Hiii so like this is kinda embarrassing but for a few years now I have read one of your works everyday single day for a few years now, “Fledged Fatality” from before chapter 8 to way after the fic was completed. I was wondering why it got deleted and by any way I can still access it or if you can just orphan the fic? It’s fine if you don’t want to I’m a huge fan of your work and that fic literally changed my soul lol.
I’ve actually gotten a few DMs/comments about Fledged Fatality, so I figured I’d clear things up here for the few who are wondering!
Fledged Fatality (originally on ao3), as well my other FNAF works, have been removed from the site due to others copying sections/chapters of my writing and claiming them as their own!
Fortunately, Fledged Fatality is now an original novel for Kindle!! The story stays the same, while the names of the characters were changed for copyright reasons
Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, and cared about that fic. Knowing it resonated with people so deeply means so much to me.
i love his nose... what is it called hooked/roman/straight? idk... it's so beautiful... it looks like a triangle....🔺️ the big glasses fit so nice... how beautiful...
this has been cracking me and my husband up for upwards of a week, made by the incredibly talented @terumobyuri check out her stuff please omg rn!!! <3
Mello/Matt Week Day 4 — Reverse a trope @mattmelloweek
MATT: “u still up?”
MATT: “mel help pls”
MATT: “PLS GAWD”
Matt's texts came in an ugly and continuous stream the next morning Mello powered his cellphone on, rifling through photos of Matt from odd angles growing further bedraggled as he scrolled. Beer in one hand, a shot glass in the other; in another photo, and a sea of those vodka-lite cans in the background.
Groups of women in Lululemon fawned around him, their highlighted hair cascading into frame. Matt smiled sheepishly, glasses down the tip of his nose and cheeks ample and rosy with alcoholic flush.
Some big neighborhood party where Matt had too many and stayed too late; all in attendance privy to his passive habits, his easily stomped over backbone and the rest that Mello had to deal with.
The hangover was obscene, vomit trickling down his permanent five-o-clock shadow and into the shower drain.
Over the phone his voice cracked like an attic door, his body restless and pacing as he breathed into the mic.
“Why don't you just come over here? We could watch something, could be nice.”
Over here meaning from Mello's soviet-block styled apartment complex to Matt's family suburban three story, complete with picket fence and an indoor/outdoor cat that was treated like royalty. They'd struck up some kind of old-school reunion in the awkward days of the summer, where Matt moved out of his junky dorm for the summer and conformed with the rest of his white-collar world.
“I'll pass.”
“Cmon, Mel. You can't leave me stranded here hungover, my parents are having company over. I'll be bored to death.”
“Maybe the boredom will fix your hangover.”
“Haha.” Matt breathed softly. “Wear something nice, I'll see you in an hour.”
Beige walls and woke rich people, Matt strung Mello around with his hand around the small of Mello's back, creating wrinkles in his collared polyester shirt as he introduced him as his boyfriend.
Groups of eyes looked him up and down, smiling quaintly. They shook his hand; Mello offered a weak handshake.
“This is my mom's friend June, and her husband David, they all go way back. They're the ones we go on cruises with.”
Mello nodded, disinterested.
“They actually just came back from Germany,” Matt smiled his big toothed grin, it was the first time Mello considered how much work had been put into reforming it—as pictures of a younger, freckled version of him smiled crookedly on the walls.
They harnessed most of him. Mello didn't like that, he liked to be the one to do Matt's harnessing.
“You'll have to join us sometime, it's a truly extraordinary experience.” June nodded.
Matt smiled, stepping aside to refill their glasses with wine, removing the cork with some fancy electric corkscrew.
“Mello has never been on a cruise.” Matt grinned politely, bottle aside, arm replaced at Mello's waist.
The women gasped softly. “Never? Well you'll definitely have to join us sometime.”
Matt jostled him. Mello wondered what else would fit in that electric corkscrew.
“I'm going to use the washroom, I'll be right back.”
Way to leave him in the lion's den.
The adults spoke amongst themselves about their travels, glancing periodically at Mello, who stood hands in his jeans pockets, considering absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.
“Matthew tells us you're actually familiar with Germany.”
Matthew?
“Or of German descent, I mean.” The woman nodded, her smile not meeting her eyes.
“I don't know. I've never met my parents.” Mello glanced in the direction of the washroom, the light still on inside as Matt's shadow moved about.
“I'd be surprised if he wasn't,” Matt's mother spoke with a smile. “He is very blond. He fits the type.”
“He certainly does.”
The bathroom door swung open, Matt wiped his hands on the front of his pleated trousers. He glanced at Mello just long enough to catch him pulling his coat off the rack and making a beeline for the front door.
“Hey, Mel!” Matt called after him, glancing in the direction of the group, as if asking permission to walk his boyfriend out. “Mel—”
On the front steps of Matt's childhood home, Mello phoned for a taxi.
“Mel, wait. What's up? You good?”
Maybe resentment built up from how many times Mello used to make Matt do what he wanted, meet him on his terms, eat food he didn't like, spend nights at places Matt's never even heard of, but it made Mello’s skin crawl, feeling like the lesser one.
Showboated around like Matt's the one that saved Mello from his own penury; oblivious to the nights Mello spent peeling him out of vomit-soaked hoodies and scrubbing Matt's blood from the grout of the dorm room floor.
No matter how many times they could be stripped naked, intertwined; no matter how many titles Mello sustained—top of his class, high on the career ladder, exceptionally driven.
Matt would always have more than him. Come from more than him. And one day this would be his white house, his in-ground pool, his company and his party.
And Mello wasn't so sure he loved Matthew the way he loved Matt.
In two separate apartments, on opposite sides of the world, they spoke over a Discord call.
“I can't blow it off. My mom is flying in and everything, it's sorta a big deal, I guess.”
Matt's voice drifted in and out of clarity as his mouth moved closer and further from his microphone, dancing around the subject at hand, inviting Mello back with him, to stand witness to the ceremony alongside his absent mother and abhorrent on and off girlfriend.
Mello had been dead in game for a while, painting his toenails black with strokes of the long square brush, offering a hum every now and then as proof of life. The respawn screen glistened, Matt unnoticing.
“But I really don't want to go, yaknow how crowds make me feel. And I haven't been back there for more than a year...”
“So don't go,” Mello answered blandly.
“But… six years of computer engineering, I feel like I should attend my grad.”
“Then buy yourself something nice instead.” A few more strokes of polish, his concentration broken by Matt giving vent to a heavy sigh. “Or go.”
“Yeah,” Matt drawled again. “Maybe. Do you think you'd come?”
Matt returning to the old limestone buildings of campus was akin to walking willingly toward the gallows. Everyone had a bad professor now and then, classes they regret, people they wish to forget, but for Matt, it was as if he'd stepped two years into the past on that campus. Back in time to the days of melting Gelato and campus gyros, the click of the hole punch through his meal card, echoed the woman-shaped hole she'd leave in his heart.
In early September, six years ago, Matt stepped into an engineering lab, as soft and unmarred as fresh fallen snow. With green eyes and an esteem weakened by his mother, he befriended a five-foot-three and a half reprobate and started dating her only six days later.
Matt hadn't known this would be the fork in the road of his future, and by the time it crossed his mind the waypoint was long behind him, light snuffed out from all ends of the tunnel.
He would call Mello, progressively later at night each time and at more inconvenient intervals, while Mello traveled abroad; Matt was never certain of the timezones.
He would call and hang up. Call again, this time letting it ring twice. Another hang up.
The final time Mello had managed to grab the phone, and through a slur of inconsolable tears Matt managed the shaky words: “I miss you.”
Mello felt like an obedient lapdog driving to the airport, boarding, texting him when he landed just to pluck him up from the corner of his dorm room like a scolded child with bruises on his arms and his lip between his teeth. Never had he seen him so fragile, the fragments of his earlier life had shed away, crumpled around his feet like fallen leaves.
Mello resuscitated him with a kiss, his hand in the messy grown-out thatches of his hair, pulling, feeling the warmth radiate from his nape as he brought him to stand again. Mello ran soap over the freckles of his body and traced circles around his scars.
He gave Matt the cool side of the pillow and the comfortable side of the bed, ordered pizza without pepperoni and made him pasta without sauce. Skipped the good parts of his life abroad, tending to him.
People looked at them as if they were together. And to Mello, it felt like the truth sometimes.
One night when Mello went out, searching for a semblance of independence lost, Matt was curled at home around the glow of his phone. The same three words stood to the left of the blinking cursor, the same three words sent off onto a sea of white. At the top of the page her picture winked at him, lively and tan.
Mello had started a LinkedIn, like the twat he was aiming to become.
“Aiming to”—because Matt still remembered well when he used to cut his hair with scissors. His black nail polish, his lipstick phase. He was a faggot in a 800-pound suit. Matt knew the core of him. He wasn’t letting go of that, not easily.
Matt lay on his back on his bed in his flat, picking memories sweatily off his damp fingertips. “Investment banking”. “I-Banking”, for those in the know. Sounded like Eye Banking. A safe full of sclera. Matt had been “eye banking” the boys down in Hulme Park in the backwash swill of 0200 Saturdays, pocketful of lorazepam to take the edge off. On about 3 to 3 and a half milligrams of lorazepam he started to really feel good about cruising, he’d catch a rhythm and a glide, prowling the bushes and benches like a sickass panther, a sickass shark, deep sailing over the continental rift.
Mello had an advanced degree; Matt had an appointment at the free clinic on Nell Lane. Mello got a promotion and Matt got chlamydia. Matt got a prescription. Matt got antibiotics for his burning stream.
He would stand in the bathrooms in the mornings, holding himself with three fingers and pissing painfully, and picture all of Mello’s accomplishments at the bottom of the toilet bowl. His straight As, twisted teeth, his delicate six-pack, the whole effortful torso. But he lost his footing when he got to his beautiful face, framed in metal, like stained glass. His hand shook and he splashed a little on the rim. No, he couldn’t do it, he could never sustain any kind of rage—anarchy, remotely-detonated devices, and the guillotine, fine, the blade plucked loose from the razor fine—but against Mello, never. Already his fingers ached to pick him out of the effluvia where Matt had cast him, to wash him in the tender bath of Matt’s tongue and mouth: Hello, darling, it’s been so long.
We are happy to announce this years prompts for #mattmelloweek2026 taking place July 20th - July 26th. We are thrilled to be running this event for the third year running and while the fandom is small you continually show up in droves to celebrate them! Please follow our links below for further information! See you there :)
