#rexii writes

[scorpiuslucci]

Romeo scowled on his way out of Hyde's stupid fucking office. He didn't care that Ritsu trotted to keep up, pestering him further about the Laurel Crown and probation and contract and on and on until his watch alarm chirped to let him know he was off the clock for the day and he evaporated.

Romeo scowled all the way out of the main building, across campus, to Obscuary, along the twisting forest paths, through the gate, then the door, then the entrance to Rui's bar.

Rui was more or less accustomed to this by now, but his chipper demeanor could hardly be contained. "Hey, Romi! Got some sparkling wine made fresh, just for y-"

"Vodka."

Rui blinked, still stuck at where he'd been cut off mid-sentence. "...what?"

"Vodka, Rui. Real, actual, wash-this-fucking-day-away alcohol."

Rui recovered with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. "Oh! Right! Must've misheard you. Umm...gimme a minute." He ducked into the basement for a few beats before returning with an unassuming bottle.

Romeo was taking a distinctly ungentlemanly approach to this, but by the time the mouth of the bottle met his, he had really stopped caring. Rui, to his credit, did not appear remotely fazed.

"I'll, um, check in on you later. Oh, hey, Leo!" He directed his dazzling smile toward the first-year.

Romeo's fiery gaze cut across the room to search for his friend's comparatively laid-back expression as he casually strolled into the bar. He jerked his chin in the direction of the seat next to him. Over here, Kurosagi. Now.

@ficoandleo

[scorpiuslucci]

It felt nice to have grass and sunshine in his hands again. Their desert biome wreaked havoc on his skin, only magnified the tension and misery that had become his second language.

Romeo would have rather shot himself than be assigned to Jabberwock, but it wasn't so bad to visit. The grass and sunshine reminded him of home. His real home from a long time ago.

"Did I tell you he used to play the piano?"

Towa's soft, gentle features reflected his surprise and joy at Romeo's words.

"No, then?"

Towa, lying flat on the shaded ground adjacent to him, lifted one hand and patted the grass. Romeo sighed and lay down, not entirely caring about dirt or bugs or whatever. Towa seemed to have an effect on any anomalous animals, as they tended to avoid him. The field itself was anomalous, too - extra long, thin blades of sweetgrass ideal for the grazing animals.

He gazed up at the clouds. He remembered calling out shapes in them, trading simple vocabulary with Taiga as they tried to learn each other's tongues.

"I never expected it from someone like him. I had tried to learn, over the years, but it never quite stuck. And he just...waltzed into my life one day with flawless talent." Romeo did not care for the word 'talent.' It erased one's grueling years of discipline. But it was well and truly the best description for the way Taiga played. "He has perfect pitch. Did you know that?"

Towa let out a pleasant, musical laugh.

"I know. It's extraordinarily unfair." Romeo's smile, the smile he didn't realize he'd acquired, like a secret gift to himself, softened into something else.

Warning Taiga not to go in the conservatory that night, in case the noise would wake up the house.

Taiga not caring. 'I'm not gonna play any music,' he said in jagged Italian with his perpetual grin. 'Relax.'

Taiga sitting on the floor in the middle of the spilled moonlight, patting the space in the shadows next to him to encourage Romeo to sit down. Romeo did so. Taiga scooted over so there was room for both of them to share the light coming in through the picture window.

Romeo pointing out other words they hadn't taught each other yet. 'Music stand.' 'Harp.' 'Curtains.' 'Window pane,' which was different from 'window.' Receiving Taiga's translations in kind.

'That's a pretty one,' Taiga mused when Romeo pointed at the moon and said it was luna to him.

Taiga's fingers stroking his hair. 'You're prettier, though.'

Romeo's heart trying to burst out of his chest like it was escaping prison.

Taiga's breath murmuring into his ear while those fingertips brushed his hair aside. 'You're the prettiest thing here.'

His lips fairly quivering, eyes lolling shut as Taiga's mouth connected with his. The fireworks that bloomed in his blood. Daring to flick his tongue in an effort to learn more about what hid behind those teeth, wondering if he might be sliced open on their edges, and finding himself matched with another languid tongue instead, wanting to learn the secrets that he hid behind his pretty words and pretty lips.

The sweet nothings that were actually sweet somethings. The fingers in his hair and the firm, muscled chest against his hands. The floor being not nearly as comfortable as he imagined a bed would be. Taiga lying about not making any music.

Romeo did not realize he'd stopped talking until Towa none-too-gently punched him in the upper arm. He sat up suddenly. "What?! What did I do?"

Towa pointed at his face and scowled.

Romeo was so stunned by the tears that he did not react to them right away.

"~~~~🎵🎶" Towa said in his unique song-speak.

Romeo could do little else but stare at the ground, at the grass beneath his hands, at the sunshine splashed over his perfect hands. "It was a long time ago," he whispered. Another time, another place. Another version of them that was dead, except to hang suspended in a world that no longer existed.

No one else needed to see what it did to him.

running that towa account is so much more fun than i expected, and it honestly got me thinking about, like, what his interactions with the other ghouls would be like??

like, can you imagine a conversation (or lack thereof) between him and Romeo? this time, Romeo would be the one trying to guess whatever the hell Towa is talking about. or maybe he’d understand him just fine? lmao

and do you think if Sho ever tried to give him actual food, he would just eat the garnish and give the rest of the food back to him? Would Sho be offended by that?or just confused??

and lastly, would Towa get along with Taiga? He doesn’t really care about the well being of anomalies, so do you think he’d just give one to him if it was bothering him too much? (personally i think he’d try to feed taiga flowers at first lmao)

idk i’m just having a lotta towa thoughts now and i need to yap about them wajdjsjd

[shannadreamgoddess]

Been thinking a lot about Team Moonlight.

I adore the story of Rexii a lot. There's a lot of weird, lonely sadness I want to tap into for the story.

It's kind of a joke amongst my friends and I that I can't write proper fluff to save my life without turning it into a miserably sad story. Maybe that's just the way I am!

I'd honestly love to try and write something more traditionally fluffy but fluff is harder than you think and I have a lot of respect for anyone that can write really good, genuinely warm fluff in PMD...or anything, really ♡

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Jk.

I am just here to beg for the Rui crumbs once more

*bangs my tin can against my prison bars*

Plz I am but a poor

Bartenders have been famous for lending a listening ear and a friendly smile since the first time one person handed another a drink. Rui thinks about this a lot. He hears it all from his fellow students: classes, exams, training, missions. Largely complaints.

He serves them all with a smile, exuding a confidence and flirtatious demeanor that masks a hollow, lonely darkness underneath. What he wouldn't give to go to class without worrying about someone dropping dead if he brushed past them in the hall. What he would do to have the chance to take an exam and fail it and commiserate with his classmates about the professors and the cafeteria food and lamenting the fact that all the cute girls were taken.

Rui wants to say that he would even take up regular missions again, if it meant his curse would be lifted, but that thought gives him pause. It's how he'd gotten into this sorry state in the first place. He was the answer to 'What's the worst that could happen on a mission?'.

Rui sighs and polishes the next glass.

"You're quiet tonight, Mickey."

Rui's façade never lasts terribly long when Romeo is his only company. The effervescence that makes his drinks so pleasant does not linger in his faded ruby eyes. He looks over at his friend and sees Romeo twirling the stem of his wine glass between his two fingers.

"Just thinking," Rui says with a sigh that is downright morose.

"About?"

Romeo is content to let the question hang for as long as Rui needs it to.

Rui pushes the glass aside and sets the cleaning cloth next to it. "The things people take for granted," he replies. "You know, little things, like...sitting next to strangers on a train. Getting boba with your friends after school. Going to the movies." His heart feels heavier just voicing the words he constantly thinks but never says.

Romeo nods to acknowledge him. "I can understand that," he says. "I took much of my life for granted until the incident that landed me here." He takes a generous sip of wine. Romeo's eyes are another pair of gemstones, twin flashes of deep, fiery purple and scarlet. They flick over to meet Rui's. "We're not alone in this feeling, though. Everyone experiences it, at some point."

"I'm not sure if that's helpful or not." Rui can't help but smile a bit anyway. "I can't imagine what you were like before Darkwick, Romi."

Romeo gives a light shrug. "Does it matter? That man is gone."

Rui's smile softens, becoming a little less spirited and a little more real. "Yeah. For me too, I guess." He chuckles a little, staring into the bottom of the freshly-cleaned glass to glimpse his reflection. "You'd be a good bartender, y'know. You're good at listening."

Romeo takes visible offense to this. "Please. I would shoot myself before I would listen to these people gripe and moan. I'm honestly not sure how you do it."

(Romeo's compliments were really something.)

Rui finally brightened a bit. He reached for the bottle of prosecco he'd made for Romi and topped off his friend's drink, then poured himself a glass and raised it in a toast. "It's not too bad, really," he said as they clinked their glasses together. "I've had a lot of practice."

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Maestro

romeo complains. yuri attempts to cheer him up. (not a ship.) sidecar of music theory free of charge.

also on ao3

cw: blood, gory deaths.

words: 2,393 plus a few unrepeatables from romi.

Romeo had a surprisingly good singing voice. He’d been formally taught the basics as a child, inhaling correctly and enunciation and so forth, but the soulful part came to him as naturally as breathing. The lyrics of this particular song seemed to tumble straight from his heart by way of his tongue.

“~passigiar…sott’er cielo de Romaaa~”

Yuri chuckled to himself. “Homesick and nostalgic today, are we?”

An exasperated sigh broke off his singing from the other room and left the vintage record to continue on without him. “You have no idea,” he lamented. There was the clinking of glasses and liquid fizzing briefly before he returned with one perilously-full drink in each hand. He passed one to Yuri on his way to his favorite chair, but from the way he collapsed into it, it was rather evident that he would prefer to be sprawled across the couch cushions instead.

Yuri sipped the top layer off and closed his eyes to savor it. “Ahhh, so refreshing,” he declared before setting it aside.

Romeo took a healthy swig from his own glass. Yuri guessed this was not his first or second drink of the afternoon. Perhaps not even his third. “These idiots must convene every day to decide how best to piss me off.” He took on a mocking tone. “‘Oooo, look, everyone, four o’clock, what asinine ideas did we come up with today? Gasp! Great thinking, Kaito! That will infuriate him for sure!’ Fucking hell.”

“It would not surprise me.” Yuri passed him a sympathetic look. “We are surrounded and, regrettably, outnumbered.”

“I swear to god, if you start singing Hamilton right now, I’m going to push you in front of a truck.”

Yuri cackled. “I’ll generously attribute that insult to your blood alcohol content. What are you by now, point-oh-five, oh-six maybe?”

Romeo gave an irritated growl. “Whatever it is, it’s not high enough.” He emptied the rest of his glass with an aggravated, less-than-gentlemanly sigh. A watery glance at the goblet told Yuri he was thinking of throwing it in frustration, but a sluggish mental calculation of the monetary value stayed his velvet hand. “Is this better or worse than shooting something?”

“Well, I do advise against the consumption of more than one alcoholic beverage per day, as a matter of course.”

“Why did I invite you?”

The corner of Yuri’s mouth twitched. “Because, my morose little Sicilian transplant, I always know how to cheer you up.”

Romeo’s eyes focused a little more certainly on Yuri. “That sounds like you have an idea.”

“I do have an idea, Watson.” Yuri picked up the leather briefcase at his feet and offered it to Romeo, whose gemstone eyes regained some brilliance at the sight. He set his glass down and took the case.

He spun the codes, and the brass latches snapped open at his touch. He opened the case. “Ooooo…” He gingerly removed a glass vial from the set. “It’s not even my birthday!”

“I presumed you have at least a few specimens available at all times.”

“You presume correctly, amico mio.” He nodded at Yuri’s drink. “Finish that first. We do not waste liquor in this house. And don’t make me wait.”

“Demanding. I shall have to take twice as long now.”

“Non ci pensare!”

Yuri drained the rest of his glass and took both his and Romeo’s back to the private kitchen. Romeo had decided that, due to their repeated incompetence peppered with instances of treachery, he could no longer trust any of the employees to do menial tasks for him - at least, nothing that would allow them to be in his suite unsupervised. Yuri quickly rinsed and dried the glasses before returning to the lounge area, where he found Romeo examining the rest of his new collection.

“May I do the honors?” asked Yuri.

Romeo snapped the case shut and stood. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

Yuri entered the weapons vault and arranged the various unassuming levers and switches to unlock the hidden door, then they both stepped forward into darkness. Romeo’s mood had improved substantially; he was humming now, halfway through the next verse of the song he’d left unfinished, about a couple disappearing together beneath the blanket of a summer night in Rome.

“I don’t suppose you ever listen to real music,” Yuri said snidely.

Romeo called him a word he’d never heard before (and one he suspected Romeo’s mother would slap out of his mouth). “Take that back.”

“I will not. It is just as Mozart says in the film: ‘the only sound Italians understand is banality. Show them one interesting modulation and they faint.’” He didn’t have to see Romeo’s face to know what sort of fury he was igniting. “The Germans are unmatched in their creation of the world’s finest composers. Strauss, Bach, Handel - Beethoven, for god’s sake! Mendelssohn! Wagner!” Yuri had a particular fondness for Wagner. “I could go on for days.”

“And I thought you were here to cheer me up,” Romeo said with disgust. “I don’t need to be insulted like this. Besides, if Germans are such renowned musicians, why is Italian the language of music, hm? All the terminology, the notation?”

Yuri had to bite back a laugh that bordered on maniacal. “So they could take notes on how it should be done.”

It earned him another verbal slap, but it was worth it. Short was the list of people who could get away with taunting Romeo in such a way.

They emerged from the corridor and into the crimson shadows of the auction hall. Yuri could only make out a few faint movements in each of the tall, golden cages, but he could hear the mumbles and groans of the casino’s latest merchandise within them, and it brought out his most sinister smile. He watched Romeo set the briefcase on a table and reverentially open it again.

“Well, well, where to start, where to start…” He swept one finger back and forth across the row of vials as if expecting one to jump to his hand magnetically. He finally selected the one in the center.

“Excellent choice.” Yuri adjusted his gloves and grinned.

Romeo uncapped the vial and poured the contents into his palm. Having honed his abilities over the years, it was nothing for him to control his stigma with a delicate hand, the way a conductor would lead an orchestra through a soft, intricate passage, with mindful restraint and a gradually warming pull through the opening crescendo. He inhaled, then lifted his hand and blew the powder away with a kiss.

The powder thinned into silken smoke that spilled over the cage before him. When he heard the first subject fall with a clang, a little shiver of excitement teased his heart. The others followed immediately and rattled the cage from the impact. Romeo thought he might faint for completely different reasons.

“Incredible,” he whispered as the smoke dissipated to reveal the collapsed bodies. “And without an obvious trace, I assume,” he added over his shoulder without looking away from his work.

“Naturally,” Yuri said with a roll of his eyes. “This is hardly amateur hour.”

Romeo took the liberty of crushing the nearest subject’s fingers beneath his heel as he made for the adjacent cage.

“If I may suggest a prescription,” Yuri said with a sneer as he offered up a second vial.

“As my father would say, ‘You make-a terrible sentences.’” Romeo took the glass tube and uncapped it. The powder within shifted like crushed rubies. He glanced over at Yuri with elation glittering in his eyes and saw his friend pulling on a face mask.

“Best aim carefully with that one.”

O, be still his trembling heart. Romeo could hardly stand it.

He tipped a small amount of the substance into his hand and blew a breath over it. Rather than soft smoke, it shattered into a trillion shards of light that settled like a delicate veil over the test subjects. Just as their voices began to swell in a chorus of pain, Romeo, their brilliant conductor, charged them to sing instead with the blood bubbling up from their vacant mouths like so many fountains.

The choir died as a collective, strangled song.

Romeo felt the shiver again, reverberating through his ribcage with thunderous applause. He could hardly hear his own awestruck voice over the roaring admiration ringing in his ears.

“Che bello.”

Yuri gave a dark laugh. “I’m pleased to hear it.” He removed his mask and offered Romeo the third vial, which contained a thick, clear liquid that moved like warm syrup. “Now, let us say, for the sake of argument, that one of your lieutenants has, unfortunately, killed an informant from whom you had yet to extract information.” Yuri often spoke as if he were a tenured professor at the center of a lecture hall, complete with pacing back and forth. Romeo folded his hands in front of himself like an attentive student. “Or let us say, for instance, that you come upon the scene of a massacre and have no one left alive to interrogate.”

Romeo nodded along obediently.

“This one is of particular value in such a scenario,” Yuri said with a devious arch to his eyebrow and a wicked smile, neither of which he could contain for long enough to pass as a respectable man. “It can be applied using any of the standard methods. Go on.”

Romeo inspected the substance. Liquids were far more difficult to control via his particular stigma, given that few explosives existed in such a state. Solids were easy; powders, convenient; vapors, manageable. But liquids just had minds of their own.

Still, he couldn’t exactly let Yuri show him up on his own stage.

He spread a small amount on the nearest subject’s forehead, channeling the thinnest slice of his power, a mere grace note leading into the intended tone. It suddenly sparked beneath his fingertips and burned quickly into the subject’s skin with an ugly char. He leaned away in disgust, more at himself for failing than at the sight and sound of seared flesh. Heaven knew he’d done worse.

The subject opened its eyes and tried to scream, but the blood coating its throat merely gurgled along.

It was over in moments, and it dropped dead again.

“I suppose I need more practice,” he said with the ghost of a frown.

Yuri tapped his chin in thought - a habit of which Romeo had tried to break him many times. “I suppose it makes sense,” he said contemplatively. “If the subject’s injuries are such that they would be prevented from speaking, they would not be able to respond to questioning.” Romeo noticed belatedly that he was holding a familiar recording device in one hand. “Consult texts in aisle eight, section twelve, rows…five and six, I believe. Need to reformulate to lessen the chance of unexpected combustion.”

Well, at least that made Romeo feel a little better. “Did you steal that from Shinjo?”

Yuri’s mouth curled. “Borrowed, thank you. Mine took an unanticipated leap into the hydrostatic weighing tank.”

“Ah.” Romeo slipped his phone out of his pocket. He swiped away all of the notifications and opened Spotify, then navigated to his usual playlist and hit play.

Yuri shook his head as the opening bars of ‘That’s Amore’ rose in volume around them, courtesy of Romeo’s very expensive sound system and led by his signature serenading tone. “Always have to show off that famous Lucci family singing voice, don’t you?”

There was an audible tinkling sound as Romeo brought his rifle out to play. “Why not?” he asked as he loaded the last of Yuri’s prototype vials into the modified chamber. “It’s not like I’m going to inherit anything else from this fucking family.” He racked the round and briefly closed his eyes to let the song wash over him to clear his head of everything else. The fizz of sweet prosecco and the bitter citrus of aperol lingered on his musical tongue and reminded him of home.

Perhaps he had drunk too much wine. He bent back, aimed high, and shot the light fixture at the center of the ceiling. It exploded and plunged the room into darkness, but the flash powder burst into glimmering stars that rained down in a slow shower like his favorite kind of fireworks, the one that spread glittering strands in all directions and fell in the shape of a weeping willow. Or a chandelier.

As the screams of the remaining test subjects withered into cries and moans beneath the swell of the music, Romeo watched the stars he had wrought into existence shimmer and finally fade into the black.

“I always hated that thing,” Yuri concurred with a nod.

“I need a chandelier. A real chandelier.” Romeo ejected the empty vial from the gun and flicked it back onto its keychain, which he twirled thoughtfully around one finger. “I would invite you along on the trip to Venice if you would not be insufferable about it.”

Yuri scoffed. “I resent the implication,” he said indignantly over crossed arms. “I would behave in a perfectly reasonable manner on the way to Lauscha.”

“And what makes you think I would accept anything less than the finest quality?” Romeo let a bit of the flash powder residue flare to life in his hand so they could find their way to the exit. It flickered in his gemstone eyes.

“Documented reliability,” Yuri said with a smirk and a wave of his borrowed voice recorder. “You consistently choose your arrogant, misplaced pride over objectively better options.”

“You are not my psychiatrist, Yuri.”

Yuri snorted. “Of course not. Such a profession would drive me mad.”

Romeo wondered, sometimes, about whether he should make a foray into another area of his expertise instead of committing his life to the ailing family business. Music, perhaps. He could quite easily imagine himself conducting a one-hundred-piece symphony orchestra at the center of a concert hall. One he would have designed and constructed in order to best showcase his prowess.

Beneath a distinctly Venetian chandelier.

“Very well,” Romeo conceded to his wistful imaginings. “You may serve your German gingerbread as concessions at my concert hall in Rome.”

“What the hell are you talking about, mein Freund?”

Romeo chuckled. “Nothing,” he said. “Just the musings of a genius.”

x

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

chocolate

lilia being an emotional support bat dad.

cw: panic attack, mental breakdown, depression, grief.

Maybe it’s cause I grew up in a desert. It’s common to find other biomes more exciting than your own. I usually gravitate to the ocean - beaches, salt in the air, still warmed by the sun since I’m no good in the cold. Ever since I moved, though, I think more about forests.

It’s really beautiful in the fall, when the aspens light themselves on fire, searing golden and magenta streaks among the black evergreens. The chilly mountain wind that whispers the coming of winter on the back of my neck. I’m cold as fuck.

“I did not expect to find you here again.”

I’m sitting on the forest floor, mud soaking into my pants, creeping in after it’s already engulfed my boots. Staring into the infinite distance, like I might spot a deer. The slick leaves aren’t the best seat cushion.

“You either.”

Lilia scuffs up some of the slop a few feet away until it’s loose enough for him to jam the magearm into it. The mud is thick and strong enough to hold the weapon upright when he lets go. It reminds me of the time he made coffee-flavored cake batter with, like, a pound of corn starch because it was “basically the same as powdered sugar,” and it solidified so much that I snapped the spoon in half trying to extract it from the muck. A smile taps at the corner of my mouth.

“What?”

I keep staring at nothing as he sits down next to me. “Lucky it’s not a wooden spoon.”

“Ah, of course, my famous mocha rocky road cake.”

“Complete with actual rocks. And probably pieces of road.”

He ruffles my hair before sitting down next to me.

I twist to reach back behind him, and I watch him tense proactively, ever the fighter, ever prepared for a world that no longer exists. His eyes follow the path of my hand and then flick back to my face. I wrap his ponytail around a few fingers and sweep it forward over his shoulder.

“So it doesn’t get muddy,” I explain.

“Hm.” Lilia pulls the length of hair into one of his own hands and studies the ends of it. “I never thought about that.” He lifts his gaze to the gray sky, framed by flakes of gold leaf and dark pines. “Why do you keep coming back here?”

My heart trips over the question. “Why do you?” I ask, because I have no comeback.

“I asked you first.”

Now that it’s been unseated, my heart quivers uncomfortably in my chest. “Thinking.” It threatens to tighten up the way it does when I’m about to cry. “Thinking a lot, lately.”

Lilia makes a sound of affirmation. “Understandable.” He looks back down at his hands, no longer seeing the black and red ribbons of hair woven around his fingers. No, I can see it on his face. He’s seeing black and red of a different kind. Stains that soaked through his gloves and skin and down into his bones.

“Your turn.”

He blinks his way out of it. “Mm…I suppose I find myself thinking a lot lately, too.”

“Great. Good talk.” It has a sharper edge than I intended.

But he smiles before I can apologize. “I worry about you, little one. My memories are not a place meant for mortal feet to tread.”

“Heh. The inside of your head’s a lot fucking better than mine.” I bend my legs so I can rest my elbows on my knees. The undersides of my calves and thighs are cold. “At least your shit’s already over.”

“Is it?” Lilia gazes at me as if gazing through me, as if I’m the ghost, making him question whether this is a dream or a memory or merely the hope for one. As if I’m the one forcing him to live in the past. Maybe I am. What a piece of shit. “I scarcely allowed myself to even think of a time when that might be true.”

My eyes and nose start to sting. I sniffle and am rewarded with the acrid bitterness of wildfire smoke shoved down my throat. A remnant of a time when it wasn’t the trees lighting themselves aflame with fall colors and raking burning claws down the mountains’ slopes, when it wasn’t a misty autumn day, or if it was, you’d never know it because of the thick clouds of death churning in the sky. “Same. Except I know it will never be over for me.” Different sniffles now. “Not til the very end.”

Lilia clasps my upper arm as if to anchor me before I can drift away. I wait for him to counter my words with wisdom, for a lecture about hope or attitude or what the fuck ever that I’ve heard so many times already.

The concept of ‘hope’ has bothered me for a long time. It laughs in the face of reality. Some things are left to chance or possibility, but some things aren’t. Some things are inevitable. Some things just really fucking suck.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just holds on to me as a tornado of panic abruptly unravels me and tries to rip me away to fling me into the sky. I know a lot about tornadoes, actually. I know a pretty decent amount about panic, too.

“Start counting.” Lilia doesn’t lapse back into his commanding officer voice very often, but it’s not the kind of thing you say no to.

My voice is a tangled mess of knots strangling my heart. I hold on to him and try to remember what numbers are.

“I s- s-see- um, trees, and…leaves-” That’s as far as I can get without a sob cracking me in half. That was only two. I need five. “…dirt and…sticks…?” Running out of ideas, I glance over his shoulder. “Big green rock.”

“Mhm. Next.” Same intense, unwavering voice.

“Uh…h-hear…leaves rustling, and…um…wind…” My heart seizes again like I’ve been stabbed, a silent shriek of agony that won’t let me go. A bit of it snaps off and escapes as a thin, painful whine. I can’t keep going. I can’t.

“And?”

Humming. He’s humming.

I grasp for another breath. “Your singing.”

“Good. Three is fine. What else?”

I tighten my fingers around a clump of wet, dead leaves. Leaves were the answer to everything today. “Feel cold…mud. Fabric.” I think about the texture of the cloak over his shoulders. Hand-woven, strong. Softer than you might expect. When did he start hugging me? I don’t remember that happening.

“Very good,” he says soothingly. “What can you smell?”

I burrow my face into his arm and inhale sharply. Smoke. Oil. Dirt. Old blood. “Rain. Rain and…” I frown a little, opening one eye in suspicion. “ …sugar?”

Lilia laughs, low and quiet. “Here.” He touches something smooth and cold to my lips.

I tuck it into my mouth and let it melt. “Chocolate.”

“Indeed.”

Lilia never lets go of a hug first. He always waits until I’m ready. Sometimes I feel like that will never happen, but eventually, I do feel a little lighter. A little less crushed. I wait til the chocolate has melted into a thin coating before I pull away.

“Better?”

I nod. I’m still crying - the cold air makes the tears sting - but I can feel the spike of pain retreating. It takes a few breaths to get my voice back under control. “Father’s Day was hard.” Saying it aloud relieves more of the pressure. It’s really annoying that therapy actually works.

Lilia nods. “The weight of our grief mirrors the depths of our love.”

I look down and gently close my eyes. Still raining. “It’s not just what I lost, it’s…it didn’t need to be that way. So many things didn’t need to happen. He didn’t…” My voice gets so soft it cracks. “…he didn’t need to die. And I’m so afraid that I’ll only remember the last couple years, all the bad shit, how rotten it all was, and…and the good memories will fade, and…I won’t…” I hiccup.

“Now, now,” Lilia chides me. “Some version of you knows better than that.”

“Yeah.”

“So perhaps we should listen to her.”

I hesitate. “…I guess.”

“Because she is the smartest person I know.”

I snort. That snaps me out of it. I look up and wipe my eyes a few times. “It’s true, it’s all true. You would all be lost without me.”

Lilia’s eyes have always intrigued me. The color shift must be an age thing, dark red when he’s younger, softening to raspberry pink as he gets older and lighter and sillier. At this point he’s somewhere in between. “They would,” he says quite seriously. “They really would.”

He lets it linger in the air between us before cracking a smile and giving my shoulder a playful shove. “Big green rock, huh?”

“Well, look at it and tell me that’s not what you see!” I cry with a gesture at his magearm.

“I cannot argue with such profound reasoning.”

“Damn right you can’t.” I stretch a bit before trying to stand. Lilia doesn’t quite spring to his feet so much as he floats up and lands delicately on the toes of his boots, then he reaches down to help me up. I brush my pants off the best I can, but I will be doing laundry later. “Ugh. Wet mud…this shit’s like superglue.”

“Precisely why I prefer the beach.” Lilia lifts his chin with closed eyes and draws a breath deep enough to pull in traces of distantly salty air. “Perhaps we could meet there next time?” he suggests.

“Perhaps.” Next time. There always has to be a next time, right? But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. If I have to have these dark days - if they’re going to happen no matter what - then I have to make it through them to get to the next good thing. The next day at the beach. The next questionable baking attempt. The next piece of chocolate.

“Good. It does get exhausting lugging this thing around.” Lilia glances down at the magearm where it sticks out of the mud. “No offense,” he adds apologetically.

“I’m sure it’s just glad to not be used as a kitchen knife again.” I snicker at the memory.

“What was I supposed to do!” Lilia cries indignantly as we walk away, leaving his weapon and all its memories in the thick of the forest. It gets warmer the further out of the woods we get. His eyes flash brighter in the breaking sun. “Nothing else was sharp enough to cut the cake!”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

How Not to Fall

malleus as therapy round two.

cw: suicidal ideation/attempts/methods, mental breakdown, severe depression, grief/implied death. discretion advised.

Flying is just learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

I would be lying to tell you I haven’t imagined this moment a hundred different ways.

Some versions are more involved than others. Sometimes the scene drags on for several pages. Other times it’s over in half a paragraph.

This time, I’m standing on top of a wall. It’s dark out, a combination of night and storm clouds, because it’s more dramatic that way. The wall is stone, black or dark gray, covered in moss and lichen that makes it look older and darker. Thorns crowd my feet. Also dark, maybe purple for a little color contrast, though.

“Why did you save me?”

My voice is as unstable as I am. In between blinks, my view of the wall changes. Sometimes it’s dozens of feet thick and I’m safely-ish enough in the middle of it. Sometimes it’s the width of a balance beam beneath the toes of my tired sneakers. Cold rain makes the vines and mosses grow thicker and the flat, grimy surface of the stone turn slick and dangerous. It also makes me shiver. I never was one for the cold.

“Are you asking me to save you again?”

Malleus. As usual. And, as he says, again.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, and it’s the truth.

“I would not be here otherwise.”

I squeeze my eyes shut against the rain. Tears burn their way out instead. Acid rain. Ha ha. “Maybe, then. I’m not sure.”

“I will leave,” he says slowly, “if that is what you wish.”

“No.” Panic takes hold and makes me shake, but I can’t move. If I move, I’ll fall, with nothing but an abyss to catch me. “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

“Do you want me to-”

“No,” I say again, less sharply. “Just. Just stay there for a minute. And talk to me.”

“Alright.”

I listen to the rain and keep my eyes closed. I feel around for the limits of the wall with my toes, inch by centimeter. It turns out to be wide enough for me to sit on, so I do. I’m too scared to move more than that. I open my eyes after a bit and stare into the distance where the horizon would be if this were real.

Malleus walks close enough that I can hear the creaking leather of his boots and the heavy, hand-woven fabric of his cloak brushing against him. The wall must be wide enough for him to walk comfortably, then. I’m not that well-practiced at looking away from the dark, but thinking about little shit things like that keeps my head above the water.

(Water. Drowning. Fighting for air, swallowed by the sea. Monstrous things grasping at me and tugging me into the deep. Another time, another place.)

“Is there something you would like for me to say?”

His question snaps me back to the present again. For a second, it’s not cold, not raining. But a second doesn’t last long.

“Tell me anything.” I sniffle. “Anything to make me change my mind.”

“Do I need to change your mind?” he asks instead. He crouches next to me and brushes my shoulder with the lightest touch, as if afraid I will burst into flame at the end of his fingers. Maybe I will. That would be a way to go.

(Would the car have caught fire in the crash? Probably not. Modern cars are too fucking safe. Probably wouldn’t even let me crash it.)

I frown without turning to look at him. “I don’t know, do you?”

He laughs, the fucker. “You are still here,” he replies.

“Yeah, I can’t commit to anything. Thanks for reminding me.”

Malleus chances a firmer hold on my shoulder. “This is not a personality flaw.”

I scowl. “Are you seriously telling me ‘it’s not a bug, it’s a feature?’”

“Is it not a truth of being human? The will to survive the night, if only for the chance of a brighter tomorrow?” He sits down next to me, bumping my leg with his. “I think you agree, else you would not have suggested it.”

I don’t have an answer for that, even a snarky one. It’s quiet for a long time, except for the rain and the occasional growl of thunder in the purple distance. I can’t think about much besides the staggering pain in my chest, the stupid nerve behind my heart, stabbing, burning, aching, strangling pain, pain that hurts over and over again. I grind one hand into my sternum relentlessly, as if it will help, because it’s the only thing I can do. Well, not the only thing.

(I shut that idea down pretty fast. I can’t handle pain that well.)

“I hate being human,” I choke out.

Malleus looks at the horizon with me. “Do you really? Truthfully?”

“Yes!” I snap. “I- fuck’s sake, Mal, everyone around me is dying. Do you have any idea how many friends I’ve lost in the past couple years? My family? I’m not- this isn’t supposed to happen at my age.” I break off and start sobbing again. “Shouldn’t happen to anyone, but…you know what I mean. It’s not fair.”

He makes a sound of curiosity. “We have broached this topic before,” he says patiently. “About things being unfair.”

I can’t respond.

“I know you think I am unfair, as well.” This he says with profound sadness, a depth of guilt that shatters me all over again. “Rather, it is unfair that I cannot understand your suffering.”

“N-no, that’s not-”

“Shhh.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Many things are unfair, my friend, but you can be assured that this, at least, is a feeling I know personally.”

“Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry.” How could I forget? It has to be bad enough to watch centuries of friends die around you. Worse still when it’s someone closer.

“You need not apologize,” he says softly. “Grief can be a wretched beast. And I am aware that I am not saying anything you do not already know.”

I hiccup in a sad attempt to get my shit together. “I know.”

The clouds look thinner. I can see a few stars poking through. The pain loosens its grip, and even though I know it will squeeze me harder again soon, for now, it doesn’t.

I lean my head on his shoulder. “This armor is the worst pillow ever, man.”

He chuckles. “Sometimes one must choose between preparing for battle and hiding safely within a fortress.” He takes a slow, deep breath that moves his shoulder beneath my head. “Sometimes one does not have a choice.”

“Well.” I sniffle, probably getting unnameable goo on his fancy uniform. “I hope you get to choose for yourself soon.”

“I wish the same for you.”

“I think, um. I think I want to get down now.”

Mal snaps his fingers, and we are standing on the forest floor. The wall stretches high overhead now, past the trees’ canopies, up toward the clouds and the stars. I could imagine it still, hanging off the edge, clinging to his hand, the only thing keeping me from falling.

This wasn’t sleep. This was deeper, darker, solid. For once in my life, everything was silent.

Then someone else’s hand grasped my own.

Dark fog clouded my sight. I was afraid to move, because I knew I would fall. Down to the bottom of the abyss.

“Fear not,” said a voice, deep and dark and slow, like tree roots pushing through dirt.

I looked up to see a tiny glow of rich, spring green.

“I will not let you fall.”

“You asked me why I saved you,” says Malleus, “but perhaps the better question is why did you appear to me.” He tilts his head, horns and all, plucking the thought out of my stream of memories. “You needed help,” he says simply. “I needed to…connect with someone. And I suppose…I saw much of myself in you.”

He hugs me. Lets me bury my miserable face into his chest and doesn’t care how much I cry. Which is a lot. Endlessly, it seems.

“I know it feels as though this will never change,” he murmurs, “but it will. Everything does. And as Lilia said, you are not fighting alone.” He pulls away and looks at me. “I will go to war for you every time.”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Bittersweet

malleus as therapy.

cw: mental illness, suicide mention/ideation, overdose mention, psychological trauma. no gore or horror though.

(wrote this a while ago. based on a real life event for me.)

“It is difficult for me to understand.”

Malleus’s voice draws me out of the fog of my own mind and back to reality like the tether of a wayward life preserver. I wonder what he would think of this comparison.

“What is?” I ask, hoping not to make it too obvious that I wasn’t listening. I was, at first. I just have a lot going on right now. I always do.

He slow-blinks, catlike, lizardlike, dragonlike, his spring green eyes focusing on me a bit more purposefully. “That humans treat birthdays as occasions to celebrate,” he says, possibly repeating himself, to my sheepish guilt. “They have such short lifespans, yet they are so eager to lose another year each time.”

“Oh.” I clutch my stomach. I feel sick, and not because I ate too much cake. “Well, it’s not that simple. I-”

Deuce and Ace and Grim have started a conga line. I instinctively wince away from the noise, even though they're my best friends and I love seeing them happy, because the whole room is too loud and too close and I really think I might hurl.

“I, um, I’ll be right back.”

I set my paper plate aside and dart - slink - scrabble away from the chaos. I feel an episode coming on, or maybe it’s been playing for a while now, like a show I put on Netflix and left forgotten on autoplay until it asks me if I’m still watching. The brambles of unwanted memories tug at me with sharp fingers.

I wind up in the Diasomnia courtyard. It has benches under trees. It has a fountain. It has fog because of course it does, it’s Diasomnia. I sit on a bench and shut my eyes and grit my teeth against the acid burning through my stomach.

[ ping ]

My phone wants my attention. Normally it’s superglued/surgically attached to my hand, and muscle memory politely shoves me toward checking it, but I can’t look.

[ ping ] [ ping ] [ ping ]

The messages flicker before my eyes as clearly as when I first read them.

[ ping ]

It was weird, I had thought at the time. A couple vague posts from my friends popped up in my feed at random. Eventually I messaged one to find out what happened.

[ ping ] [ ping ]

Overdose, they’d said. Insulin and antidepressants. A month’s supply of hoarded medications. Suddenly the posts made awful sense. Claws gripped my heart and made it hard to breathe.

[ ping ]

“I had almost forgotten that humans can tell lies.”

Malleus’s voice startles me out of my woeful thoughts. “What?” I ask stupidly.

He gazes down at me. His features are shrouded by the dark, but I can see the downward turn of his mouth and feel the intensity of his eyes. He’s concerned. “You said you would be right back.”

I turn away from him and look at the ground. “Sorry,” I mumble. “You wanna sit down?”

He does. His presence warms the air next to me. I want to isolate myself - it’s so easy - but I make myself scoot closer to him so he can at least hold my hand.

“A lot of people hate birthdays,” I blurt out abruptly. “Like, they gripe about getting older, usually.”

My hand curls up tighter. He’s so different from me, all soothing heat and composure and grace to my sharp edges and cold, jittery nightmare of an existence.

“Is that what troubles you?” he asks quietly. His voice helps.

“No.” My voice wobbles, about to fall off the balance beam. This was not how I pictured having this conversation. In fairness, I had hoped it was a conversation I would never need to have. “A couple years ago. Something bad happened.”

Malleus is yet unfamiliar with many a human habit and social convention, but it seems he has learned at least one from me. He lifts one arm and rests it along the back of my shoulders.

My voice goes strangely cold and steady.

“My friend died. Killed herself. She overdosed and had seizures for ten days until they took her off life support the day before my birthday.”

The words linger like the bitter fog of my breath in the air. He says nothing.

“I hate my birthday now. I’m mad at her for doing this to me. I hate myself for being mad at her. I hate it because it could’ve been-”

My voice hitches as if caught on a sharp edge. If I open my mouth to try again, I know I’ll choke on tears.

“It could have been you?”

He poses the question as delicately as the touch of a fallen petal.

I’ve already cried over this so much that I don’t think I can ever cry again. But I’m finding it hard to breathe, the air escaping from my chest in erratic puffs of visible vapor.

[ ping ]

I hated the group chat they’d made. A dozen semi-strangers propping each other up with worthless promises that she would be okay, even though I knew the moment I heard the news that she wouldn’t make it. So many people lamenting how sad it was. So many “my door is always open”s.

“I think I understand.”

Malleus speaks close to my ear. I fall into his embrace as though collapsing under the weight of my words.

“It is not about celebrating the loss of a year,” he says in a soft murmur, “but the completion of one that might have been lost.” He strokes my hair. “As if conquering a great foe in battle.”

“Mhm. Slaying the dragon.”

It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. But he laughs.

“I should hope not. It is my birthday, after all.”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m making you miss it.”

“All is well.” He leans his head against mine. “I do not believe I am missing anything.”

I want to accept this as a wistful sentiment, but I make myself stand up. “Well, contrary to popular belief,” I say, taking both of his hands in my own, “birthday parties aren’t exclusively for you.” I give a light tug to pull him to his feet, and he rises with the poise of a dancer. “They’re also for your friends to eat cake and play games and be super obnoxious. So you shouldn’t leave them hanging.”

I never thought I would find the lights and crowd noise of a party welcoming, but I welcome it. Malleus keeps a hand around my shoulders - protective, comforting - until he’s certain I’ve recovered enough to stand on my own. I’m not quite up to joining the conga line, but I help myself to another slice of cake and some bonbons and a cup of punch.

“Feeling better?”

Lilia winks into existence next to me.

I’ve given up asking how he did that or when he showed up or anything else to the tune of fact-checking him against reality. “I forget you two can hear a pin drop in the next zip code,” I say as flatly as I can.

He gives a light laugh and pats my head. “I only want to make sure you are well,” he says.

“I think given my track record it’s safe to say that I’ve never been very well, Lilia.”

A strange expression settles over his eyes. Something knowing. Something…aged.

“It is never easy to face a monster in battle,” he says. “No matter your experience, your skills, your preparation- every confrontation is unique.”

I hold eye contact with him and sense I am speaking to a very different man.

“Do you know the meaning of bravery, young one?”

“Something something not being afraid of things?” I offer.

His smile politely declines my suggestion. “Silver made that mistake as well.” Lilia reaches over and taps me on the nose. “To be fearless is not to be brave, child of man. True courage lies in having fear and choosing to fight regardless of it.”

My gaze sweeps back to Malleus. Sebek is losing any composure he might have had due to a smear of frosting marring his lord’s white blazer. I look down at the half-finished cake in front of me. “It never stops, does it?” My voice comes out in a half-whispered croak. “I’ll never win.”

Lilia ruffles my hair. “You won’t know unless you try, young one.” His smirk never wavers, but it looks more genuine. “Besides,” he says with a knowing glance at my band of idiots - Grim balancing precariously atop Ace’s shoulders and trying to place a birthday tiara around Malleus’s horns - “it is hardly as though you are fighting alone.”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 5

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Anxiety. Anxiety who? No, just anxiety. You know her well.

“It’s open,” you call down the stairs. Your hair seems to have survived the aggressive treatment you’ve given it over the past few months, tucking it under hats, knotting it to make it look shorter - you even tried to spike it once, and you were afraid you’d have to cut it off to fix that disaster. It brushes an inch or two past your shoulders now, so you were able to twist and pin it atop your head.

Even as you hear Jade’s footsteps climbing the stairs, you’re not sure about the dress. Not that you don’t like it - you do - it’s just a lot at once. Tiered layers of shell-pink chiffon gather in pleats at the neckline, an asymmetrical shape that’s flat across the top and sweeps over one shoulder. A sash tied into a loose bow accents your waist just enough to point out that you have one.

“You look lovely.”

His stealthy approach startles you as usual, though you’ve gotten better at controlling your reaction to it. You habitually raise a hand to rub the back of your neck out of nervousness, but you make yourself stop. It would mess up your hair, and for once, you might even care about that.

You smile nervously up at him. “You look really nice, too.”

He chose a suit in a warm, light gray with some of the same undertones as your dress, accentuated by the creamy pink hue of his tie and pocket square. The rich, sea green of his hair stands out sharply against it, and his magic eye practically glows.

You blink in surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something.” You head for the closet, then pause to say over your shoulder, “not for this, I mean, just, like, in general. I keep forgetting.” You find the little box and offer it to him.

Jade carefully unwraps it and opens the lid to reveal a small piece of glasswork. He holds it at eye level and examines it as if he has never seen anything like it before.

Your heart lifts at that idea.

“It’s a tea infuser,” you say excitedly. “See, it has little holes in the stem, and then this lid goes on the top.”

You are certain Jade has never looked so incredulous. “It is a mushroom.”

“Yep!” You giggle a tiny bit. “I swear, I went through every inch of this town trying to find mushroom tea, but all the shop owners looked at me like I was nuts.” You leave out the conversation full of nervous hand-wringing that you had with Sam at the Mystery Shop as you tried to explain what you were looking for. “But as soon as I saw it, I was like, he needs that. They hav-”

Jade’s mouth silences yours. He catches you in the middle of a breath, delicately balancing your gift in his free hand while his other one caresses your cheek. You’re afraid to move too much, so you grasp blindly at the air until you find the hem of his coat. He seems so solid, so real, and it feels like the narrow space between you could collapse at any moment.

At once, he pulls away from you, flustered and breathless. “Please…forgive my actions,” he says as a blush lends an unusual warmth to his face. He seems to be struggling for words. “I have never…that is, no one has ever given me such a thoughtful gift.” He cradles the box in both hands, as if it is a baby bird. “It is perfect.”

Strangely, you find that you’re not self-conscious about this at all. Instead, it feels nice. You smile brightly at him.

“Don’t be sorry.” You wait until he sets the box down to take his hand. “We should probably go, though.”

The cool, fresh night air soothes some of the heat flushing through your head and neck. It seems to help Jade collect himself as well.

“Have you thought about what you are going to say?” he asks, lacing his fingers with yours as you walk toward the gym.

“Kinda. I think I’ll go for something between ‘moderately offended’ and ‘shocked at your stupidity.’”

Jade laughs under his breath. “Honesty tends to be the best policy in certain cases.”

You don’t have to worry about stealing any spotlights, thankfully, because Vil is already doing plenty of that. As usual, the paparazzi found out he would be at this event, trivial as it may seem. Between the cameras and the fans, no one has any reason to spare you a second glance until you’re inside.

Instinct compels you to cling to Jade’s arm, but after a minute, your apprehension starts to dissolve. The decorations are way cooler than you expected, with orbs of light floating overhead and blinking in time with the music, changing colors to match each song. There is, of course, a long table overflowing with food, where Ruggie has already parked himself. Your friends look like they’re having fun.

“Jay-Jaaaaaayy!”

Jade strategically twirls you out of the way so that only he takes the brunt of Floyd’s unwieldy frame slamming into him. He doesn’t look as irritated about it as normal.

“I am glad you decided to come after all,” Jade says, making little effort to hide a smile.

Floyd laughs. “Aww, look at the cute lil’ Shrimpy.” He bends down enough to be at your eye level and grins wide enough to show all his teeth. “Are you all better now?”

You frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Floyd just keeps on smiling. “Yep, all better.” He pats you on the head, somehow without upsetting your hair, and then skips away to find fun somewhere else.

Before you can comment on how bizarre that was, you recognize a few voices.

“Where did you find a suit like that? You said you weren’t even gonna go.” Deuce.

“Hehe, pretty slick, right? Don’t hate me ’cause you ain’t me.” Ace.

“Vil would probably say it’s too loud…or something,” Epel says hesitantly. “But I think it’s cool.”

No time like the present.

“Hey, guys!”

Three heads turn to look at you. Only two sets of eyes seem to figure it out.

“Hey, friendo!” Ace calls back, grinning all the while. “Nice fit. Couldn’t find a suit, though?”

“Ace.” Deuce looks like he might pass out.

“What? It’s fine! There’s no law that says-”

“Ace.” Epel is much more insistent.

You just give a tiny wave. “Having fun yet?”

Now holding the world record for slowest reaction time, Ace openly gapes at you. “You’re a girl?”

“Oh my god, Ace, you can’t just ask someone if they’re a girl.” Epel looks ready to strangle him on your behalf.

“You guys really didn’t know, huh?” You end up toying with a small piece of hair too short to tie up.

Then there’s a long, painful silence where they don’t say anything.

“You’re not…mad, are you?” You hadn’t anticipated this one. “We’re still friends. …yeah?”

Epel recovers first, but Ace recovers the loudest. “Pfft, duh! We’re just surprised is all. Right, guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

You glance over your shoulder. Jade has caught up with Azul, Vil, and Jamil, though he has made certain to stay nearby in case you needed him. He catches your eye and gives you a captivating smile. You know it won’t be long before everyone at the school knows, and, presumably, freaks out about it by extension. But you’re not as scared anymore.

“Okay, good. I’ll pretend to be only slightly offended that you thought I was a guy, then.”

It’s impossible to know for sure over the growing noise of the dance hall, but you would swear that you hear Jade laugh.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | {5}

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 4

“Glad you’re feeling better,” Ace says through a mouthful of sandwich (so it comes out missing most of the sharper consonant sounds). “Deuce thought you were dead.”

“I did not!”

Ace laughs and then starts coughing. “Dude, you take everything so seriously.”

You manage to laugh a bit. “Thanks, people.”

Then Ace looks at something over your shoulder and goes a bit pale.

“Wh-” You turn around and find yourself face to face with Floyd. Rather, with the buttons on the front of Floyd’s shirt, because he is very tall and you are sitting down.

“Shrimpyyyy,” he whines. “I’m booored.”

Why this is your problem will forever remain a mystery. “Okay?”

“Let’s go find Jade!”

It’s your turn to go pale. “I’m kinda busy-”

“Nahh, you’ve been nursing the same bite of spaghetti for twenty minutes. You’re fine.” He smiles gleefully and then, without warning, wraps an arm around your torso and hoists you out of your seat.

“What th- put me down!” You scramble to tug your shirt down. It wasn’t tucked in quite as well as you thought.

There’s no reasoning with him, so you throw a frantic look at Ace and Deuce.

“Nice knowing you,” says Ace with a wave goodbye. “Fs in the chat, sad reaccs only.”

You vow revenge if you survive whatever Floyd is going to do next.

Fortunately, when he skips joyfully into his dorm’s lounge and drops you unceremoniously on one of the leather sofas so that your head collides with Jade’s kneecap, Jade is just as shocked as you.

Several questions fight for dominance on his face. He finally settles on, “Why are you like this?”

“Welkies.” Floyd continues his skipping down the hallway, where you expect a panicked shriek to follow at any moment.

Jade sighs as you sit up and sort yourself out. You get your hair under control, but as you’re straightening out your vest, you realize the top button has disappeared. It must have been ripped off when Floyd picked you up.

“I apologize for his actions,” Jade says in the weary tone of one who has said these words for years.

No matter how much you try to adjust your vest, the missing button causes it to sit just wrong enough to make it extremely obvious what you’re trying to hide. Even buttoning your coat over it doesn’t really help enough. “Shit…”

“I can fix it, if you like.” Jade turns slightly so his back faces the room, subtly hiding you from the view of anyone who might be looking.

You’re in no position to decline this offer, so you just nod. He hands you two large textbooks, which you hug to your chest as if they’re going to keep you breathing, and you follow him down the hallway. You worry that you’re going to run into Floyd again, but then you hear Azul snap at him from the housewarden’s wing, which is the other direction, and you feel a little better.

Meanwhile, it doesn’t escape your notice that any wayward Octavinelle students all but throw themselves out of Jade’s path. Several cast you looks of pity, and it dawns on you that it must look like you’re being hazed - carrying his books and following at his heels like a leashed puppy. You would expect this reaction to Floyd’s presence, certainly, but for some reason, you didn’t think they would be as afraid of Jade. You wonder if you should be afraid, too.

He unlocks the door to his room and leads you inside.

It’s clean and organized to a fault - even his shoes are neatly arranged at the foot of the bed. He takes the books from you and sets them on his desk, then opens a drawer and retrieves a small sewing kit.

You shed your blazer easily enough and place it in a crumpled heap on the table, but for some reason when it comes to unbuttoning your vest, you find yourself incredibly embarrassed. You turn away from him shyly as you struggle with it. You feel like you might as well be wearing a tube top and a push-up bra instead of your oversized, long sleeved uniform shirt.

Jade takes the vest from you without a word and lays it on the desk, arranging it so he can get to work. You cross your arms over your chest out of habit - a habit you’ve tried to break to avoid drawing attention to yourself - but after a minute, you’re too curious to see what he’s doing.

“Do you like to sew?” you ask.

“Mm. It is less a hobby and more a necessary skill, I’ve found,” he says a little distantly. “My clothing has suffered no small amount of damage from being outdoors.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” You don’t know if you like to sew.

“Would you like to try?” He looks at you expectantly.

Your hands slide down from your shoulders a few inches as some of the tension leaves you. “I guess,” you say.

“It is quite easy.” Jade stands, gesturing for you to take the only chair. You feel unsteady as you lower yourself into it. “I have already secured the thread and placed the anchor point.”

Sure enough, a small gold ‘x’ of thread marks the spot on the vest where the previous button used to live. He rifles through a small tray of buttons before selecting one, which he hands to you. It’s gold, like the others, but shaped like a snail shell, with two tiny holes drilled through it. You set it against the x and awkwardly try to push the needle through it from the back. It keeps running into the button at first, but you finally get it. You push it through the other side easily enough.

You start to pull the golden thread tight, but Jade stops you briefly. He selects another needle and tucks it beneath the button.

“A trick I learned from Azul’s mother,” he says with a soft, nostalgic smile that hovers quite near your shoulder. “It creates enough space for the layer of fabric to fit around it, otherwise it would not stay attached, or break off again very quickly.”

You nod and continue. Bit by bit, listening to Jade’s advice, you sew the same stitch over itself a dozen times, until you’re certain it’s never coming apart. And you only impale your finger with the needle three times.

Jade severs the thread with a tiny pair of scissors. And just like that, it’s done.

“All better.” He chuckles. “Easy enough, yes?”

“Yeah. I’m still glad I didn’t try to do it on my own, though.” You’re about to reach for the vest, but Jade holds it aloft for you. You turn away from him and slip your arms through the openings. His fingertips brush the tops of your clavicles as he aligns the seams on your shoulders, his touch delicate yet certain, even through the leather of his gloves.

He never took them off. So he intended to have you do it all along.

You fasten the buttons and turn around to show him, rubbing the back of your neck and looking away as embarrassment creeps over you again. “Looks good,” you mumble. “Thanks.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Jade tilts his head curiously, one hand coiled beneath his chin.

Um, yes. “It’s not you- your fault, I mean. Um.” Your voice fades to nearly nothing. “I really…really like you.” You cringe and brace yourself for you don’t know what.

When you don’t hear any derisive laughter, though, you take a chance and look at him. His smile is captivating, drawn tighter on one side in a way equal parts delighted and devilish. You catch sight of a tiny dent on his bottom lip, and you realize it must be from the point of a tooth.

“How fortunate for me,” he says with a bubbly laugh. “As I find you quite charming, myself.”

It would be all too easy to overthink his response, so that is exactly what you do. With a side order of self-esteem issues, please.

“You sure it’s not ’cause I’m the only girl here?” Admitting your feelings already felt like ripping off a band-aid, so why stop there?

“Would it surprise you to learn that I have dated other students before?”

Actually, yeah, that’s a big surprise. Now you just feel judgmental. “Maybe.”

He shrugs. “Feelings are feelings.” And he seems content to leave it at that.

“Well, um. Yeah. That’s a good point.” You pull your blazer back on and clear your throat for no reason. “Do you still wanna go? To the dance, I mean?”

His smile evens itself out. “It would be my pleasure.”

1 | 2 | 3 | {4} | 5

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 3

Rock, meet hard place. You can’t be out sick forever, but you have no earthly idea how you’ll make it through ten minutes of class without throwing up all over Crewel’s desk. You haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time in three days, and it’s turning you into the worst possible version of yourself.

On the morning of day four, you find a package on your doorstep. It’s a box, about the size of a basketball, wrapped in sky-blue paper. You carry it inside and set it on the kitchen table.

“Mrrr?” Grim’s nose twitches enough to wake him up. He rolls to his feet and stretches. “Snacks?”

“Not sure,” you mumble. You unwrap the paper and open the top of the box, carefully untwisting it from the complex series of origami folds holding it together. A card rests on top of a pile of crinkled paper strips.

I have enclosed some samples of other tea blends I think you will find enjoyable.

If you are feeling up to it, I will be going on a hike today.

Jade

“Not snacks,” you inform Grim.

He groans. “Yeah, I can tell. It’s just leaves. Booooring.” He meanders away to the kitchen.

You mull it over while you wait for the chocolate truffle blend to finish steeping. You feel like shit, and you don’t want to face people. But nature might not be the worst, and Jade doesn’t qualify as ‘people.’

The tea is really good.

You don’t have much in the way of outdoor stuff, so you throw on your gym uniform and shove a couple snacks in your backpack. You feel weird as you heave it onto one shoulder, but what’s the worst that could happen? The worst has already happened.

You’d be lying to say you aren’t afraid of a healthy percentage of these boys. They get into cafeteria fights over pasta, for fuck’s sake. You don’t want to see what they would do if they suddenly found out a girl was living amongst them. Even a girl who’s barely girl enough that passing for a boy hasn’t been all that hard.

A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Hi,” you say uncertainly.

Jade gives you a tiny wave. “Good morning,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t want to give him your life story, but you don’t want to lie, either. “Ish.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes land on the crumpled shreds of wrapping paper that Grim has taken to batting across the floor like a definitely-not-a cat. The tension in his face eases a little.

Was he worried about you?

“Shall we?”

You nod. “I’m probably not the fastest hiker, but I’ll try not to slow you down.”

“Oh, do not worry about that. I am not, either.”

It turns out that Jade is not exaggerating. He pauses to inspect most patches of dead trees and poke around in the undergrowth with a stick, but you don’t mind at all. It’s a nice, unhurried pace that gives him plenty of time to teach you about plants.

You rummage through your backpack and find a wayward notebook you forgot about, with a tooth-marked pencil wedged into the spiral spine. You flip past the latest page of harried notes and scribble a bit on the first blank sheet.

Maybe you liked drawing, before. Or painting. Or birdwatching. Or dancing after all. No muscle memory has kicked in, at all, for anything. You remember generic shit, like what dollars are vs thaumarks and that magic was more or less a fantasy in your world. You know what a car is and what a phone is. But anything specific went out the window.

Your eyes start to burn, and before you know it, blobs of water are landing on your doodle of the mushroom Jade is examining.

You give up on staying silent pretty much immediately. The book slides off your lap into the dirt as you use the sleeve of your uniform to absorb the evidence of your sadness. Then the wooden bench you’re sitting on bends (a little ominously) as Jade sits next to you.

“Sorry,” you say with a cough as you try to get yourself together.

“Please do not apologize.” The corner of a handkerchief enters your blotchy vision. It would be romantic if you weren’t such a goddamn mess right now. “You have been through quite a bit since your arrival here.”

You insist on using your sleeve as a kleenex as long as possible. “I can’t remember anything,” you mumble. “I can’t…remember anything about myself. Like, what I like. Stuff I’m good at. It’s all just gone.” Your voice starts to lose stability. “My friends. My family. Whether I even had one. Fuckin’ everything.”

You give up and take the handkerchief.

Jade remains silent, and you’re glad. There’s probably nothing he could say to make you feel better. Maybe you don’t want to feel better.

“Sorry,” you say again once you get your voice back under control. You sniffle. “I really like the tea you got me.” It feels even lamer aloud than it sounded in your head.

Jade emits a small laugh. “I hope I was able to guess some of your preferences correctly.”

“So far so good.” You take a deep breath that turns into a sigh. “I guess that’s one thing I like.”

“Then I believe you will recover the rest soon enough.” He keeps his focus on the dirt, the short, hay-colored grasses, and the dappled shadows from the trees overhead, but his fingers twitch a bit. Like he’s trying not to move his hand. “Perhaps you need to experience a variety of other things to trigger your memories.”

Good thing your face is already red. “Probably,” you admit quietly. “But…this is stupid.”

“Hm?”

“I’m kinda scared.” You pick up the notebook and shake some of the dirt off, hurriedly closing it before he has a chance to see its contents. “Like, of being bad at something. Making myself look dumb.” Apparently another thing you’re good at is being insecure.

“I doubt that you would,” Jade says kindly.

“Besides, I’ve got bigger problems now.” You roughly rub your eyes to stop them itching. “What am I gonna do? It’s only a matter of time before they all find out about me.” You draw your knees to your chest.

Jade mirrors your movements, though it looks a bit more ridiculous for him since he is so incredibly tall. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“You may wish to…take control of the situation, as it were,” he says slowly. “Rather than continue hiding it until others find out at an unknown time.”

You give a sarcastic, humorless laugh. “What, like, waltz into the school dance in a dress? I can already hear the record-scratch now.” You laugh a little more until you realize Jade is not laughing with you.

“Since you mention it,” he says a bit sheepishly, “I was hoping for something along those lines.”

Now you really blush. “You were gonna ask me out?” You bite back asking why, assuming it’s because among the various fish in the sea at school, you are a fairly singular choice. The lowest common denominator of 1.

Jade’s mouth forms a smile. “I would still like to, if you would allow me the opportunity.”

“Oh. Uh. I mean, I wasn’t…gonna go,” you say, stumbling over your words. “I don’t like dressing up. I think.” You squirm uncomfortably.

Jade unfolds himself so his legs stretch out more naturally again. “You could think of it as an experiment, if you like,” he suggests. “A continued study of your tastes and hobbies to discover what suits you.”

Why does this make you want to smile so badly? “I don’t know,” you say. Then, after a substantial pause, “I’ll think about it.”

1 | 2 | {3} | 4 | 5

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal

time to face the dreaded awkward school dance! you’ve got bigger problems though. maybe someone can solve both.

jade x reader

cw: none

Ace wrinkles his nose at the banner. “Lame. I’m def not even gonna go.”

Deuce, now quite used to Ace’s offhand commentary, doesn’t bother looking away. He is standing on top of a ladder, though. “More fun for the rest of us, then.”

“I don’t know…” You are pretty sure you never liked school dances even before coming to NRC. You can’t imagine why they would be any different here. “I might not, either.”

“Aww, what?” This causes Deuce to glance back at you briefly. “You have to! It’s gonna be fun.”

You shake your head. “One, I really don’t like dances. Two, please don’t fall off the ladder. I’m not strong enough to carry you to the nurse’s office, and Ace will skip that entirely and notify your next of kin.”

Ace snickers. “Wanna hang out that night instead? Games, snacks, rot our brains with television?”

“That would be better. Idk, I’ll let you know.” You don’t tell either of them the biggest reason, which involves you and a dress.

You have homework to do, so you head for the double doors leading out of the gym. You push one open a little too aggressively and almost flatten someone on the other side. Their hand catches the door and stops it dead.

“Oh shit! Sorry.”

Unfortunately, it’s Jade Leech who blinks down at you, a tiny smile stealing over his carefully controlled expression. “Quite alright,” he says politely. His focus rises past you and lands, presumably, on the two-thirds of your band of idiots you just left behind. “What could be going on in here?”

You look over your shoulder for the excuse not to have to look at him. You’ve heard bad things. “Oh, they’re decorating for the dance. Deuce is on the Culture Committee.” Something something honor student.

“Fascinating. I had not realized such an event was on the calendar.”

You step aside to let him through, but he does not move. His black-gloved hand holds the door open still, and his expression hasn’t changed. “But…aren’t you coming over here for some reason?”

His face brightens a tiny bit. “Ah, well, I am once again looking for my brother, Floyd.” He pokes his head through the doorway and takes an extremely cursory glance around. “I was under the impression that he was at basketball practice until four-thirty.”

“Oh. Uh, let me ask.” You take a step back into the gym and yell. “Ace! Do you know where Floyd is?”

“No, he left early!” he yells back.

“Damn. Dead end, I guess.”

Jade shrugs, unperturbed. “I am certain he will turn up. Thank you for your assistance.” He turns to leave, but he pauses. “Feel free to stop by the Lounge at your convenience.” He smiles broadly at you. “It would be my honor to buy you a drink.”

Somehow there’s no sound when your heart slams into the floor and bounces back up to your throat. “Oh, wh- I. Um. Sure. O-okay.”

Your nervousness only makes him smile wider. “Wonderful.”

{1} | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

An Acquired Taste

sebastian and lilia look back on the past.

cw: grief, loss, war flashbacks

also on ao3

“You changed your hair.”

Lilia gave a bright smile. “Do you like it? I quite enjoy the pink. It makes me feel young again.” He heard a tiny mew and looked under the table. “There we are, Flora!” He knelt on the floor and held out one hand, palm up and relaxed as if offering food. “Come to say hello to our guest?”

The kitten sniffed his hand suspiciously before stepping onto it for an experimental nibble on the cuff of his sleeve. Lilia stood with her carefully cupped in his hands.

“Oh, my. How you’ve grown, little one.” Their guest offered his own white-gloved hand, which Flora inspected and subsequently deemed acceptable real estate. She chewed on his cufflink and purred.

“How about you?”

He answered without looking away from the kitten. “Hm?”

“Did you enjoy having hair of a different color?” Lilia tilted his head. “I rather thought it suited you.”

“It was interesting for a time,” he said, “but I did not notice after a while.”

“You should change it more often. Keep things interesting.” Lilia crossed the kitchen floor in the light-footed, ballet-dancer way of the fae, delicate enough not to bend the kitten-whisker blades of young meadowgrass or press footprints into newfallen snow. Soundless to any human ears, though none were present to prove it. “Do you still take your tea the same?”

He dangled one finger over the kitten for her to paw at with her whisker-thin claws. “Surprise me.”

Lilia blended the leaves and spices with a deft hand as he heated the water. These ingredients made for an earthy, more savory blend than usual, which made him smile as he remembered an argument between the boys about whether something qualified as soup or tea. “I think you will like this one,” he said as he brought the teapot to the table and set it next to their game.

“You have yet to fail me in this regard.” He set the purring kitten on his shoulder and lifted the teacup to his nose for a sample of the aroma. He eyed Lilia curiously, red meeting nearly-red. “This contains mushrooms,” he said.

Lilia beamed. “They were his favorite, were they not?”

“Yes, that is true.” He drank it smoothly. Food and drink treated him rather strangely in his current form - a far cry from when he occupied a more corporeal state. It did not taste of anything, not in the usual way a human or other creature might know the sensation. Instead, it evoked memories, pulled together their many fishing lines and drew them closer. He let his eyes loll closed as they rose up around him, like the crisp, clear water of a mountain stream cascading over his ankles, the brilliant fire of the autumn leaves mingled with evergreen shadows, the dirt and decaying wood and pine and mycelium carried to him by the diaphanous mist of an early-morning rain.

Such peace was normally far from him.

“It is your turn, as well,” Lilia added.

“Mm.” He set the cup aside with the remembrance clinging to his lips. “If I did not know you so well, Lilia, I would think you have altered the signs on these tiles in a moment of my distraction.”

Lilia looked affronted. “I am appalled by such an accusation.” He folded his arms across his chest.

A twitch of the smile that hinted at holding back so much more than teeth and tongue. “Do you deny it?”

“No,” Lilia huffed, “but I am appalled that you would mention it.”

“Worry not. It is a matter of no consequence.” He dispensed with several layers of tiles at once, taking advantage of the rule allowing an additional move once a match was made and stringing together more than a dozen.

Lilia looked perturbed about it, but just as quickly he smiled. “Is there any kind of game you don’t know, Sebastian? Have you ever lost even one match?”

The smile grew wider. “I suppose there might be one out there that has yet to cross my path.” He made certain to leave Lilia with no choice but to keep drawing tiles in the hope of making a match, thus increasing his own lead, “but as for losing…I prefer to keep that tally close to my heart.”

A shadow passed over Lilia’s face and left his eyes darker. “Have you found one?”

And then suddenly it was once upon a time, in a magical land not all that far away, when their gazes met for the first moment.

Lilia’s eyes brimmed with magic and rage. His moss-green armor was damaged, stained black with blood that still glimmered with a trace of life where there was none. His fangs were on full display in a mouth hanging open as he gasped for air. He was kneeling at the side of a dead man, but now, eyes caught in the trap of another’s, he rose to his feet.

“How can you do that?” he asked of the demon with a grip that threatened to shatter the weapon in his hand.

“I'm afraid I do not know what you mean.”

“This is a place of death,” Lilia growled, “a place of great pain and violence. A place of war.”

“I'm well aware of that.” A tongue danced across teeth. “One can smell the blood from the other side of the mountains. I thought it must be an impressive buffet and chose to find out for myself, though I could hardly have predicted what delicacies awaited me.”

The depth of Lilia’s wrath surprised even himself. “Are you unfamiliar with such calamity, hellborn?” It was an absurd thing to ask a demon, and he knew it.

“Not in the least.” Its countenance descended into deeper wickedness. “I stroll the halls of Hell quite frequently.”

“Then how…” Lilia brought his other hand to the weapon that was beginning to crackle with living power. “…how dare you stand there and smile?”

The demon continued to do so, even as liquid green fire poured into the oversized hatchet at the end of Lilia’s arms, as he prepared to wield it again in spite of his bone-deep exhaustion and unfathomable pain.

“Because,” the demon said, bowing to him in some sort of further cruel mockery, “I am delighted to meet you, Lilia Vanrouge.”

Lilia cried out as he hefted the hatchet over his shoulder and swung it into the ground. Thunder cracked the air itself apart as brilliant beryl light split the earth, as it devoured the demon and everything else within a hundred feet of it. Lilia threw an arm across his eyes to keep from blinding himself.

When the searing light subsided, every inch of earth in the impact zone was scorched black. Lilia’s forearms burned, which meant the magic imbued in his armor had worn bare.

The demon, completely unhurt, marveled at the specks of ash dancing in flurries around him.

“Why are you here?” Lilia’s voice grew into a desperate cry. “What do you want from me?”

The demon laughed, and it shook Lilia to his bones. “It is an honor of the highest caliber to meet the Red General himself. To watch him paint the emerald lands jet and crimson with elegant strokes of his brush, why- my associates will find themselves positively burning with envy.”

Lilia dared not cry before a demon. “There are no souls for you here, monster,” he said curtly. “Only death and its trappings.”

The creature appeared to consider his words. “Monster,” it repeated thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with the metaphor of glass houses?”

Lilia went silent.

“Do you deny it?” The demon curled a hand beneath its chin as though it were human.

“No,” Lilia admitted, “but at least I know what I am.”

“As do I.” Its eyes, the red of poppies, crackled with delight as they swept over the surrounding carnage. “Some of these men, so called, are hardly strong enough to carry their own swords.” It lowered its gaze. “Others were fathers. Some grandfathers.” It nudged the nearest with a black-booted toe. “This one has three little ones at home, and another along shortly.”

Lilia dared not cry. “Stop.”

It did not stop. “This one has a birthday next week.” It smiled cruelly. “Fifteen. Such a tender age.”

“I will end you.” Lilia already saw the faces of the dead every time he closed his eyes, through every minute of fitful sleep he managed to wring out of himself. He did not need this.

“Do you know why demons consume souls?” asked the demon.

Lilia’s jaw was clenched too tight for him to answer.

“We can eat all manner of things to sustain ourselves, like any creature,” it explained, “but a soul is unique.” Then, to Lilia’s continued horror, it began to demonstrate. Like playing a delicate instrument, the demon moved its hands gently through the air. Gossamer threads swayed at its fingertips. Silver light glinted from them, enabling Lilia’s eyes to follow the lines to where they gathered at the center of the teenage boy’s chest. “True, it contains the entirety of a person’s life, the accumulated memories and experiences…” It twirled its hands to wind the threads tighter. A pale, ghostly shape emerged over the boy’s heart, like an orb crafted of the thinnest crystal and filled with quicksilver. The demon tugged on it. “…but more importantly, it contains their potential. All the lives they could have lived. The knowledge they never gained, lovers they never had, family, friends, all the other things that make a life worth living.”

The blade of Lilia’s hatchet sliced neatly through the space between the demon and its meal. It should have severed the threads. But instead, the soul passed right through everything, through his weapon and his hands, and straight into the demon’s claws.

“A noble attempt,” the demon smiled, “but alas, such a weapon has no effect on me, as you’ve gathered.” Then it opened its mouth, jaws stretching impossibly wide, and devoured the soul.

Lilia leaned on his weapon for support. Long black-and-red ribbons of hair spilled over his shoulders and swayed in the faint breeze washing over the battlefield. That attack was stupid - he was no Reaper - and now he was needlessly weaker for it. But he had to try.

“They are already dead,” he whispered mournfully, “and you would rob them of eternal rest, of dignity. All they have left. You are unimaginably cruel.”

The demon swallowed audibly. “They are already dead,” it repeated. “What use do they have for it now? If I don’t consume it, another demon will.” Another twisted smile. “Waste not.”

Lilia’s downcast eyes took in the state of his blade. A massive magestone, dark with accumulated runoff from his repeated spellcasting. It hardly had one more swing left in it, let alone a full-scale attack. “You are right,” he conceded quietly. “I cannot stop you, or your kind, from gorging on mortal souls.” He pulled himself up and looked at the demon. A creature of liquid shadow poured into this deadly shape, this cruel, honed blade forged from darkness and quenched in immortal blood. This thing smiling cheerfully at him after eating the life of a young boy who never had a chance.

“But perhaps…”

The demon’s expression turned inquisitive.

“…perhaps I can slow you down.”

Lightning-quick, Lilia shot his hand out toward the demon’s chest and dug his nails in as deep as they could go. The creature went rigid in his grasp, then tried to squirm free when he began summoning his magic, but Lilia held it fast.

“I lay a curse upon you, hellborn. For every soul you have consumed, you shall be bound to the life of another. You shall experience all those things which you have stolen, and you shall be powerless to escape your shackles. Upon your keeper’s death, the cycle shall begin again.”

Magenta light burst from beneath Lilia’s hand and captured the demon in a tangle of thorns. Its shriek pierced his ears, but he did not let go.

“May you learn the value of a life that is not yours to take.”

Sebastian’s smile had lightened considerably over the years. “I think, perhaps, I have,” he answered. “Though I still intend to win.”

Lilia brightened, all traces of the darkness fizzling out. “It is more about the fun than the winning.”

Sebastian tilted his head. “Are the two not interchangeable?”

“Oh, goodness.” Lilia giggled. “You still have so much more to learn.”

Sebastian did win, though. He always won.

“I think our little friend here is hungry,” he said as he gathered Flora into his hand and stood. “I shall return presently.”

Lilia set about shuffling the tiles in case he would like to play another round, but before he could finish, there was a knock at the front door. Disjointed. Loud. Lilia hurried to answer it. He knew that knock.

“Oh, Floyd,” he said sadly, “there, there, young one, come here…”

Floyd wiped his nose with a torn-up sleeve and collapsed on Lilia’s tiny frame, the rest of his body sprawled on the front steps.

Lilia was stronger than he looked, but his arms simply weren’t long enough to pick Floyd up and set him back on his feet. “It’s alright,” he cooed as Floyd sobbed violently against him. “Come in and rest for a while.”

Still, he had to wait until Floyd was able to stand, which took a minute or two.

“Here,” Lilia said gently. “Sit.” Floyd gave up on the proffered chair and sank to the floor, where he lay on his side and bawled.

“Th- th-th-thought- y-you s-”

“Shh, don’t try to talk yet,” Lilia said. “It will pass. It will pass.”

It did pass, after several minutes, and only after Gus, the massive, fluffy orange tabby, came over and started making biscuits on his midsection. The hem of his shirt was pulled up a bit, and he laughed suddenly when Gus’s hair tickled his stomach, then cut himself off just as fast.

“Where’s Flora?” Floyd asked hoarsely.

“Getting a snack. She will be back shortly.”

“Oh.”

Floyd’s visits had become a regular occurrence that grew out of a desperate need. It was not so often anymore that the grief crushed him so thoroughly, but Lilia was glad to be there when it did.

“Found this,” Floyd said miserably. He had been clutching something so tightly that Lilia hadn’t even seen it in his over-large hands. He held it out to show Lilia as if handling a baby bird. It was a slightly crumpled, slightly tear-stained birthday card.

“Is this from Jade?”

Floyd nodded and shifted so he could sit up with Gus lounging comfortably across his lap. “It was in the closet. On my side, on the top shelf, where all my shoes are, cause he knows I would never let anybody else touch that stuff.” He sniffled.

Lilia gingerly took the card and opened it.

Floyd,

You are the best brother anyone could have. Every day, I grow even happier that I chose you. You will have so many years of joy ahead. I wish I could be there for all of them.

Jade

“This was very sweet of him,” Lilia said softly.

Floyd looked at the enormous cat stretched across his lap. Gus loved scritches from anyone, but especially from Floyd. “He knew,” Floyd mumbled. “He knew he was gonna die.” He briefly chomped down on his bottom lip to fight back another onslaught of crying. “But how could he know, Lils? There’s no way he could’ve known.”

“There we are, my darling,” came the voice from down the hall. “Salmon, bluefin tuna, and sardine, poached in a delicate bonito broth and finished with a light drizzle of cod liver oil.” Flora wolfed it down loud enough to be heard from any corner of the house.

Floyd went still.

His reddened eyes locked on to the source of the voice. “Who’s that?”

Lilia could only offer a tiny smile. “A friend of mine,” he answered.

Floyd picked up Gus, who curled around his folded arms, and stood.

The man coming towards them was tall, taller even than Floyd, with soft, dark hair and a cheerful smile directed at the tiny kitten on his shoulder. He turned his gaze on Floyd, red meeting red-rimmed, and his smile dissipated.

“Why, hello there,” he said with poorly-masked unease. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Floyd clung to Gus like the cat was his life preserver.

“Floyd,” Lilia said, “this is my friend Sebastian.”

Floyd just kept staring, searching the depths of his eyes, studying the lines of his face. Sebastian stood patiently. Floyd inhaled to speak, opened his mouth, closed it, repeated the whole series a couple of times, then finally gave up and buried his face into the cat’s fur. “Hi,” he said weakly.

Lilia looked between them expectantly, but Floyd turned his back and vanished into the game room. The door closed behind him.

Lilia let go of a held breath. “This has been immeasurably difficult for him.”

Sebastian found himself doing the same thing - trying to speak but failing to find the words. It was a completely foreign experience.

“I know.”

Lilia looked just as shocked as the demon did. “You do?”

Sebastian frowned. “Yes, I think so. This is grief.”

Lilia blinked up at him. “Well,” he said, “perhaps you have learned something after all.” He looked back at the door and sighed heavily when he heard Floyd’s crying start up again. “Shall I explain this to him?”

Sebastian thought about it, then shook his head. “No,” he decided. “I shall.”

Lilia hesitated, but then he bowed out of the way.

Sebastian cleared his throat and knocked on the door. A muffled noise answered him. He took it as an invitation to enter.

Floyd had curled into a tight ball around the giant orca plushie he kept at Lilia’s house. His body quaked with every jagged sob, and even though he must have heard Sebastian enter, he fully ignored the demon’s presence. Sebastian debated his options and finally decided to awkwardly fold himself into a seated position on the floor. He could not think of anything to say.

“Why’re you here?” Floyd asked with a tremble.

Sebastian had to admit that he did not know the answer. “It seemed like the correct thing to do.”

Floyd scoffed, then started coughing so hard he had to sit up. “That’s such a-” But he broke off before he could finish it.

“What?” asked Sebastian.

Floyd rubbed his face with his sleeve. “That…it…it’s just a very Jade thing to say.” He hugged the orca much more tightly than he could hug Gus. “Who are you?”

Sebastian toyed with the edge of the orca’s tail. “What sort of answer would you like?”

Floyd sniffled. “You don’t even look like him,” he mumbled. “Not a lot.”

Sebastian said nothing. Floyd kept going.

“You’re not supposed to be taller than me, you jerk.” Floyd’s nails were acting more like claws. “And your eyes aren’t right. And your hair’s all wrong. And your voice. And your face.” He shook with something barely contained. Not anger, but perhaps not anything else, either.

Sebastian was not meeting his eyes. “I suppose.”

“But- you still look like him.” Floyd tossed the orca aside and finally found his rage. “Why? Why do you look like my brother?”

Sebastian wondered why he had not been able to keep eye contact with Floyd, but looking at him now solved that puzzle. All at once, his chest ached tremendously with something hot and sharp, like Lilia’s nails cutting deep into the space where a heart might have been, an agony he had seen and caused but never felt.

Floyd was waiting on an answer.

“Well, I…” Sebastian’s hand clutched at his own chest as if it might stop the pain. It did not. “…I suppose I am, in a way.”

Floyd’s expression turned from suspicion to disgust. “What does that even mean?”

Sebastian hadn’t exactly worked out an explanation for this in advance. “I have experienced a number of lifetimes,” he said. “Jade’s was merely the most recent.”

Floyd scowled. “What, you, like, possessed him or something? Are you a demon?”

This abrupt conclusion took him by further surprise. “Well, actually.”

Floyd looked wary but did not press him.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

“Yeah.” Floyd retreated into himself a little, still skeptical. “Was Jade even real?”

He blinked. “Of course he was.”

“But you took over his life.”

Sebastian winced, then wondered why he had done that. He was no longer contained in a mortal form. Why was he still experiencing the same effects? “Not so,” he managed to say. “I was more of a…reluctant passenger.”

Floyd went for the orca again and sighed into its polyester fluff. Gus reappeared, investigated Sebastian’s foot, then decided Floyd was superior and rubbed against his leg. “Jade wasn’t huge on cats,” Floyd said. “He liked mushrooms. Everything was friggin’ mushrooms.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Yes, I remember.”

Floyd cocked an eyebrow. “‘Remember?’” he asked. “You haven’t- I mean, he hasn’t been…gone…for that long.”

“Of course.” Sebastian could not quite explain the feeling of it all. Memories from a thousand years ago tangled with moments barely a few weeks old. He had gathered from experience that humans gradually forgot their early memories as they aged, to varying degrees, but it did not work that way for him. He remembered everything at once. As if it happened yesterday.

He smelled sugar. Floyd had unwrapped a piece of bubblegum and wrapped his tongue around it.

“That will rot your teeth,” he remarked.

Both of them stilled. It was not Sebastian’s voice that had spoken, but, subtly different, Jade’s.

Floyd recovered first. “Yeah, you told me.” He offered a piece. “You don’t like it, but you get mad when I don’t share, so.”

Sebastian was moderately certain that had only been true at a much younger age. He took the piece of gum and tasted it. Chalky and sweet, and already melting into an unpleasant texture.

“I don’t know how you can still eat these things, Floyd,” he said as the sugar triggered another memory, another moment plucked out of time.

“That’s caaaause…?” Floyd chewed open-mouthed at him with a mischievous grin.

“…because I am no fun,” Sebastian - Jade - quietly finished for him.

Floyd’s giggle made the candy taste even sweeter.

“I guess you’re not so bad.” Floyd tucked the gum into a far corner of his mouth for later. Jade had taught him that, so he would not have to spit it out during class and get in trouble. “I still don’t…get it,” he admitted. “How did you know he w- you were…dying?”

Sebastian did not want to finish the gum, but he did not want to upset Floyd any further by disposing of it, so he quietly vaporized it. “I gained a sense of it over time,” he said. “The way a soul feels when it approaches its end.” He placed a hand over his chest, where Jade’s heart had been. “It does not seem to make a difference whether the cause is internal or external. And I could not explain the sensation if I tried.”

Floyd was absentmindedly cleaning between his teeth with his tongue. “Thanks for the card.”

Sebastian nodded. “It may seem strange, Floyd, but I meant every word.” A tightness grew in his chest. “You…more than anyone else…made it a life worth living.” One that had tasted all the sweeter.

Floyd lunged in a way that made Sebastian want to roll out of the way and throw him into the wall, but he relaxed when he realized it was just a hug. A signature, full-strength Floyd squeeze. “I knew it was you,” he mumbled. “I’d know you anywhere, you big, stupid jerk.”

Sebastian laughed and tousled his hair because he hated it.

“Ugh, yes, definitely you.” Floyd shoved him off and hurriedly fixed it.

A curious feeling had settled in the hollow of his chest. Something warm, lightweight. Fragile. Something that felt a little like a soul.

Sebastian sat with Lilia on the roof of his house. The sun was, at last, setting on this very peculiar day.

“Is there a particular reason we are up here?”

Lilia nodded and grinned. “It’s the best place to watch for bats.”

A pair of them appeared as if summoned, fluttering erratically against the watercolor sky.

“Do you ever think about that day, Lilia?”

Lilia’s eyes darted around in search of more bats. “From time to time,” he said, “when I realize I have not heard from you in a while.” He took a deep inhale of the fading autumn air. “At first I did not expect to hear from you ever again. Imagine my surprise.”

Sebastian could smell winter’s distant bite as well. “For once, I can say that I can imagine it.”

Lilia chuckled and then sighed. “I suppose you have once again evened the count.”

“It would appear that way, yes.” He watched as more bats took flight for the evening.

“And?”

Sebastian looked down at him. “And what?”

“What do you think about it?” Lilia’s eyes had changed over the years. Once a deep, bloody scarlet, they had ripened to dragonfruit pink. Softer and sweeter.

“This one seems different, somehow.” He pulled his knees up to his chest. “I think…that I enjoyed having a brother very much.”

“You have had siblings before. And children,” Lilia reminded him. “What makes Floyd so different?”

What doesn’t, Sebastian wanted to say. “Have I explained the taste of a soul before?”

Lilia’s face immediately soured. “Yes, Sebastian,” he said flatly. “On day one.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that each one is different. Some brightly acidic, some old and bitter, others gently mellow.” Most recently, it was the taste of brine that lingered on his palate, but he did not share that information. “Prior to the day you cursed me, I had thought there was nothing finer.”

Lilia crossed his arms. “This had best end on a positive note if you know what is good for you, young man.”

He found it harder to speak, as though something was lodged in his trachea, and tried to clear his throat again. “What I did not know was how it pales in comparison to life.”

Lilia’s face relaxed.

“All of the things that mortal creatures feel…joy, sadness, anger, fear. Grief. Pain. I did not know how…how strong these feelings could be,” said Sebastian as the steady timbre of his voice abandoned him. “The limits to which they can be driven. Empathy, compassion, even love - have only been mere words to me, empty and meaningless. Pathetic.” He shut his eyes and found them burning.

Lilia patted his shoulder. “Life is all that and more, my friend.” His weathered gaze followed a wayward bat that had taken particular interest in his fig tree. “Is that, perhaps, why you have not asked me to lift the curse? To spare you from the heartbreak of yet another mortal life?”

Sebastian placed one hand into his pocket, intending to retrieve a handkerchief, and instead found a piece of super-ultra-sour candy that Floyd had snuck in there behind his back. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Unfortunately, it seems I have developed a taste for it.”

[scorpiuslucci]

Romeo had already laid his expensive suit coat and hand-painted scarf across the bar top (thank fuck for Rui’s obsession with cleaning) since the alcohol was making him feel warm, but he also opened another button on his shirt in the hope that it would help. He could already feel a sheen of heat across his forehead that was threatening to become perspiration. It was disgusting.

He was disgusting.

“I couldn’t say exactly what he knew outright and what was a lucky guess.” He drew invisible patterns on the glass bottle with a gloved finger. “The anomaly was a Barong mask. Given the, again, extremely thin briefing documents, I was led to believe they wanted us to recover it for research. It was an auction. I was going to bid on it. It was fucking simple.”

Romeo pushed the vodka bottle far enough away that he would have to really reach for it if he wanted another drink. He was well and truly repulsed with himself. “Dipshit wanted to steal it as soon as they brought it out. Shoot the place up. ‘So we make a mess. Where’s the problem?’” he said in a mocking tone. “‘You got your favorite teacher to bail us out, don’t you?’ Fucking…”

He had to pause again to compose himself. His throat burned.

I get special treatment because I worked my ass off for it. I’m not letting you fuck everything up.

When was the last time he hadn’t yelled at Taiga?

“I guessed the amount of money that we’d need, and I…collected it. Not stole,” he added sharply when it looked like Leo was going to open his mouth at the wrong moment. “I bought and sold everything fairly.”

Leo should have known by now, though, that Romeo’s idea of ‘fair and square’ only applied to himself. “Meanwhile, shithead shot up one of the galleries. And…he told Shinjo that he wouldn’t learn anything from the other people at the auction. We thought the mask was a type of curse, so our oh-so-brilliant inspector suggested we call someone from Darkwick for help.” It was easier to be annoyed and angry than it was to think about what feelings lay beneath their veneer. “Taiga refused to let her ask Kusanagi, so we ended up with Isami, of all people.” Romeo looked like he might be sick from pure spite.

Romeo scowled on his way out of Hyde's stupid fucking office. He didn't care that Ritsu trotted to keep up, pestering him further about the Laurel Crown and probation and contract and on and on until his watch alarm chirped to let him know he was off the clock for the day and he evaporated.

Romeo scowled all the way out of the main building, across campus, to Obscuary, along the twisting forest paths, through the gate, then the door, then the entrance to Rui's bar.

Rui was more or less accustomed to this by now, but his chipper demeanor could hardly be contained. "Hey, Romi! Got some sparkling wine made fresh, just for y-"

"Vodka."

Rui blinked, still stuck at where he'd been cut off mid-sentence. "...what?"

"Vodka, Rui. Real, actual, wash-this-fucking-day-away alcohol."

Rui recovered with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. "Oh! Right! Must've misheard you. Umm...gimme a minute." He ducked into the basement for a few beats before returning with an unassuming bottle.

Romeo was taking a distinctly ungentlemanly approach to this, but by the time the mouth of the bottle met his, he had really stopped caring. Rui, to his credit, did not appear remotely fazed.

"I'll, um, check in on you later. Oh, hey, Leo!" He directed his dazzling smile toward the first-year.

Romeo's fiery gaze cut across the room to search for his friend's comparatively laid-back expression as he casually strolled into the bar. He jerked his chin in the direction of the seat next to him. Over here, Kurosagi. Now.

@ficoandleo