“Why did you not confront your superior when he took the credit for your find? Henry Conners I mean.” 

She narrowed her eyes in question. What sort of question was that? Her first thought was to counter his question and ask who he was and what business it was of his, but in the end, she opted not to. Eliana sighed. 

“Because despite my feelings, it would have done no good to argue with him. It's the justice that matters.”

Her feelings hardly mattered in her line of work. That was the sad truth. She was ignorant for being hopeful that it did. 

“That is a rather selfless answer,” claimed an androgynous voice. 

The man stepped forward and turned the laptop toward Eliana. There was not a person on the screen staring back at her, but an ‘L’ written in old English text; a thick black letter resting center screen on a white background. 

“Ignore the question,” the voice ordered. “It's not important; just a bout of curiosity. My second in command, Anthony Rester, was instructed to ask on my behalf, but I have to admit, your answer, whether impaired by emotion or not, would not have changed my mind.”

Changed their mind? Eliana raised a brow. 

“If you could fill me in, I'd appreciate it. And maybe tell me who the hell you are.”

“Of course,” the voice agreed. “For now, you may call me L. I'll be hearing from you soon. Rester will fill you in now.”

The screen went black. Eliana stared at it for a moment as if she thought that L would return, but Anthony closed the lid. 

“Are you familiar with the Joint Task Force (JTF)?” 

She could not say she was. Eliana shook her head. 

“It's not a memorable name, I know,” Anthony admitted. “But L chose to trivialize it because of past incidents. We used to be called the Special Provision for Kira.”

The SPK. Eliana had heard of them before. They had an eventful year in 2009. First the disbandment in November, then the mob attack in Manhattan six days later. She saw it on the news, a large amount of money floating from the sky, taking attention from the group. She always wondered what became of them.

“The Kira case was solved in 2010, wasn't it? Were the SPK involved?” Eliana asked. 

“I'm not at liberty to say, but I can assure you that L was involved,” Anthony answered. 

She knew all she needed to know about them.

“What does the JTF want with me? I'm not a detective.” 

“You have an eye for crime scenes. L was…intrigued. He wants to offer you a chance that the department won't; a chance to give you the recognition that you crave,” Anthony answered. 

Recognition. As much as she hated to admit it, the word buried itself beneath her skin. How could she say no to that? Eliana tightened her jaw. There was still so much she was unsure about. 

“I just…I don't know if I can meet his expectations.” 

“I can't offer you any semblance of assurance for your worries, but not taking this chance will indeed mean you won't,” Anthony pressed. “You won't be alone. There are already two detectives on the case, but L wants a fresh set of eyes involved.” 

Sinking back into the chair, Eliana sighed. What should she do? On one hand, she wanted to offer her help. But on the other hand, she was not certain she would benefit the other two detectives. 

“Where is the case?” 

Anthony Rester grinned. 

“What do you know about Misty Pines, Tennessee?”