#but yeah everyone including Paintbrush blamed Paintbrush

[bucketofbugz]

thinking about that one old au I made like mid-season 3 where Fan got lost at sea while trying to get back to the hotel (after her elimination) and ended up running into Firey and Leafy (who were also lost at sea in this au after X took the motor of their boat) and they ended up getting stranded on an island together.

And of course they all absolutely hated each other. Especially Fan and Firey I don't remember what exactly their rivalry was about but they wanted each other Dead.

It was also technically in the background of a fic I had planned on writing where Cheesy burnt Hotel OJ down and Lightbulb disappeared but yeah that's irrelevant.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Director Leo Part 3

Part 2

A montage follows of Leo, now sporting a director’s beret, starting work of leading the group. This includes scenes of:

(Leo coordinating.)

Leo: Okay, we're going to need some supplies. The theater has some funds that we can use, but anything that can be volunteered would help a lot.

Stagehand: There are some paints and equipment from previous shows that our former Director had insisted on but were barely used. 

Leo: Good, good. We’ll check them out and see what we can do with them. Anything else?

Costume Designer: I have scissors and sewing materials. Pins, needles, tape, and a hot glue gun. Some odds and ends. If I get some material to work with, I can handle most of the costume designing.

Leo: Awesome!

Actor: I have some power tools we can use for making sets. A couple hand drills, plus hammers and nails.

Leo: Great! I’ll put you down!

Manager: I have a shovel, some rope, matches, kerosene, and 10 gallons of acid.

Leo: (Pause) …any particular reason you just happen to have those things?

Manager: ........no.

(Leo reallocating the budget.)

Leo: —and if we go with the store that’s throwing a sale, we can get quality materials to make the sets for a good price.

Stagehand: Good call.

Leo: And we’ll have enough funds left over for an afterparty.

Stagehand: Delightful!

Leo: AND a designated coffee fund. Plus I brought a coffee maker that may or may not have been stolen from my brother.

Stagehand: …

Leo: …dude? You okay?

Stagehand: (Hugs the coffee maker, eyes teary)

Leo: …do I need to leave you two alone?

(Katy bringing snacks and home-made cookies.)

Leo: Okay, let’s have a break and then discuss the script. (Bites into cookie)

(Long pause)

Stagehand: Uh…Boss?

Leo: …

Actor: Mr. Director?

Leo: (Eyes big and shiny)

Katy: Are you okay?

Leo: Not until this sublime moment, no. (Grabs Katy by the shoulders) You are my new favorite baker! (Pauses and pulls out picture of Mikey in a chef hat, then shrugs and rips it)

(At the Lair)

Mikey: (Puts a pan in the oven, then suddenly gasps and clutches his chest in pain)

(Leo and the crew starting to paint sets.)

Manager: (Pulls out paintbrush out of nowhere)

Leo: (Takes the paintbrush) Great, now we need to get some red paint for the—

Manager: (Now has a red paint can he clearly didn’t have a moment previous)

Leo: …

Manager: …

Leo: ….this is paint, right?

Manager: …maybe.

(Leo working with Costume Designer to order fabric and decide on the costume designs.)

Costume Designer: I'm not saying I can’t make it like the picture. I'm saying if you drape this layer slightly asymmetrical, you'll get a much more flowing and etherial effect for less material.

Leo: I’ll agree as long as we don’t make everything purple.

Costume Designer: …that’s not even historically accurate. Why would—

Leo: Eh, I know a guy. And it’s purple. Purple everywhere.

Costume Designer: How…droll. (Goes back to work)

Leo: (To Stagehand) I like this guy! He’s like Donnie…but with taste!

(Meanwhile…)

Donnie: …(pauses in the middle of a project) For some reason, I feel like I want to punch Leo.

(Leo meeting a familiar face…)

Stagehand: And over here will be our technician to work sounds and lights.

Leo: Shouldn’t we have separate people for that?

Stagehand: Well sure, if we wanted to give up the coffee and cookie budget.

Leo: Whoa whoa, let’s not start talking crazy!

Stagehand: Anyway, we’ve recently brought on this kid.

(Leo looks up to see the new technician is actually Jase from the Purple Dragons.)

Jase: (Sees Leo and gulps)

Leo: Wait a minute…aren’t you one of those Purple Dragon guys?

Jase: Um…well…yeah.

Leo: So what are you doing here?

Jase: Kendra blamed me for the mecha incident so Mom and Dad banned me from electronics and signed me up for theater.

Leo: Ah.

Jase: ...you're not gonna kick me out, are you?

Leo: What? No! (Places a hand on Jase’s shoulder, reassuringly) Buddy, the theater is for everyone! There'll always be a place here for anyone willing to put in the effort. That includes you. If you want to be here, we're happy to have you.

Jase: (Hopeful smile)

Leo: (Places a second hand on his other shoulder) And just so you know, I've gotten pretty attached to this theater and group. And I'm more protective of my stuff than Donnie is. Sooo (Smiles brightly) if you and your little tech buddies in any way screw with this production for any reason, just remember! (Goes from smiling to soul-scarring stare) There will be no technology that can help you where I'll be sending you.

Jase: O_O

Leo: (Pats Jase on the back, back to smiling) Good talk, bud! Work hard! I believe in you! (Leaves the room, giving Jase finger guns and a wink)

(Long pause)

Jase: (Whimpers)

(Diva’s making the case to Leo for a role switch.)

Diva: (Slides up to Leo and speaking with a sickly sweet tone) Oh, New director~~?

Leo: I sense manipulation afoot.

Diva: (Laughs) Oh, silly! I'm not asking for anything bad!

Leo: But you ARE asking for something.

Diva: Just a little switch of roles between myself and Katy over there.

Katy: (Notices them looking at her and waves)

Leo: Okay, you want to swap your role as the villain with our lead actress. Any particular reason why?

Diva: Because Katy is an adorable sweet kindhearted little trollop playing a lead who is also an adorable sweet kindhearted little trollop. Do you see the problem here?

Leo: Enlighten me?

Diva: What's the point of us being ACT-ors if we're not ACT-ing? The point is for us to play parts and pretend to be other people! She's pretty much playing herself!

Leo: And you think she should play the Villainess?

Diva: I think she has stage presence that has not been allowed to shine!

Leo: And you're not just saying that because you want the lead role?

Diva: Well yes, there's that, but the two aren't mutually exclusive.

Leo: Fair point, but do you really think Katy can pull off a Villainess role?

Diva: (Smirks) Just watch and learn. (Goes over to Katy) Hey Katyyyy~! Director wants you to try the scene we talked about!

Katy: Okie-dokey! 

Leo: ....she's just like a lil Mikey, omg.

(Katy goes up on stage)

Diva: (To Leo) You may want to sit down.

Leo: What?

Stagehand: And action!

Katy: (Suddenly switches from sweetheart to Overlord and projecting with all the force of an Empress) KNEEL YOU MISERABLE MINION! 

(Close up of Leo looking very shocked.)

Leo: (Blinks) Oh. That IS presence....why do my knees hurt? (Zoom out to reveal Leo is kneeling.) Leo: (Realizes he's kneeling) ....oh.

Diva: (Smirks) Yeaaah, she does that.

Katy: (Stops acting and turns to Leo and Diva) How was that? Did you like it? Wait—why are you on the floor? (Gasps, worried) Did you trip? Are you okay? Does anything hurt?

Leo: Only my pride. And apparently my free will.

Katy: ...eh?

Leo: (Gets up and turns to Diva) Okay, you’ve made your point about Katy, but what about you? Do you really think you can make the switch to the main lead?

Diva: (Smirks at him then puts on a wounded face and gives a dramatic display of falling) Oh no! My ankle!

(Five other workers immediately rush to her side with varying exclamations of concern. They assist her to a seat and then rush off to get additional things for her like water and ice.)

Diva: (Smirks) Well?

Leo: …okay yeah you can act, but I was referring to the switching of roles and you needing to learn substantially more lines.

Diva: (Pouts) You could at least try to be a little more impressed.

Leo: I am one of four brothers all vying for attention. Seeing someone fake injury and innocence to have others at beck and call is hardly new or impressive. So can you learn the lines?

Diva: (Rolls eyes) Yes.

Leo: Awesome. You two can switch roles then.

Diva: Yes!

Katy: Yay?

(And gaining followers supporters!)

Actor: Soooo....we just going to ignore that he's a walking talking human-sized turtle?

Stagehand: What? No he's not.

Actor: He's green.

Stagehand: Must be a skin condition.

Actor: He has a shell.

Stagehand: It's his fashion sense.

Actor: Except he's not wearing anyth—

Stagehand: SHH! You, SHHHH! He is the first competent Director we've had! DON'T RUIN THIS FOR ME!

(Until the night of the performance…)

Leo: (Returns to backstage where everyone is gathered) Okay, guys, let's not panic!

Actor: Why does that sound like we should be panicking?

Leo: It just so happens that some people I know are in the audience.

Diva: Like "famous people who could help further our careers"?

Leo: More like "people who can potentially bring the roof down on our heads”. Literally.

All: o_o

Leo: Sooooo....yeah, no pressure or anything, but this could be the last performance of our lives.

Everyone: (Nervous)

Leo: Listen, I believe in all of you! You’ve practiced and put your effort into this and tonight is the time to let it shine! And maybe by some miracle, this show will reduce them all to tears and they'll forget to try anything murdery.

Actor: Does this mean I can bring my onions?

Leo: …

Leo: Perhaps. Keep it as a back up plan.

Manager: Hear me out.....tear gas.

Leo: How do you have....you know what, sure.

[whumpingcrow]

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 10

"Garbage Person"

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol (explicit), injury description, blood, sick whumpee, anxiety attack, amputation mention (vague), noncon mention, conditioned whumpee, food mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

Nicko had been working on a tattoo when Ben called him. The skin underneath him belonged to a slightly older woman, a blonde with pink lipstick on her teeth that he could see every time she smiled at him. She was annoying, and she was flirting with him, which made her even more annoying. The first time his phone rang, he ignored it completely, too consumed in his work to even look up. Secretly, he was wishing that he was tattooing Gio instead. It had been a little over a week since Nicko made him sick by icing him out, and Nicko hadn't allowed himself to bring him back to the shop. Instead, it became his mission to make him better. He made him soup, he let him sleep in his bed, he even helped him take a bath the first day he was sick.

That had been difficult. Nicko had never been "nice", he knew that about himself. He was notoriously an asshole, famously short tempered and foul mouthed. He knew what empathy was, he could feel it, but it was just...rare. The knowledge that others had emotions and feelings didn't matter to him, most of the time. But when he gave Gio a bath, he'd never felt worse for someone in his entire life. Gio could hardly keep himself upright, couldn't even keep his eyes open, when Nicko undressed him and helped him into the water. Nicko hadn't washed the blood off of his face the night before, hadn't wanted to move him around and hurt him more than he was, so when he wet a rag and tried to gently wipe the dried blood off, he wanted to cry right along with Gio. He held his head still with one hand on his jaw as he ran the towel over the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbones, very carefully under his eyes, wiping away some of his tears along with the blood. Nicko couldn't believe he'd hurt him so badly. He felt even worse when Gio's face was clean and he could see the bruises he'd left there. Then Nicko washed his hair, there was blood there, too, somehow, and then he just sat outside of the bathtub and let Gio warm up in the water for a few more minutes. He couldn't stop crying.

"I'm sorry, sir," he whimpered out, using his wrists to push away the tears, directing his huge, teary eyes at Nicko. He looked hopeless, his chocolate brown eyes dulled down with fear and sadness. Nicko reached out and traced his thumb down Gio's face tenderly. He looked so young, with his hair slicked back out of his face and his huge eyes and his cheeks and nose flushed red from crying and his fever. His file didn't include an age when Nicko got him, but he couldn't have been more than 20.

"You shouldn't be sorry, Gio. Really, I'm the one who messed up. I'm..." He paused, frowning to himself. The words didn't sound right in his head, he hadn't used them earnestly enough all that often, so it was sort of alien to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Gio looked positively perplexed, like he was just as much as used to hearing apologies as Nicko was at giving them. "S...Sir?" He squeaked.

"When I came back out and saw you outside like that, all bloody and fucking tied up...God, Gio, I was just disgusted." He could see Gio's face fall even more, and his heart sank. "No! No, not of you! I was disgusted in myself. I was disgusted that I did something so awful to you. And I'm sorry."

After that, Nicko made him rest, and he nursed him back to health. It was the least he could do, after putting him in that condition in the first place. That morning, he was up with Nicko, asking if he could go with him to work, if he would finish his tattoo. Nicko thought it was adorable, but he still had bruises and still seemed a little out of it, so Nicko made him stay home. He was regretting it now, as the blonde bimbo told him "Don't be afraid to hurt me, I don't mind a little pain" with a wink.

The second time his phone rang, he told the blonde to give him a moment, pulling off his gloves as he stood up and walked into the next room to answer the phone.

"What Ben? I'm working."

"Hey, uh...you didn't take Gio with you to work, did you?" Ben's voice was a little nervous, and Nicko was instantly worried.

"No, I left him there. Is he not there?"

"Um..."

"Ben is he there or not?!"

"I thought I saw him earlier, but I can't find him now. I think he jumped ship, dude."

Nicko had never had an anxiety attack before. Nervous, sure. Fits of rage, all the time. But he'd never felt the tight rubber bands around his lungs feeling that took his breath away when Ben said that. So he hung up the phone and left through the back, all but sprinting to his car. It was a miracle he got home in one piece, with how fast he was driving and how badly his hands were shaking. Gio jumped ship. Gio hates you because of how badly you hurt him. You scared him so bad he ran away. You awful person. You horrible, garbage person. The anxiety only worsened when he got home and Gio really was gone, he wasn't just hiding out somewhere like he sometimes did. Nicko pictured him, his huge, horrified eyes, how small he was, how he was probably out there scared and alone and someone might hurt him and Nicko wasn't there to protect him. You should have just taken him to work with you. This wouldn't have happened if he came with you. This is all your fault. Garbage person.

It wasn't until after he had calmed down and hours after Salem was home that Nicko even realized any of his things were missing. He was exhausted, the second he explained to Salem what had happened there was a fight, with rightfully placed blame on Nicko that he was wrongfully defensive about, as always. With his nerves shot and beyond tired from his incessant anger, he got drunk. It was a bad habit, his drinking in an attempt to mute his anger. But it was better than picking another fight with Salem to blow of some steam, and it felt better than the newfound anxiety every time he thought about Gio.

It was when he was drunk that he decided to paint, to make a mess with some red without actually hurting anyone again, and he noticed a few of his paintbrushes were gone. No one ever touched his art supplies (especially not Gio, and especially not after Nicko once made a joke about cutting off his fingers if he decided to be a thief and take his things), and he was very particular about how it was all organized. So when he realized they weren't where he'd left them, even in his drunken stupor, he could tell that something was wrong. So he looked around more, and he was missing more than just his brushes. His room had basically been ransacked, and he didn't know how he hadn't noticed before just then. So he rushed back out to the kitchen, where Ben and Salem were both standing around talking.

When he opened the liquor cabinet (for the second time in the last hour, and he wondered again how he had failed to notice something so important) he was missing a bottle of vodka and the jar of cash he and Rory secretly added to for party funds was empty. There was only one other person who knew about it, and then it clicked.

"Nicko," Ben started in careful disdain, "shouldn't we be doing something besides...you know...drinking?"

"Gio didn't run away."

Salem scoffed at him. "Right. Why would he want to run away from you?"

Nicko shook his head, trying to rub some of the stress out of his face. "No, you idiot. Rory was here. She took my stuff. She took my art shit, she took my cash, she took Gio."

Ben was instantly pale, and Salem stood from his chair and began pacing. It was unspoken, but they were all thinking the same thing, more or less. Rory had a problem, she had ever since they all met sophomore year at a party, and she had never downplayed it or try to make it less obvious. Sober Rory was a rare occasion, despite at some point everyone telling her she should at least talk to someone, go to a meeting, go to rehab. So at some point, their persistence fizzled out and they stopped trying so hard, and she was happier that way, anyway. Nicko had tried a few times to give her somewhat of an intervention, but in the end he decided the only thing he had the power to do was be there with her, whatever she decided to do. Yeah, because you could be all the help she needed? You, the garbage person? Right.

Nicko spent the rest of that night, all the way through morning, driving to places she might be. Her friends hadn't heard from her in days, they'd said, and the dealer that they had been going to together said she'd stopped by the night Nicko kicked her out and bought some weed. After that, he drove up and down neighborhoods all over the city looking for her car. But he had no luck, and he returned home the next morning without Gio or any idea where he was.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Nicko starting failing his classes. He couldn't bring himself to care much about his assignments when Gio was still missing, somewhere with Rory, probably being pumped with whatever she was using. Don't forget that it's your fault. He's gone because of you're shitty decisions.

He also got fired from his apprentice at the tattoo shop, the blonde he was working on didn't particularly like him running out on her and not finishing her piece, and his boss didn't like it either. He couldn't really bring himself to care that much about it. His job, his school, none of that was important to him anymore. Not as important as Giovanni, who was his responsibility and was probably miserable and scared because of him.

So he mostly stayed hidden in his room, starting paintings but never finishing them, tattooing senseless things on himself out of boredom, laying in bed doing nothing. He drove around a lot, too, looking for anything that would tell him where Rory was. He got pulled over three times, he spent a ridiculous amount of money on gas, and he never found Gio.

The guilt was suffocating. Every morning when he woke up alone in his bed he was reminded that Gio was missing, and then again when he got up and saw his empty beanbag, and knowing that he wasn't there because Nicko hadn't kept a good enough eye on him was crushing.

At some point, even Salem noticed how much Gio being gone was eating Nicko up, because he grudgingly came into his room one night, hovering in the doorway, asking Nicko if he was ok. Nicko was sitting on his bed, eyes droopy from however much booze he'd had that day, and for the first time since Salem had known him, he looked painfully human.

"I was responsible for him," Nicko admitted, "if Rory hurts him...if something bad happens to him..." He didn't finish his thought, but Salem had an idea of what he was going to say: that it would be his fault.

"Nicko, whatever Rory does is not up to you. You've done everything you can to find him, that's all that you can do." It was strange for him to be comforting Nicko, of all people, especially after he had found out that he'd assaulted Gio and left him outside in the cold until he got sick. After that, whatever little respect Salem had for Nicko was gone, and now it was being replaced by pity.

But Nicko didn't want his pity, he didn't want to be comforted by anyone. He didn't deserve that. So he told Salem to get out, to just leave him alone. Only Salem, stupid, relentlessly nice Salem refused to leave, and instead he crossed the room and sat down next to him on his bed.

"He likes you a lot, Nicko. Did you know that?"

Nicko did know, unfortunately. He vividly remembered one of the nights when Gio was sick, when he turned over in bed and pressed himself close to Nicko and told him he was his favorite, that it hurt him when he couldn't be around him all the time. And now he was gone. And it was Nicko's fault. "Yeah, I know. He's sort of dumb in that way, isn't he?"

Salem laughed at him, mostly because he didn't know when Nicko became so self aware. "No, I don't think so. I think he's just miraculously good at seeing the best parts of people. He likes Rory, too. Even after...you know, even though she got him high all the time." Nicko let out a long, heavy sigh, and Salem followed suit. "I'm telling you that because he knows that none of this is your fault. I mean, to him, you fucking walk on water. You couldn't ever do anything wrong. So, wherever he is, he isn't blaming you. No one here is blaming you either."

Nicko didn't believe him, but he didn't have the energy to argue against him. So instead, he just said "ok", and then Salem left. Nicko spent the next twenty or so minutes drinking and sketching lazily, dragging pencils across a paper only as a means to distract himself. Everything he drew was ugly, every drink tasted awful, life was miserable. He thought back to what Salem had said, that Gio liked him a lot, and then he thought again of Gio whispering in the dark, "you're my favorite person, Nicko," and his heart broke all over again. He trusted you and you put him in danger. He liked you and you didn't even fucking care, you god awful garbage person.

He was pulled out of his spiraling, self hating thoughts by a knock at the front door. He almost wanted to ignore it, didn't want to ever see or speak to anyone ever again, knowing he would probably end up hurting whoever it was in the end anyway, like he did to everyone he'd ever been around. But then he decided against it, and he stumbled down the hallway with his beer still in hand.

Giovanni sank to his knees in the same instant that Nicko opened the door, so fast that Nicko didn't even realize it was him at first. Only when Gio looked up at him from his place on the snowy porch and started to choke out a familiar sounding apology did it click that it was him. He looked awful, his pale skin peppered with small scrapes and his neck littered with what looked like hickeys, the usual bags under his eyes were an even darker shade of purple, his lips were cracked and bloody, and his face had hollowed out dramatically.

"I'm so s-s-sorry that I left, Nicko," he was rushing out, tears threatening to fall from his frightened round eyes, "ple...please forgive me, sir, please take m-me back-"

Then, Nicko was on his knees too, reaching out to take Gio's face in his hands, frowning at him when he flinched away just a little. Once Nicko's hands were on him, he really couldn't hold back the tears anymore, staring at Nicko as they slipped down his face and onto Nicko's hands. He was afraid at Nicko's silence, he would prefer for him to just start yelling already so that they could get the punishment over with and Gio could maybe be allowed to sleep after. He was exhausted. But Nicko only kept staring at him, almost in disbelief.

Then, as if he remembered that Gio was still outside, kneeling in a pile of snow, he stood up and pulled Gio carefully to his feet, helping him across the threshold so he could shut the door and keep the cold out. Once he was inside, and upright, Nicko got a better look at him, and he was physically upset at how rough he looked. Then he noticed how badly Gio was shaking, and how he was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt nervously as he stared at Nicko. He realized then that he hadn't said anything, and Gio had apologized because he thought he was in trouble, so Nicko being completely silent was probably freaking him out. Gio let out a soft whine when Nicko stepped closer and pulled him against his chest.

"I was so worried about you, Gio," he whispered, swaying side to side, "I looked all over...I'm so sorry I let her get you. I'm so sorry."

Before Gio could even begin to protest the apology, Salem came down the hallway and gasped when he saw Gio all wrapped up in Nicko's arms. "You came back?" He breathed. Gio nodded as much as he could in Nicko's snug embrace. Nicko pulled away then, brushing Gio's hair out of his face and looking at him with a frown.

"Come on, let's get you some food. Anything you want." He pulled Gio behind him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit in a chair. Gio was confused, wasn't sure why he wasn't being berated with pain and cruel words for running off and being gone for so long. He watched as Nicko looked through the fridge, then jumped when the chair next to him screeched against the hardwood floor as Salem sat down.

"Are you ok?" He asked Gio softly, a concerned frown on his face. Gio was happy to see his kind face, but the question made his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. He wasn't ok, his body ached all over, everything felt uncomfortably fuzzy and far away from the drugs that hadn't worn off yet, his fatigue was so bad he felt like sobbing every time he had to move his tired muscles. More than anything he was confused, like always, and it was much too difficult to try and figure out why Nicko was being nice to him and trying to give him food like a reward when he had run away and been gone for so long.

"You want pizza, Gio?" Nicko called from the freezer, already pulling out a frozen pizza and setting it on the counter. Gio didn't answer either of their questions, it felt like his any words that he wanted to say were shards of broken glass on his tongue, and it would only hurt him and everyone around him if he started to talk. It was mostly because his mind was a mess of racing thoughts about Rory and Oscar and all the awful things they did to him and how badly it hurt and how scared he was and how horrible he felt for worrying Nicko.

His silence made them both uneasy, and Nicko set the pizza box down with a thud on the table in front of Gio, then he crouched down next to him, placing his hand on his thigh. Giovanni squeezed his eyes shut in response, Nicko noticed his shoulders began to rise and fall quicker in his uneven breathing.

"What's wrong, darling?" Nicko tried, keeping his voice soft and level. Gio cringed, turning his face away from him. "Talk to me, Gio. Please."

Giovanni let out a tiny whimper, shaking his head. Salem and Nicko shared a nervous glance. Salem shrugged his shoulders hopelessly, not sure how to comfort Gio or make him talk anymore than Nicko did.

So, without any other idea of what to do, Nicko reached up and tilted Gio's face towards him, even though he didn't open his eyes. "Gio, I can't help you feel better if you don't tell me what's wrong. I want to help you but you have to tell me how."

Now, Gio opened his eyes, his frown deepening when he looked at Nicko. Within half a second his eyes were overflowing with tears and his shaking went from a tiny shiver to violent tremors up and down his body. "I...I don't know what's wrong." He admitted. His voice was a hoarse whisper, and Nicko pulled his hand away from his face after he spoke. Gio burst into tears just then, tilting his head down as he sobbed out weakly. "I'm s-sorry, I'm so so stupid I'm so f-fucking stupid I'm-"

Nicko shut him up by standing up and wrapping his arms around him again, pulling his head against his stomach and petting through his hair softly. Salem watched them with his hand over his mouth, obviously troubled at Gio's hysteria. "It's ok, Gio," Nicko soothed him, "you're not stupid. I'm not upset with you. I just want to help."

Gio wasn't really listening, couldn't hear anything over his ragged breathing and his sobs that were muffled by Nicko's clothes. When Nicko realized he wasn't going to calm down like that, he pulled off of him, looking down at his tears stained face. It's all your fault he's crying right now. Look at how broken he is because of you.

"You're not stupid, Giovanni. You hear me?"

The sternness to Nicko's voice snapped Gio out of it a little, he forced his mouth closed and nodded up at him reflexively. Then, Nicko sighed softly and turned away from him altogether. He grabbed the pizza, busying himself with that instead of having to look at how ruined he made Gio. He was only turned away for a minute or two before Salem cleared his throat.

"Um, Nicko?" He said. "I don't think he's really hungry."

When Nicko turned to see what Salem was talking about, and Gio had his head rested against the table, passed out cold. Nicko hadn't thought that he might be tired, and he felt like an asshole for not even checking with him. With a huff, he turned off the oven and threw the pizza carelessly back into the freezer. When Nicko picked Gio up he didn't even stir, completely limp when Nicko scooped him out of the chair and pulled him against his chest.

Seeing Gio back in his bed was more relieving than Nicko had anticipated, and once he was curled up under the covers all Nicko could do was stare at him. He was broken and banged up and looked seconds away from death in a lot of ways, but Nicko felt like he'd never seen anything as beautiful as Gio passed out under his covers. Suddenly, the art block he'd had since Gio had been gone dissipated, and Nicko was as quiet as he could be as he got out a canvas and what little art supplies Rory left him with.

Hours later, Gio woke up to find Nicko asleep next to him, covered in splotches of paint on his face and hands and all over his clothes. He sat up just a little, and then noticed the huge painting across the room. Through the dark he couldn't tell what it was, but it made him smile nonetheless. With a yawn, he layed back down, a little closer to Nicko than he was when he woke up. When Nicko reached out and grabbed onto his hand, Gio tensed up just a little, only until he laced his fingers in between Gio's and held onto his hand gently. Gio looked up at him only to see him still peacefully sleeping, and he realized he probably thought he was someone else, maybe Rory. Still, Gio happily pushed himself closer, resting his head against Nicko's shoulder and keeping his grip on his hand tight.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Five:

Keeping an eye on the classroom door, Steve rearranged the paints. Deciding to go by color and shade. When that task was over, he organized the paintbrushes by the width of the handles, and then by the width of the brushes. When that task was finished, he debated it for a moment before deciding to move the tables around.

Even though the small tables were easy to maneuver -- for the most part -- Steve still found it taxing. Soon, starting to sweat and developing labored breathing, he remove his cardigan in hopes of cooling down. Imagining it as a giant Tetris game, even if the design wasn't what he saw in his head.

Then, a throat clearing gained his attention. Stopping his rearranging project, Steve found Blaire's mom. What was her name? God, one would think that he'd remember it having been introduced that morning.

"Hi," she grinned, slowly entering the room.

Trying to catch his breath, Steve greeted, "Hi."

"Blaire's mom," she reminded, "Amy."

"Right," Steve nodded, "I remember."

Amy perked at that, "You do?"

Steve just blinked for a moment before nodding again. He should've known not to say that considering how she had checked him out earlier. Only, he figured that the rings would've clued her in that he was married. Happily so, to boot. Of course, he never understood why people seemed to be interested in him all of a sudden. He was still the scrawny man that he'd been since puberty. Well, looks wise, at least and growing up, he had been bullied relentlessly for being petite.

But he had a feeling that it had to do with him being good with kids. After all, whenever he saw Bucky interact with their children, it made him want to drag Bucky down to their bedroom and have his way with him. It was just something that made his, already irresistible husband, even more desirable.

And so, Steve figured that was the reason why parents often hit on him.

Gesturing over to the area with the kindergarten projects, Steve tried to steer the conversation to the neutral topic they were supposed to be discussing, "Blaire's handprint leaves are over there. She's very talented. A good student."

Amy nodded, but hardly moved. Instead, keeping Steve in sight. Tucking some of the orangey-red hair behind her ear, she flirted, "That's quite the compliment coming from you."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, brows furrowed.

"Just that you must be a talented artist yourself, or you wouldn't have been hired," Amy clarified.

Steve cheeks flamed a bright red and he hated it. Since Amy wasn't going over to the projects, he gestured towards his desk, "Is there something you'd like to discuss in regards to Blaire? Perhaps how she does with interacting with the other students? Or maybe how well she is at following instructions?"

"Okay," Amy eagerly agreed, taking a seat in the chair beside Steve's desk. It was the only other adult size chair, but Steve wished that he had moved it around to the front of the desk.

Taking his own seat, he opened his record book to the correct kindergarten class and ignored how Amy leaned into his personal space. Clearing his throat in hopes that she'd remove herself from his bubble, he focused on his notes. Even though it was all good things that he had pretty much simplified earlier.

"She's really a special little --"

"Is that your husband?" Amy interrupted.

Surprised, Steve stupidly glanced at the empty open doorway before he found her gaze trained on the photos on his desk. Smiling, Steve nodded, "Yeah. I'm very lucky."

"I'll say," she giggled, ogling the brunet in the camping photo where he had melted chocolate on his face and a toasted marshmallow on the roasting stick. To his right, Jonas sat and to his left, Luke. Behind them, Katie, Liz, and Tommy stood. On Katie's hip, Sophia grinned, showing off the missing teeth gaps.

"Who're the kids?" Amy innocently asked.

Lucky for her, it was Steve's favorite subject.

Grabbing the framed photo from his desk, he tilted it towards her. Starting right to left, Steve pointed at the older boy with the dark olive-brown complexion, "That's Jonas, our oldest. He's a sophomore in college," pointing at Jonas's biological brother, "That's Luke, he's a freshman in high school." Moving to the back row, he pointed to the teen girl with the freckled alabaster skin and fiery red hair akin to Amy's and Natasha's, "That's Katie, she's a freshman in college. She was valedictorian last year."

"Wow," Amy says, still looking at the picture.

"I know," Steve nodded. Pointing to their little girl with straight black hair and yellow-tinted white complexion and closed almond shaped eyes because she blinked, "That's Sophia. She's a second grader," moving on, Steve pointed to the older girl with the tawny, golden-brown skin and almond shaped eyes, he continued, "That's Liz. She moved to Maine to live with her forever family and is a freshman in college. She still occasionally calls." Finger landing on the boy with sandy blond hair and sun-kissed golden-white skin, "That's Tommy, he's in California with his forever family. He's a senior in high school."

Steve smiled down at the portrait before placing it back on his desk. It wasn't even all the kids that he and Bucky had fostered over the years, but it was one of his favorites. Just as the other ones on his desk. Especially one of Mimi Sarah and Nana Winnie baking with Ethan, Sophia, and Jonas. The young man proudly sporting one of Sarah's frilly, floral aprons while Ethan joyously held up matching oven-mitt clad hands. There was flour covering almost every surface, including themselves, but their smiles were all that mattered to Steve.

Much like how the portrait of Katie, Luke, and Ethan fishing with Pop Pop George and Auntie Tibs filled him up with the bubbly happiness. Their grins as they held up their catches of the day were priceless. Even if the fishes caught were so puny it was comical.

Sure, Steve didn't have a picture of everyone he loved. But he did at home. Their walls holding framed family portraits and every day candids from the snapshots of their lives that Steve wanted to keep forever. There were school photos and polaroids that Bucky showed off whenever given the opportunity.

Clearing her throat, Amy regained Steve's attention and she asked, "How long have you and your husband been married?"

Smiling, Steve ran his thumb over the rings on his left finger, "We celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary in August. But we were together for twelve years before that."

"Congratulations," she said. Steve noticed the way her eyes went glassy with unshed tears and she explained, "I'm sorry. My husband left us recently and I --"

Not knowing what else to do, Steve grabbed the box of tissues from his desk and held them out to her. A kind smile on his face as she took a couple. Steve couldn't blame her from crying in a complete stranger's classroom. He couldn't imagine if -- Nope, not speaking that into existence!After all, Steve knew what it felt like to lose Bucky. Even after all those years together, sometimes Steve would remember how he threw Bucky out of his life over a misunderstanding and got irrationally angry at his younger self.

"Thank you," Amy sniffled. Standing up, she gestured towards the door, "I should go before I make an even bigger fool of myself."

Awkwardly, Steve walked her across the classroom to the door, "Have a nice night."

"You, too," Amy answered, clutching onto the tissues in her hands as she turned to leave.

Huffing out a breath, he spun on his heel to look up at the clock. He still had a full hour left. Sighing, Steve shoved his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and got back to rearranging the classroom. If nothing else came from the night, at least he could say that he had gotten something productive done.

[arysafics]

no revival

Summary:  Clarke and Bellamy experience Christmas for the first time on the new planet.

There’s a herb garden just on the outskirts of the township that Clarke often finds herself pondering in. It’s huge, actually. They share everything here. Sure, everyone has their own little cabins, but necessities and luxuries alike are shared. The workload is shared. These people seem to have it all figured out.

Russell had brought her to the herb garden the second day they’d met. It was his quiet place, he said. They’re surrounded by acres and acres of forest, but he finds solitude in the herb garden. Somehow Clarke adopted his love for it. It’s far enough away to be quiet, but not so far that Madi can’t come and get her if she needs her.

The stupid thing is, she doesn’t even really want solitude. She wants to be with her friends. To talk and laugh with them, and feel surrounded. But it seems no matter how many people surround her these days, she always feels alone.

They all say they’ve forgiven her. And she’s done her best to show them that she still cares, that she never stopped caring. But there’s this distance between them now that she doesn’t know how to fix. She doesn’t know if it’s because deep down they still resent her, or if six years of separation just takes its toll on a relationship. She feels like an outsider, no matter how hard she tries.

Clarke envies the way Madi fits in seamlessly with these people Clarke used to know everything about. It’s like Madi has known them her whole life. And they all love her as much as she loves them. Clarke doesn’t blame them. Madi is easy to love. Clarke is—not.

The only person more of an outcast with the people Clarke used to call her friends, is Octavia. But Octavia finds company in those who still hold some kind of regard for her after their time in the bunker, Niylah being one of them. But Clarke doesn’t really have anyone like that, other than Madi, and maybe Jordan. And though Clarke and her mom are trying to make up for the six years they spent apart, Abby is still recovering and Clarke doesn’t want to burden her with her loneliness.

Clarke finds Russell in the herb garden now, picking at a rosemary bush. Most of the plants are ones they’d transplanted from Earth, but she suspects there are a few that are native to Miror Terram. She’s never bothered to ask Russell. She doesn’t actually care about herbs in the slightest.

“Clarke,” Russell nods when as she approaches, straightening up. Clarke gives him a half smile, no teeth. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m okay,” she shrugs, hands in the back pockets of the black pants she’s wearing. She never tells Russell she’s good. He seems to always know when she’s lying. But she never tells him she’s bad either. Always just okay.

She’s not sure what it is about him, but she’s drawn to him. Perhaps it’s because his piercing blue eyes remind her of her father, who was ripped from her life too soon. Or maybe it’s just Russell’s easy-going nature and his lack of judgement. Maybe it’s because he has no preconceptions about her. He doesn’t know the things she’s done.

Still, even if she enjoys his company and likes listening to him tell her about the world they’ve built here on Miror Terram, she doesn’t completely trust him. She finds it hard to trust anyone these days. But she’s trying.

She joins Russell by the rosemary, absently plucking off a sprig and holding the fragrant leaves to her nose.

“What’s Madi up to?” Russell asks.

“Bellamy, Echo, and Jordan took her to the river to go swimming. I think some of the others were going as well.”

“You didn’t want to join them?”

Clarke shrugs, dropping the sprig of rosemary to the ground. “They didn’t invite me.”

“They probably assumed you knew it was an open invitation,” Russell says, ever the reasonable one. That used to be her job.

“Maybe.”

She hears distant voices coming from the forest nearby and looks towards the source of the sound. Russell turns, following her gaze. Clarke watches as four men emerge from the woods, with what looks to be a huge pine tree hoisted on their shoulders. She frowns in confusion.

“What are they doing?” she asks Russell, as the men carry the tree towards the township.

“They would be starting the Christmas decorating,” Russell tells her. Clarke turns her head towards him, his explanation only leaving her more confused.

“Christmas?” she repeats dumbly.

“Yeah,” Russell chuckles. “You know what Christmas is, right?”

“Of course,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes. They’d learnt about Christmas on the Ark, briefly. It was an old Earth tradition, not something they celebrated on the Ark, although Clarke knows there were some people who still acknowledged the day. Her family wasn’t one of them. As far as she’s aware, it was a religious celebration, and if there’s anything she knows with any certainty, it’s that there is no God.

“So you guys are all Christians then?” Clarke asks.

Russell gives a snort of laughter. “Not by a long shot. We just like an excuse to celebrate. We decorate, give each other gifts. That kind of thing. You’ve never celebrated Christmas?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.”

“You’re in for a treat then. We have a gathering on Christmas Eve. It’s beautiful, you’ll love it,” Russell tells her. “We’ll have music, lights. Mistletoe.”

“A party, you mean,” Clarke says.

“Yeah, a party. You could use one.”

Clarke doesn’t know if she agrees with him, but she doesn’t disagree either, and she supposes the party will happen with or without her, so she may as well attend.

“Okay,” she says. “It could be fun.”

  According to Russell, it’s tradition for everyone in the town to make an ornament for the tree. Clarke takes Madi to the recreation hall one afternoon, where people are gathered, creating their own little decorations to hang on the tree. Some people carve things out of wood, some people sew or knit or weave. There are plenty of materials for everyone to use.

“Clarke, Madi!” Jordan calls, waving them over to where he’s sitting at the end of a long table, winding flowers together. Madi skips over, and Clarke follows, giving polite smiles to the people she vaguely recognises. Clarke slides onto the bench across from Jordan, while Madi makes him scoot up so she can sit next to him.

“I decided flowers was the way to go,” Jordan says. “Since I have no idea how to sew or knit or… carve.”

There’s a wooden box in front of him on the table, full of a variety of flowers, most of which Clarke has never seen before.

“Won’t the flowers die before Christmas?” Clarke asks.

“Russell says they’ll just dry out and that they’ll still look pretty,” Jordan shrugs.

“I’m going to do flowers too,” Madi decides. “Can I share your flowers?”

“Sure,” Jordan slides the box down the table so Madi can reach. Clarke on the other hand, turns her attention to the bench at the front of the room, where the rest of the supplies are located. Her eyes fall on a stack of yellowish paper, set beside some jars of paint and a few paintbrushes. That’s much more her style.

Madi and Jordan are preoccupied by their floral arrangements, so Clarke gets up and makes her way to the supply bench, picking up a piece of paper and studying the different paints. She takes three with her, and a thin paintbrush, and a block of wood to use as a pallet, before returning to her spot at the table.

She’s much more used to charcoal drawings, but it’s nice to be able to use some colour, and soon she’s lost in her art, her surroundings fading into nothing as she focuses on the scene she’s painting. She doesn’t look up until Madi’s voice startles her out of her trance.

“Bellamy!” Madi yells across the room. Clarke freezes, her hand tightening around the paintbrush. She has to take a moment to catch her breath before she glances over her shoulder. Sure enough, Bellamy has just entered the room with Echo, and they’re making their way over now. Clarke’s heart stutters at the sight of him, and then her eyes fall to his hand, clutched in Echo’s, and she feels sick to her stomach. Clarke wonders how long it’s going to take for her to be able to look at him without aching.

Bellamy and Echo reach the table, and Clarke slides along the bench to give them room to sit, should they want it. Bellamy offers her a smile as he slides in next to her. Of all the people who say they’ve forgiven her, Bellamy is the only one she feels like she can believe. She thinks, maybe, if it could just be the two of them, even for just an hour, she might start to feel at peace again, finally.

But despite his kindness towards her, his willingness to try and include her in everything, even after what she did to him, she can’t seem to be alone in the same room as him. Not since they touched down on Miror Terram. She’s afraid of what she feels for him. She wants to tell him everything. How he’s the only thing that kept her going when she was feeling really alone. How she called him every day. How she never stopped thinking about him, caring about him. But to say the words out loud might kill her.

Sometimes, when she’s lying awake at night, she lets herself imagine what it could be like if Echo wasn’t here. Similar fantasies to what she had when she was without him on Earth. Being able to hold him, wrap herself up in him, press her lips against his skin. It didn’t feel so impossible, back on Earth. She’s sure he loved her once. She’s closer to him now, in inches, but they’ve never been more distant.

She feels her face burn at the thought of her ridiculous fantasies now, and she swallows her aching heart back down her throat and into her hollow chest. She manages a small smile to return his, but she can’t help but notice he leaves a considerable gap between them. No chance of an accidental brush of hands or knees. It’s probably for the best. Clarke isn’t sure her heart could take it.

“What are we making?” Bellamy asks Madi and Jordan.

“Flower wreaths,” Madi tells him, showing him her creation proudly.

“Alright, who’s going to show me how to make one?” Bellamy asks.

Madi offers eagerly, and Bellamy moves to the other side of the table to be next to her. Clarke’s painting lies forgotten as she watches Bellamy with Madi as she shows him how to weave the flowers together, her heart full of love for the both of them. A small smile even teases the corners of her lips.

She can feel eyes on her, and she glances to her left to see Echo watching her, a knife in one hand and a small block of wood in the other. The smile drops from Clarke’s face and she averts her eyes, returning to her painting. It’s an imagining of what Christmas might have looked like on Earth, from the stories she’s been told, both on the Ark and by the people in this town.

“It’s nice,” Echo tells her. Clarke looks back to her.

“Thanks,” she responds. She knows Echo is probably trying to extend some offer of friendship, for Bellamy’s sake. But Clarke knows Echo will never actually forgive her for leaving Bellamy to die. Clarke knows this, because she won’t forgive herself either. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want Echo’s friendship anyway.

  On the night of the Christmas party, Russell knocks on the door of Clarke’s cabin, while she and Madi are getting ready to go. Madi has made the two of them matching crowns made of holly. The leaves prick her head if she moves it too fast, but she’s wearing it, since Madi went to all the trouble. Her blonde hair has grown out a little since she last cut it, and she twirls it into a bun at the back of her head.

“Come in!” Clarke calls, though Madi is already halfway to the door. Russell swings the door open, walking inside the cabin, carrying a heavy looking chest.

“What’s that?” Madi asks.

“I brought you guys something to wear to the party,” Russell grins. He sets the chest down on the table. He himself is wearing a moss green suit with a red tie.

“You look fancy,” Clarke tells him. “Where did you even get a suit like that?”

“I made it myself,” Russell tells her. “Christmas colours.” He unlatches the chest and opens it. Clarke and Madi watch him as he pulls a soft woollen dress from the chest, a similar colour to his own suit, with short sleeves and a full skirt. He holds it up for a moment before handing it to Madi. “For you,” he tells her.

“Wow,” Madi breathes, her eyes bright with awe. “I love it.”

Clarke is sure Madi has never worn a dress in her life, but that doesn’t stop the girl from running into the bedroom to put her new present on.

While Madi is gone, Russell pulls another dress from the chest. Red this time. Not bright like his tie, but a deep, dark red. It looks much more delicate that the dress he’d given Madi. “And this one is for you,” he tells Clarke.

Clarke gazes at it, reaching out to run her fingers over the silky material. “Did you make these too?” Clarke asks him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Someone else made them, years ago. They were in the apparel warehouse, so someone must have grown out of them, or decided they didn’t want them anymore.”

Clarke nods, taking the dress from him. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” he says. “I didn’t want you to feel underdressed.”

Madi re-enters the room in her green dress, spinning so it flares out around her.

“Beautiful,” Russell tells her. He looks back to Clarke. “I’ll let you finished get ready. See you at the party!”

Madi finishes braiding her own her while Clarke goes into the bedroom to get changed. She peels the black articles of clothing from her body and steps into the dress, not wanting to risk it getting caught on the holly in her hair.

The dress clings to her, like most clothes do, but somehow it feels light and freeing. Yet the thin material and low neckline make her feel exposed and vulnerable as well. The deep red colour contrasts against her pale skin, and she thinks she probably looks ridiculous in it. Especially with the heavy boots she’s got on. She doesn’t really have any other footwear though. Then again, the party is taking place outside, on the grass. She probably doesn’t even need shoes. She pulls off her boots, and then before she can change her mind and put her old clothes back on, she steps back out to the other room where Madi is waiting.

“Wow,” Madi says. “You look amazing, Clarke.”

“Thanks, Madi,” Clarke says, trying not to show her discomfort. “So do you.”

“I bet other people will think you look amazing too. Like—”

“That’s enough, Madi,” Clarke cuts her off. Madi closes her mouth tightly. Clarke sighs. She knows it’s not Madi’s fault that she wants Clarke and Bellamy to be together. Clarke spent six years telling her stories that probably made it sound like they were some epic love story, riddled with tragedy and heartache, but ultimately fated to end up together. But even if Clarke had believed that at the time, she doesn’t now. And Madi needs to let it go too.

That doesn’t stop Clarke from finishing Madi’s sentence in her head. Like Bellamy. Like maybe he’ll see her in this dress and he’ll forget all about Echo. Clarke almost snorts out loud at the ridiculous notion. She needs to get a grip.

“Let’s go,” Clarke says, ushering Madi out the door.

They see the tree first, towering above the rest of the town. Lights twinkle around it, and everybody’s handmade ornaments hand from the branches. Clarke and Madi walk towards it, joining the other groups of people heading towards the party. Clarke is relieved to see that everyone is dressed up, and that she won’t look out of place.

As they walk towards the tree, the buildings fall away until they reach the grassed clearing where the party is being held, the Christmas tree marking the centre. Wooden posts have been erected around the field, string lights joining them, and sprigs of what Clarke can only assume is mistletoe hang from them. A song about it being the most wonderful time of the year is playing. Clarke can’t help it. Her eyes light up and her face cracks into an awed smile. It’s magical.

She glances at Madi, whose face is also lighted with wonder.

“Christmas is awesome,” Madi breathes. She spots some kids her own age then, that she’s been hanging out with lately, and Clarke brushes off the concern Madi has for leaving her alone with a “I’ll be fine, Madi. Have fun.” And then Madi is running off to join her new friends.

Clarke feels a thin arm wrap around her shoulder, and she glances to her right to see her mother standing next to her, Kane by her side. Clarke is surprised to see even Diyoza is with them, carrying her brand new baby girl.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Abby says.

“Sure is,” Clarke agrees. She looks to Diyoza. “I didn’t expect you to be here tonight.”

“I didn’t want to miss out,” Diyoza says. “I’ll take her home soon.”

Clarke nods, and the three of them leave her, mingling in with the growing crowd. It seems like everyone in town is here tonight. Clarke searches the faces of people around her, looking for someone she knows. She can’t see Russell anywhere, but she can see Raven, Shaw, Murphy and Emori standing by a post chatting. Clarke approaches them, not even sure she’ll be welcome.

“Hey,” she says, slotting herself in between Shaw and Emori. “You guys look great.”

“I know,” Raven grins, tilting her head smugly. Clarke doesn’t miss Murphy’s eye roll, and she suppresses a small laugh.

“This is pretty cool, right?” Clarke continues, gesturing to the tree behind her.

“We were just saying that for a bunch of cynics, this party has us feeling weirdly moved,” Raven replies.

It’s that moment that Jordan sticks his head into their circle, grinning widely. “You guys know there’s alcohol at this party, right?” he says, before running off, presumably in the direction of the alcohol.

“He really is Monty’s son,” Murphy snorts.

“I think if we follow him, we might find the booze,” says Shaw, nodding in the direction Jordan had run off in.

“What are we even waiting for?” Raven says. She grabs Shaw’s hand, and they head off after Jordan, Murphy and Emori right behind them. Clarke can’t decide whether to follow or not. Perhaps they’re pretending to be excited about alcohol as an excuse to get away from her.

Before she can decide, her eyes fall on Bellamy, slowly walking towards her. Her heart beats faster with every step closer. Clarke looks around for Echo but finds her nowhere in sight. She can’t remember the last time she saw him without her.

“Hey,” Bellamy says when he reaches her.

“Hey,” Clarke replies. She clasps her hands together so they stop shaking. She’s used to the beard now, but she still finds herself wishing he’d shave it off. She misses his dimples and his strong jaw. Still, he looks as dashing as ever, in a dark suit and a white shirt. He’s wearing a tie and everything. It’s not fair that he looks like that. It’s pure torture.

He’s standing close. Too close. Clarke doesn’t even realise she’s retreated a little until she finds herself backed against one of the wooden posts. The thorny leaves of the holly crown dig into her scalp for a moment.

“Ow,” she mutters.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks. Clarke’s stomach swoops from his gentle concern for her, even for something so trivial.

“Yeah,” she tells him. She gestures to her crown. “Beauty is pain,” she jokes.

Bellamy smiles wryly. “Some party, huh?”

“It sure is something,” Clarke agrees. Bellamy looks over his shoulder, and Clarke wonders if he’s looking for Echo. The thought digs into her heart just as the holly had pricked her head.

“Maybe we should get a drink,” Bellamy suggests, and Clarke is sent hurtling through time, reminded of the last time he asked her to get a drink with him. How different would things be if she’d taken him up on his offer?

“No, I’m okay,” Clarke swallows. She thinks Bellamy might leave her side to go and get a drink anyway, but he stays.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I might get one later.”

“No, I mean, are you alright?”

Is she alright? No, not really. Not in the slightest. Her heart aches from being close to him, from conjuring up memories and fantasies alike, from thinking about what could have been. Her throat is tight and her stomach churns and her skin is covered in goosebumps.

“I’m really fine,” she assures him. He doesn’t seem convinced, but she’s saved from further interrogation by Russell showing up.

“Are you kids having a good time?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” Bellamy says.

“It’s beautiful,” says Clarke.

Russell smirks, and Clarke can’t figure out why he’s looking so mischievous, until he looks up and says, “You two know where you’re standing, right?”

Clarke and Bellamy both follow his gaze upward, tilting their heads back to see a little sprig of white flowers hanging directly above them. Clarke’s stomach drops.

“Mistletoe,” Russell muses. “You know what that means.”

Bellamy looks a little confused, but Clarke knows exactly what mistletoe is supposed to represent at Christmas.

“If you get caught under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them,” Russell grins.

Clarke watches Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. His face is a little red, and from the heat in her cheeks, Clarke thinks hers might be the same. She can’t tell if he’s horrified at the notion of kissing her, or just surprised by Russell’s suggestion.

“No, Russell, I don’t think—” Bellamy starts, and Clarke is relieved. She doesn’t want to be the only one refusing the rules of mistletoe. Though the thought of kissing Bellamy sets her every nerve on fire, she can’t let herself give in to that, no matter how much she wants it.

“Don’t be such a spoil sport, Bellamy,” Russell interrupts him. “Give the girl a kiss.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Bellamy reminds Russell.

“Really, Russell, I don’t want—”

“Come on! It’s Christmas. It’s tradition. Live a little!” Russell coaxes.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, and she swears her heart stops. She can’t move, or speak. Her throat constricts and her heart starts beating again at twice it’s usual rate as Bellamy moves a little closer. His eyes don’t leave hers as he leans towards her, until his lips are an inch from hers, and his eyelids flutter shut, and Clarke can feel his breath on her lips. It’s too much. It’s unbearable.

She brings her hand up and presses it against his chest, pushing it away, tears already forming in the corners of her eyes. She wants to kiss him so much, yearns for it. But not like this. Before either Russell or Bellamy can see her cry, she gathers her dress in her fist and pushes past them, and through the rest of the crowd. She runs from the party and back through town, and she doesn’t stop until she’s safely back inside her cabin.

She presses herself against the door, and a wrecked sounding sob is ripped from her throat as the tears start to fall. She fists her hand around the holly crown and tears it from her head, the leaves spiking her hand as she throws it to the floor. She barely notices.

How could he do that to her? To try and kiss her because some stupid plant said they had to. She can’t kiss him and have it mean nothing. That would ruin her.

She feels ridiculous in her borrowed dress now, and she wants to rip it off, but she’s conscious that the dress will have to be returned in the morning. It’s not hers to rip.

There’s a knock at the door and Clarke quickly stifles her sobs and wipes her eyes. It’s probably Russell, wondering why she freaked out at the thought of being kissed. He doesn’t know that she hasn’t been kissed in over a hundred and thirty years. That Bellamy is the one man she desperately wants to kiss, but never can. She suspects Russell knows she has some kind of feelings for Bellamy. Everyone else seems to. But how could she ever explain to Russell what Bellamy truly means to her?

“Just a second,” Clarke calls, and her voice still sounds wet with tears.

“Clarke.”

Clarke freezes. Bellamy deep voice comes through the door, pleading and sorry. She hates the way he says her name. Hates it because she loves it, because no one says it the way he does, like there’s a million other meanings behind it. Like he’s saying everything he can’t say, that he won’t say, that she wants him to say.

“Go away, Bellamy,” Clarke says, her voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Please, let me in.”

It occurs to her that he’s alone. That they’re alone, truly alone for the first time since Jordan first woke them up from cryo. It’s probably a bad idea, but she straightens, turns around and opens the door, standing aside so he can come inside. Clarke shuts the door, and she gives herself a moment to collect herself before she turns to face him.

“Clarke,” he says again, and her insides clench. She drops her eyes to the floor. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have—it was stupid. There’s no excuse.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke says shortly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” he says. Clarke looks up at him. He licks his lips.

“You’re right,” she whispers. “It does matter. How could you?” Bellamy flinches. “Don’t you know how much—” she cuts herself off. She’s not going to do this now. She’s upset, but it doesn’t mean she needs to go confessing all her deepest feelings to him.

“How much what?” Clarke just shakes her head. Bellamy groans in frustration, rubbing at his face. “Of course I don’t know,” he says. “How would I know anything? You never talk to me.”

Clarke gapes at him. “I never talk to you? Bellamy, you don’t spend a second away from Echo, how am I supposed to talk to you?”

“Then tell me now. Whatever you want to say to me, say it.”

Clarke clams up.

“Clarke.”

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like that.”

“Tell me how you feel for once,” Bellamy begs her.

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“How can I?” Clarke says hopelessly, the despair she’d pushed down earlier bubbling to the surface again, threatening to spill out. “How can I tell you that it hurts to look at you? That I waited for you for six years? That I thought about you every night, that I still do?”

“Clarke—”

“You know I called you every single day on the radio just to stay sane?”

“I know.”

Clarke blinks at him. “You know?”

Bellamy looks a little sheepish. “Madi told me.”

“When?”

“On Earth. Right before we left.”

Clarke swallows. He knew. He’s known for months and he didn’t say anything about it. “How could you not tell me you knew?” she asks, quiet.

“Because, Clarke!” Bellamy bursts. “Don’t you think I feel the same way? I can’t talk about it—I can’t even think about it! About how I thought you were dead. That it took me years to get over you. And then as soon as I saw you—hell, as soon as I fucking heard your name, I realised I never did at all.”

There’s a beat as Clarke processes this.

“Then why are you with her?” she says. Her words shock even herself. Yet Bellamy doesn’t seem surprised. He just looks pained.

“Because she can’t hurt me.”

Silence fills the air, the tension between them thick and palpable. Clarke is sure she’s never felt so awful in her life. The guilt threatens to swallow her whole.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whispers. “If—if you’d known I was alive. Would you have waited?”

Bellamy looks at her, tears welling in his eyes now. “You know the answer to that.”

Clarke sobs at that, and her tears start to fall again. She wishes she could stop. She doesn’t want him to hold her, and comfort her, but at the same time she does. In a second his arms are around her and she’s crying into his shoulder, and she thinks he’s crying too.

“I wish—” she sobs. “I wish everything was different.”

“Me too,” Bellamy whispers.

She cries in his arms for the better part of an hour. She cries until she aches, her chest is empty and there are no tears left inside of her. Finally, reluctantly, she pulls away from him. She wipes her eyes, stepping back, putting the distance back between them. Putting the wall back up between them.

“You should get back to the party,” Clarke tells him. “Echo will be wondering where you are.”

Bellamy nods, brushing past her to get to the door. “Goodnight, Clarke,” he says as he leaves.

Clarke walks into the bedroom, and lets the red dress fall from her shoulders and pool at her feet. She puts on her pyjamas and crawls into bed. She doesn’t cry again, she doesn’t think she has it in her. She feels empty. She gets it now. There’s no going back. He’s not going to leave Echo for her. It’s over. There’s no chance for them. And now it’s time to start trying—really trying—to get over him. And maybe one day she’ll be able to look at him and just see her best friend, and not the love of her life that she lost over and over and over.

[nottellingu]

Screw the Bro Code

This oneshot is dedicated to my bestie @the-fashion-paintbrush on the auspicious occasion of her birthday. I know it’s not what you wanted but consider this an ‘I’m-sorry-i-love-you-please-don’t-chuck me-bribe’.I swear I’m working on your actual birthday present too.

There’s a rule in the bro code that you don’t score a date with the woman your best friend just slept with. You just don’t. Especially if that woman happened to be sneaking out of said best mate’s room.

Apparently women weren’t aware of that rule. Because Marlene McKinnon just asked out James Potter. After she slept with Sirius Black.

What the fuck?

.

James Potter was an early riser. He always had been, always will be. It annoyed the shit out of his mates.

That fateful day, James was up at the crack of dawn, read as eight a.m. (Laugh all you want but eight a.m. to twenty three year olds was like garlic to vampires.) He was making a breakfast of eggs and toast.

Then the door to Sirius’ door softly opened and an attractive, distinctly disheveled blonde woman slipped out.

“Good Morning,” he greeted her.

A year ago, James would have screamed on finding a strange woman sneaking out of Sirius’ bedroom and called Interpol. Now he didn’t blink an eye. He had come to terms with Sirius and his sleazy ways.

“Hi,” she replied, embarrassed to be caught doing the Walk of Shame.

“Would you like some eggs?” James indicated the pan in which he was cooking breakfast.

The woman hesitated and then she shrugged. “Sure, I guess I could eat.”

“Great. Have a seat.” James gestured to the small round table with his spatula. The woman took a seat and slipped her heels off her feet.

“I’m James Potter, Sirius’ best friend and roommate.”

“I’m Marlene McKinnon, Sirius’ one night stand and primary schoolmate.”

James set out a plate of eggs and French toast in front of her and set up a place for himself. Marlene mumbled a ‘Thank You’ as she tucked into her food.

James and Marlene began to talk and they hit it off.

They talked about their jobs and ranted about horrible bosses who needed to get a life.

“My boss interrupts my work by making me getting coffee and running errands. Then he shouts at me for not making my deadline.” Marlene worked as a lifestyle columnist for the local newspaper.

“I don’t have a boss per se but the principal of the school I work at refuses to give the sports department a bigger budget.” James was the assistant football coach at the local school.

They argued about which football team would trounce whom.

“You’re absolutely bonkers if you think Chelsea could beat Arsenal.”

“You just wait; Arsenal will be back with a vengeance.”

They talked about what kind of superpower they would have and what their alter egos would be.

“My superpower would be just being awesome, defeating everyone with my awesomeness. They would call me Captain Awesome” James said dreamily.

“Seeing as I’m already a journalist, I would be Superman’s female counterpart. We would save the day then we would hover over the city with our special flying skills and kiss.” Marlene sighed. “It would be so romantic.”

Marlene even told him about the time Sirius had cried because his sandwich was cut in rectangles and not triangles.

“So what was Sirius like in primary school?”

“A diva princess.” James laughed at that. “He threw a hissy fit once when his sandwich was cut in quarters and not triangles.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

As James was setting the dishes in the sink, Marlene asked, “Is this a regular thing? Sirius sleeps with the ladies and you cook them breakfast?”

“Yeah, it started about two months. I figured someone would have to be the gentleman. Though most usually don’t even look at me.”

“So what about when you have someone over?”

James coloured. “Oh. I’m not that type of guy. I’m more into –er, romance.”

Marlene’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” James cleared his throat uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck.

“So listen, James, I really appreciate you making me breakfast. I’d cook a meal for you in return but I’d just put you in a coma. How about dinner tonight at ‘Scully’s Pizzeria’ just around the corner?”

“Erm, I-”

“Great, I’ll see you there at seven.” And she rushed out the door, before even giving him a chance to say another word.

.

That’s how Marlene McKinnon broke the bro code. James couldn’t even blame her. When the ladies meet someone as charming and as good looking as him, they can’t be expected to restrain themselves. It wasn’t their fault.

But how was he supposed to break the news to Sirius? There were two scenarios – Sirius might pummel him into the ground and James would let him because he had just broken the bro code. Or Sirius might congratulate him on getting some. There was no in between.

What to do? What to do, indeed?

.

It was eleven when James came up with a plan. Sirius would be up by twelve and he would make him a sandwich. That was James’ brilliant plan. Woo him over with food.

(He was doomed.)

.

Sirius was reading the sports section of the newspaper when James approached him with a Ham and Swiss sandwich.

“Here’s your sandwich, Princess. I took the liberty of cutting it into quarters.” James couldn’t help himself. James grinned at Sirius’ less-than-pleased face.

“Shit. Marlene told you that?”

“Mhm. I even put it in the group chat.” James was referring to the group chat which included himself, Sirius and their two mates, Peter and Remus.

Sirius set down his paper and whipped out his phone. “You wanker,” Sirius accused.

“So this may sound weird but I think I might have a date with Marlene tonight.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow at James. “You’re right; it does sound weird.”

“She kind of just sprung it on me.”

“She does tend to do that,” Sirius said fondly.

“So you don’t have a problem with this?”

“I’ll admit it is a little weird but I’m also glad you’re going on a date. I was beginning to think you were gay. Not that it would be a problem.”

Well, would you look at that? There was middle ground. But there was also something suspicious about Sirius’ behavior. He was far too at ease.

“Okay, first of all I’m not gay, just selective. And secondly, it’s not a date. I just don’t want to leave her hanging.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Sirius was smiling at him weirdly. Something definitely smelled fishy.

.

James walked into ‘Scully’s Pizzeria’. Just as he was scanning the restaurant for a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, he heard Marlene calling his name.

“James, hey,” she waved her arm to get his attention and waved him over to the booth she was standing by. Right, time to face certain death.

“Hullo, Marlene.”

“So glad you could make it.”

“It’s not like you gave me much choice.” James said somewhat resentfully.

Marlene cringed, “Sorry, but I have good reason.”                        

Just as James slid into the booth, another woman came up to Marlene and said, “Sorry I’m late, traffic was a bitch” as she hugged her.

The woman had auburn hair that fell just past her shoulder in pretty waves. She had stunning emerald green eyes that captivated James. She had the cutest little nose James had ever seen.

They turned to face James and the beautiful woman asked, “Um, who’s this?”

Marlene smirked at James’ gob smacked expression.

“Lily, this is James Potter, Sirius’ best mate. And James, this is my best mate, Lily Evans.”

“Hi,” Lily said to him.

James tried to say ‘Hey’ but it came out like a garbled ‘Hnmgh’. Behind Lily, Marlene’s smirk became more pronounced.

“Charming,” Lily said hesitantly and then she turned to Marlene, “Sirius, as in the bloke you slept with?”

“Yes. James made me breakfast this morning, so I invited him to dinner.”

“Swell,” Lily said but she looked anything but.

James was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable by the second. Marlene and Lily seemed to be having a silent conversation and James squirmed in his seat.

“Lily, why don’t you sit down?” Marlene may have posed it like a question but she said it like an order. Under her breath, she said something to Lily which James did not fully catch except ‘owe me’, ‘balcony’ and ‘good lipstick’.

Lily slid in opposite James and Marlene sat next to her.

“So James, you like The Avengers, don’t you? Lily dressed up as Black Widow for a costume party once.”

“Groovy,” James said, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. Lily was shooting daggers at Marlene; Marlene was pointedly not looking in her direction.

At that moment, Marlene’s phone pinged. “Oh shoot, I totally forgot. I had planned to meet with Sirius to catch up.” For some crazy reason, James didn’t believe her

“Didn’t you already do that yesterday?” asked James.

“That was drinks. Today it’s dinner.” Marlene made to get up but Lily caught hold off her wrist.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” she said menacingly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I genuinely forgot I was otherwise busy.” She shook Lily off. “You two enjoy yourselves.” She waggled her fingers in goodbye and sped out of the door.

“Did she just-” James began disbelievingly.

“Yep.” Lily was glaring in the direction Marlene had disappeared.

Great. Simply splendid. So that had been their agenda. Make James make a fool of himself in front of the pretty lady.

Lily and James exchanged nervous smiles.

“Does this happen often?”

“You’d be surprised.” Lily looked exasperated.

A waiter approached their table. “What can I get you?” he asked with a bright, familiar smile.

Lily looked at James, “Does Hawaiian pizza work for you?”

“Uh yeah.”

“A large Hawaiian pizza please, Derrick.”

“You got it, Lily.” The waiter nodded and left.

“So. . . come here often?” James asked, a cheesy grin plastered on his face, waggling his eyebrows.

Oh God.

Somebody shoot him already.

To his surprise Lily laughed. It was a tinkling sound that tickled James’ insides.

That was how it all began. The perfect date with the perfect woman.

Screw the bro code.