#kept her sane when her dad kept getting farther and farther away with each day

[forecast-rain]

you know what... maybe that song is who Lilly would've been had she not met Olive

[demigodlunar]

Scars - Chapter 4

-- Trigger Warning: Mentions of self-harm and bad parenting. Read at your own risk.

Chapter 4 - End It Cleanly Mclean

Piper flopped onto her immaculately made bed after her morning run with her mother, rumpling up the covers a little bit and enjoying the brief moments of silence before-

“Models do not flop onto their beds, daughter, they sit on the edge daintily.” A saccharine sweet voice lilted from outside Piper’s bedroom.

Piper stifled her groan and got up quietly, remaking her bed and smoothing her hands over the glossy silk sheets. She made sure not to miss a spot, because her mother, the amazing model Aphrodite Mclean, was no doubt watching her every move from the doorway.

“I’m sorry, mother, “ Piper said quietly, looking down at her feet that her mother commented were “too big” to be from a woman, “I won’t do it again.”

She looked up and locked eyes with her mother, the most beautiful, and cruelest, person Piper had ever met. That one thought of rebelliousness died away, and Piper forcefully looked back down respectfully at her feet.

Aphrodite had silky black hair that made its way down her back in ringlets, with only the most expensive products used on her luscious locks. With chocolate brown eyes like those of a feline. She was thin as a toothpick, with a curvy, full body which attracted a lot of men, and sometimes even women. Aphrodite’s skin was fair and spotless, her nails and clothes always complimenting each other and the rest of her. Piper really wished she hadn’t inherited her mother's insane beauty.

Her mother did another once over of Piper’s bedroom, trying to find something to critique. Not finding any flaws, she pursed her lips, flipped her hair over her shoulder and promptly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Piper let out a breath she didn’t know she was even holding, and it made her plop back down onto her bed and bury her head in her hands.

Why couldn’t I have just gone with Dad?

~~~~~~~~~~

Tristan Mclean met Aphrodite Ouranos at a theatre gathering. He was immediately struck by her beauty and charm, and she seemed to like him just as much. They started going out after a week, and dated for a couple months before getting married.

After they had Piper, Tristan and Aphrodite made it big, Tristan with a high-paying acting career which required him to move around a lot, and Aphrodite with a modeling job. Both of the jobs needed a lot of traveling, but someone needed to stay and take care of Piper, the beautiful baby who inherited her mother’s beauty and her father’s smile and hair.

So while Tristan went on world tours and visited iconic cities and landmarks, Aphrodite would stay at home and take care of Piper. Needless to say, she hated the job, and wanted to dump her daughter in an orphanage to be taken care of by someone else, but then an idea struck her.

If she could raise Piper to be exactly like her, independent and flawless, it would help Aphrodite’s modeling and parenting. She was wrong of course, but she obviously didn’t think that. The result of her carelessness was a five year old running around a large empty estate, eating whatever she wanted and doing whatever she pleased.

There were many, many times when Piper had been left alone for long periods of time, and she did learn to be independent, but vowed to never become like her mother. Once Piper hit her middle school years, Aphrodite realized just how beautiful her daughter was, even more so, than Aphrodite herself. That was a problem.

So she shipped Piper off to a ladies academy for middle schoolers, and when Piper came back the summer before her first year at high school, she was… exactly the same. No manners had been changed, no clothing choice had been improved, nothing.

That’s when Aphrodite took the manner into her own manicured fingers. She critiqued Piper on anything and everything she did, even if it was the slightest misstep or a small snort that escaped her mouth. At the start, Piper rebelled against her, but Aphrodite oppressed her so much that Piper gave in and listened to her mother's every whim, and stayed quiet through every admonishment.

That was what made Piper start cutting.

It was small at first, just a little glance at a knife or razor and wondering how it would feel against her skin. Then, light traces with the sharp blades on her wrist, seeing how light she could go to draw blood. What pushed past her tipping point was when Piper was idly drawing the knife across her arm, not enough to see blood, but enough to feel a small sting, and her mother walked into the bathroom to see what was taking her so long.

She took one cold look at the blade, and the marks on Piper’s arm and left the bathroom. Piper stared after her, but when she came back, it wasn’t with a hug, or words of help to drag Piper out of the world of a depression.

It was a razor. A pink razor with a bejeweled hilt.

Aphrodite held it out to Piper and said only two words: “Use that.”

Since that day, Piper seemed to enjoy when her mother would leave her alone to do her modeling, because Piper had the day to cut herself happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now don’t get her wrong. Piper wasn’t suicidal for two reasons. The first was her father and her friends. She tried to resent her father for leaving her alone with her monster of a mother, but he was too kind for her to hate him, and the couple days a year he came and stayed with them were the best. And her friends, well, they were the only people who kept her sane while she was here. Annabeth, Reyna, Thalia, Leo. They were the best friends anybody could ask for, and they supported her whenever she felt sad. They didn’t know about the cutting.

The second was that she was too cowardly to try to take her life. Afraid of hurting her friends. Afraid that it would all be for nothing.

So she didn’t do anything farther than cutting.

Piper realized that thinking about the past and sitting doing nothing but dawdling was really unproductive. She took out her phone and went to check if there were any new messages, and she saw a text from Thalia. So she replied.

(AN: Thalia, Piper)

Today - 11:34 AM

hey Pipes

hey Thals

wassup

Oh nothing, just trying to get away from my tyrannical mother. Normal day.

nothing much, you?

i’m here with my brother at one of my dad’s interview things

Brother?

Piper couldn’t remember Thalia mentioning anything about siblings before. And she did the normal thing and asked Thalia about it.

you have a brother?

It was a long time before Thalia responded, but when she did, Piper snatched up the phone to see her response.

yeah

Piper felt betrayed, she thought they told each other everything. But then again, she had no room to talk.

excuse me, but how come you’ve never told me about him?

never came up

fine, you win, for now. show me a pic?

Thalia sent a picture of a blond-haired boy with the bluest eyes Piper had ever seen. The thing was, she knew this blond-haired boy.

It was Jason Grace, the only person that even came close to Annabeth’s record setting grades. Once he had beaten her by a percent on a English test, and Annabeth was fuming for days, while Piper and the rest of their friends snickered at her back. But Piper never connected the dots, like how he and Thalia had the same last name.

He was also in her math class during Freshman year, and he sat two seats to her right. Piper could remember clearly some moments of that class.

Like when the teacher would ask the class a question, and Jason’s hand would be the only one up so she called on him. He would bite his lower lip and read out the answer in a confident but quiet voice, like he didn’t want anyone to notice him. Then, once Jason got the question right, his posture would straighten, in a proud way. His eyes would light up like a cloudless day sky and his lips would stretch into a smile, making the scar on his upper lip appear more prominently. Jason would push the glasses up the bridge of his nose, and sit back in his chair, satisfied.

One second. Two.

What. Was. That. Piper shook her head and felt her cheeks become hot. She barely knew Jason, yet she had been paying so much more attention to him than she thought she was. Idly, she wondered if his glasses and the tattoo of glasses she had on her shoulder were related in any way.

Suddenly dizzy, she remembered that Thalia was waiting for an answer. With her thoughts off somewhere else, she mindlessly typed a response to Thalia’s question. The good news, it was the truth. The bad news, Thalia would never let her live this down.

After she felt her head clear, she brought her attention back to the conversation and her eyes widened.

oh, that cute boy you sit with at lunch sometimes? He’s really good looking.

“Crap!” Piper yelled, for once not even afraid that her mother will come in and lecture her about the dangers of swearing.

She could just imagine Thalia cackling her witchy laugh wherever she was. Piper started to type in a message to tell Thalia to please, please not tell her brother about that message when a new message popped up at the top.

Piper, honey, I am leaving for my photoshoot now. Please keep the house clean... and no guests. -Mother >:(

Perfect, her mother is gone, now she can go through with that brunch that she planned with her friends. Then she remembered Thalia. Stupid ADHD, hopping from one topic to the other.

It was too late though, because Thalia has already replied.

yes, he is, and he’s also here looking at our conversation.

Piper felt herself blush scarlet red, and she bet anyone could see it, even on her darker complexion. Now she was in for it, she would never be able to face Thalia or Jason ever again. And once Thalia told the rest of their friends…

Piper stood up and started getting ready for the brunch with her friends she planned. Both mentally and physically. Gods, Leo was going to have such a field day when he found out about this.

Well, the routine was only just starting. ____________________________________________________________

This chapter was fun to write haha

-Blossom ;)

[erinevrly]

            FATHER’S  DAY.  each  year ,  while  other  children  and  adults  hit  the  stores  looking  for  the  most  adorable  cards ,  colorful  bouquets  and  other  sweet ,  thoughtful  gifts ,  erin  attempts  to  ignore  even  the  tiniest  things  that  could  remind  her  about  the  loving  dad  she’s  never  had.  as  the  radio  stations  across  the  country  play  songs  dedicated  to  all  these  admirable  parental  figures  who  have  inspired  their  offsprings  to  achieve  great  things  in  life  and  the  commercials  on  the  tv  speak  only  about  spoiling  the  ones  who  have  taught  the  future  generations  how  to  be  better  people ,  she  pretends  she  doesn’t  hear  the  obvious  messages  they  carry  and  avoids  turning  these  two  devices  on.  she  even  goes  as  far  as  trying  to  convince  herself  that  everything’s  simpler  and  better  the  way  it  is  —  she  doesn’t  have  to  spend  hours  wondering  how  to  honor  her  dad ,  how  to  be  more  creative  than  her  siblings ,  how  to  outdo  herself  and  whatever  gift  she  gave  him  the  previous  year.  she  doesn’t  want  to  be  pitied  and  tries  to  play  it  cool  but  deep  down  it  tears  her  heart  to  pieces.  unfortunately ,  there’s  nothing  that  can  be  done  to  change  it.  her  father  has  been  gone  for  exactly  twenty  years ,  absent  physically ,  as  well  as  emotionally.  he’s  missed  all  of  her  birthday  parties ,  all  of  her  recitals  and  school  plays ,  wasn’t  there  to  teach  her  how  to  drive  a  car  or  fix  a  dripping  faucet  or  even  just  watch  her  fly  her  first  kite  at  the  shore.  all  he’s  left  her  with  are  thousands  of  scars ,  the  constantly  bleeding  wounds  that  refuse  to  gradually  go  away  as  time passes ,  and  the  only  lesson  he’s  ever  taught  her  is  how  to  question  every  person,  or  rather  every  man ,  who  tries  to  offer  her  his  LOVE.  he  doesn’t  deserve  to  be  called  a  father  and  for  two  decades  erin’s  tried  to  erase  this  day ,  behave  as  if  it  was  just  another  sunday  in  june ,  as  though  there  was  nothing  special  about  it.

            however ,  ever  since  learning  that  she’ll  become  a  parent  herself  this  november ,  she’s  been  thinking  a  lot  about  her  own  childhood  and  how  it  shaped  her  into  the  person  she  is  today.  her  father’s  absence  is  the  reason  why  she  constantly  questions  her  worth  and  worries  her  husband  will  one  day  abandon  her ,  too.  her  mother’s  authoritarian  personality  is  the  one  to  blame  for  her  shyness  and  anxiety ,  her  extremely  protective  nature  the  cause  for  erin’s  childish  and  naive  behavior.  her  parents  have  never  been  perfect  but  she’s  been  doing  her  best  to  try  and  understand  them ,  forgive  and  learn  how  not  to  repeat  their  mistakes.  she’s  been  thinking  about  all  the  difficulties  that  come  with  parenthood ,  all  the  struggles  and  tears.  it  terrifies  her ,  makes  her  wonder  if  a  person  as  broken  as  herself  is  fit  for  this  extremely  important  and  challenging  role.  the  only  thought  that  can  put  a  genuine  smile  on  her  face  and  keep  her  sane  today  is  the  one  that  crosses  her  mind  every  time  her  stormy  gaze  flickers  to  her  husband’s  bright  emeralds  —  their  child  will  never  feel  the  way  she  has.  they  will  never  feel  worthless  or  inadequate ,  unloved  or  unwanted.  their  child  will  have  someone  who  deserves  to  be  called  not  just  farther  or  dad  but  daddy  or  DADA.  someone  who’ll  truly  care  about  him  or  her.  although ,  the  first  few  weeks  have  been  nothing  but  a  gigantic  struggle  for  both  of  them ,  it  seems  that  they’re  finally  coming  to  terms  with  the  fact  that  their  lives  are  inevitably  changing.  this  giant  responsibility  has  landed  upon  their  shoulders  a  little  sooner  than  expected  but  she  doesn’t  want  to  pull  her  hair  out  or  cry  all  night ,  anymore.  she  wants  to  hope  for  the  best  and  enjoy  their  time  together  as  a  family.  

            today  is  an  extremely  special  day  because  not  only  is  it  axl’s  first  ever  father’s  day  but  also  the  very  first  father’s  day  that  erin’s  truly  excited  about  and  wants  to  celebrate  to  the  fullest.  their  baby  hasn’t  even  been  born  yet  but  her  husband  has  already  made  her  believe  that  he’s  a  better  man  and  a  better  father  than  don (  or  william ,  or  stephen ,  or  any  other  sperm  donor  in  this  world  ).  he’s  proven  that  he  can  be  the  kind  of  parent  everyone  wants  to  have.  he  hasn’t  left  her  alone  with  this.  he’s  been  extremely  caring  and  supportive ,  even  though  she  can  tell  that  this  new  role  isn’t  something  he’s  adjusting  to  easily.  for  this  very  reason ,  as  a  little  thank  you for  his  kindness ,  she’s  decided  to  give  him  an  unforgettable  day  —  one  that’s  solely  about  him.  first ,  she  let  him  sleep  in ,  get  some  much  needed  rest.  then ,  she  made  him  heart - shaped  waffles  for  breakfast  and  brought  them  on  a  wooden  tray  to  their  bedroom.  later ,  they  went  for  a  long  walk  with  their  dogs  and  got  ice  cream.  and  now  she’s  taking  him  to  malibu ,  to  their  favorite  spot ,  the  same  one  where  many  years  ago  they  had  their  first  real  date  and  realized  they  had  fallen  in  love  with  each  other.  if  she  closes  her  eyes  even  just  for  a  moment ,  she  can  still  see  this  young ,  bashful  boy  with  dreams  bigger  than  both  of  them  and  a  heart  so  full  of  affection  and  devotion ,  love  for  her  that  it  could  barely  fit  inside  his  chest ,  his  porcelain  skin  basking  in  the  sun ,  his  green  eyes  reflecting  the  color  of  the  ocean.  at  the  time ,  he  was  as  poor  as  a  rat  but  he  still  made  sure  her  stomach  was  full  and  her  mind  at  ease.  he  brought  homemade  food  and  even  somehow  found  a  picnic  basket  ( to  this  day  she  has  no  idea  where  he  got  it  from  ).  it  was  a  magical  date ,  one  of  the  most  memorable  dates  ever  for  sure.  it’s  hard  to  believe  that  shy  boy  is  going  to  be  a  father  in  a  few  months  and  the  third  sunday  of  june  will  always  be  all  about  him.

            as  they  stroll  along  the  shore ,  bathing  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  afternoon  sun ,  erin  can  barely  take  her  eyes  off  of  her  husband.  her  husband.  she  still can’t  believe  he  really  is  her  husband,  not  her  boyfriend.  husband.  while  she  continues  to  gaze  at  him  as  if  he  hung  the  stars  and  the  moon ,  she  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  neither  the  ocean ,  nor  the  blue ,  cloudless  sky  above  their  heads  can  compete  with  his  beauty.  the  corners  of  her  lips  twitch ,  a  look  of  sheer  happiness  passes  over  her  visage.  she  has  to  admit  that  despite  being  insanely  handsome ,  he  also  looks  a  bit  ridiculous  (  or  rather  ridiculously  adorable ) with  his  red  bandana  no  longer  tied  around  his  head  but  wrapped  tightly  a  few  inches  lower ,  covering  his  starry  eyes ,  preventing  him  from  peeking  and  ruining  the  surprise.  she  can’t  let  him  see  what’s  awaiting  him.  it  has  to  be  kept  secret  until  the  very  last  moment.  after  all ,  that’s  what  makes  things  even  more  exciting.  erin’s  right  arm  remains  draped  around  his  slim  hips ,  guiding  him  and  making  sure  he  doesn’t  lose  his  balance  now  that  she’s  taken  away  one  of  his  senses.  the  sand  is  warm  beneath  the  soles  of  her  bare  feet  (  she  could  barely  wait  and  took  her  wedges  off  the  second  she  parked  her  car  and  got  out  of  it  ) ,  tiny  grains  falling  from  her  skin  with  each  step.  she  blissfully  lifts  her  chin  a  little  higher ,  closing  her  eyes  for  a  second  as  the  salty  breeze  flows  through  her  dark  ringlets  and  kisses  her  rosy  cheeks.  her  blue  cotton  summer  dress  billowing ,  delicate  fabric  dancing  in  the  wind ,  threatening  to  uncover  what’s  beneath.  it  makes  her  giggle ,  has  her  feeling  all  carefree  and  joyous.  her  fingers  curl  a  little  tighter  around  axl’s  hip  as  she  pushes  herself  up  onto  her  tip  toes  and  plants  a  gentle  kiss  on  his  cheek.  she  wishes  they  could  spend  the  rest  of  their  lives  right  where  they  are.  ❛  alrighty !  it’s  right  in  front  of  you ,  ❜  she  softly  coos,  coming  to  a  stop.  ❛  are  you  ready  ?  ❜  to  finally  see  what  this  grand  surprise  is.  she’s  thrumming  with  a  combination  of  nerves  and  excitement  as  her  slender  fingers  carefully  work  on  undoing  the  knot.  with  his  red  strands  and  the  summer  wind  in  the  way ,  it  takes  her  a  good  minute  to  succeed.

            right  before  them ,  in  a  more  secluded  area  of  the  beach ,  with  a  beautiful  cliff  on  one  side  and  azure  waves  crashing  against  the  shore  on  the  other ,  erin’s  created  their  charming  picnic  spot.  all  she  needed  was  an  ounce  of  creativity.  when  combined  with  some  stunning ,  exotic  flowers ,  a  bohemian  teepee  tent ,  a  few  fire  logs  (  in  case  they  decide  to  stay  long  enough  to  watch  the  sun  set  on  the  horizon  and  it  gets  cold  )  and  some  sweet  treats ,  it  resulted  in  a  picture  perfect date  plan.  with  a  little  help  from  her  brother ,  erin’s  managed  to  make  it  look  more  than  just  decent  —  something  straight  out  of  a  movie  or  a  fairytale.  the  linen  walls  of  the  tent  are  meant  to  protect  them  from  the  wind  and  keep  the  bright  rays  away  from  her  husband’s  porcelain  skin.  garlands  made  of  lilies  and  peonies  adorning  the  entrance ,  their  smell  a  combination  of  sweetness  and  happiness.  inside  the  teepee ,  to  make  it  even  more  cozy  and  inviting ,  there’s  a  pile  of  soft  blankets  and  a  bunch  of  colorful  pillows ,  as  well  as  a  picnic  basket  with  all  kinds  of  delicious  teats  underneath  its  lid.  there’s  also  a  blue  bag  —  a  little  gift  from  their  unborn  child  to  the  greatest  daddy  in  the  world.  inside ,  among  torn  rose  petals  and  a  few  other  presents ,  he’ll  find  a  t-shirt  that  says  dada  bear  and  a  tiny  onesie  that  says  little  bear ,  an  album  with  pictures  of  them  and  captions  explaining  (  in  simple  yet  poetic  words  )  their  journey  together  from  the  night  they  met  to  the  day  they  found  out  they  were  having  a  baby ,  a  brand  new  video  camera  so  that  they’ll  be  able  to  record  all  the  precious  moments  with  their  son  or  daughter ,  a  tape  with  some  of  their  favorite  songs  turned  into  lullabies  that  her  brother  and  his  friends  had  worked  in  secret  for  weeks  on  and  a  red ,  heart - shaped  card  .  .  .  a  small  letter  from  their  baby  to  him ,  written  in  erin’s  handwriting :  

           happy  father’s  day,  daddy  !            it’s  the  very  first  one  that  we’re  celebrating  and  i’m  just  a  teeny  tiny  human  now  but  i  already  want  to  tell  you  so  many  things  !  first  and  foremost  — I  LOVE  YOU  SO  MUCH !  i  love  you  the  mostest  !  and  even  though  you  sometimes  doubt  yourself ,  i  know  that  you  are  the  best  daddy  in  the  whole  wide  world  and  i  am  so  grateful  that  it’s  you  i’ll  get  to  learn  from  in  the  future.  my  favorite  part  of  each  day  is  the  one  when  you  talk  or  sing  to  me ,  or  when  you  kiss  and  hug  me.  i  can’t  wait  to  finally  meet  you  and  fall  asleep  in  your  arms  or  on  your  chest  or  even  in  my  crib  with  you  watching  over  me  but  i  have  to  be  patient.  just  a  few  more  months ,  daddy.  i  may  not  be  able  to  give  you  many  precious  gifts  now  but  i  promise  to  draw  plenty  of  pretty  pictures  just  for  you  in  the  future  !  i’ll  bake  thousands  of  cakes  and  cookies  for  all  your  favorite  holidays  and  i’ll  sing  all  of  your  favorite  songs  in  the  car  with  you.  i  can’t  wait  to  finally  hug  you  back.  next  year ,  we’ll  do  all  these  fun  things  that  dads  and  their  babies  do  !  i’m  looking  forward  to  meeting  you  and  celebrating  many  more  father’s  days  with  you  —  the  coolest  daddy  in  the  universe  !              i  love  you  so  much ,              your  teeny  tiny  rose.

            clutching  her  husband’s  red  bandana  in  her  left  hand  and  squeezing  his  wrist  with  her  right  one ,  erin  carefully  studies  his  expression.  her  heart  has  somehow  left  her  chest  and  is  now  beating  within  the  confines  of  her  throat ,  not  even  the  delicate  breeze  can  carry  away  all  of  her  worries.  what  if  instead  of  making  him  happy ,  she’ll  only  stress  him  out  ? what  if  he  gets  upset  or  decides  the  gifts  she’s  picked  for  him  are  too  cheesy  ?  she  can  only  hope  it’s  not  too  much  for  him  to  handle.  after  all ,  she  wants  this  day  to  be  special ,  not  terrifying  and  stressful  for  him.  ❛  happy  father’s  day,  axy,  ❜  she  whispers ,  pressing  her  lips  to  his  soft  cheek  and  kissing  it  again.  her  hand  curling  a  little  tighter.  ❛  our  lion  cub  wanted  to  do  something  nice  for  his  or  her  favorite  dad  and  so  .  .  .  this  is  what  we  came  up  with.  we  know  you  like  picnics  and  the  ocean  ?  i  got  applesauce  and  peanut  butter  sandwiches  ?  happy  first  father’s  day ,  baby.  ❜

☆  ;  @thornrosed​

[saintmccann]

27

filling the prompts van finds reader’s makeup bag and decides to have a go at mascara + reader moves into a new house, and van is her neighbor + reader is van’s friend and they love to get high and listen to music and smoke in the kitchen and sometimes kiss a little. one day things go further than they planned. 

note Hope you don’t mind I changed up the “Van’s your neighbor” prompt; I figured this story would go well if Van was the one who moved in. Huge thanks to @flouraie for inspiring this prompt and keeping me sane. Love ya.

_________________

“Holy shit.”

You had walked into the little bathroom to find Van’s face inches from the mirror, delicately tracing over his eyelashes with your mascara wand. His tall, lanky frame was hunched above the porcelain wall sink you all shared in the little three-room apartment, his tongue between his lips in concentration.

“Sorry, thought I’d have a go at it,” he said, shakily. He didn’t know you all too well yet, since he and his friend had just rented the empty rooms in the flat, and he’d been gone for most of the time he’d supposedly been renting it. He stood back up, guilty you’d caught him using your expensive makeup, and immediately reached for where you kept the makeup wipes. He’d totally invaded your space, and you wanted to tell him off. But you weren’t that mean. And he was cute.

“No, no! Don’t take it off!” You took his arms and held them in front of you and smiled. Looking up at him, he’d only done one eye so far, and it looked severely unbalanced. “Hold on, let me fix you up.” He sat on the bathroom counter, now at eye level.

You pulled the wand out of the tube again. “Look down at me. I’m not going to stab you in the eye, promise. Okay……” you began, holding one of his cheeks for stability, and letting your elbow rest on his shoulder. You let the wand comb through his already dark lashes, coating them effectively.

“There we go.” You did the other eye again, just to be sure it was even. “Look up?” you asked, and painted his lower lashes in jet black liquid. You stood back to admire your work.

“Fuuuuuuck” was all you could whisper. You handed him the mirror from your makeup bag. He studied himself in the little square of light, and you watched him. Something flashed in his eyes for a second. Your stomach fluttered. The look he had on his face...

“Don’t tell me you just got a little turned on by looking at yourself in the mirror.”

He set the mirror down and all of a sudden, picked a giggly you up off the tiles and carried you to the couch in the lounge. He pinned your arms to the upright cushions with one hand, both of you laughing, and straddled you to hold you down. He pulled the tube of mascara out of his back pocket with the other.

You beamed up at him in astonishment. All the while, you couldn’t breathe correctly. You never expected your new roommate to ever do something like this.

“Your turn,” he said, little laughs in between his motions to open the tube, and your squirming.

He brought his face close to yours, and you sighed as his minty breath fanned across your face. He didn’t know the effect he had slowly been creating on you. Ever since he’d come back from tour, you’d secretly delighted in the little quirks he had. He was quickly becoming one of your good friends, in the little moments you were privy to his company.

As he worked on your eyes, you stared straight ahead at his own dark, luxurious lashes, and felt the butterflies creep up in your stomach again. He stopped combing your lashes abruptly, looked straight into your eyes, and licked his lips. He went back to work, and you thought your lungs were going to explode.

“Van?” your voice came out all tiny, and you tried to put your palm down on the cushions to wipe the sweat away from it, but instead it landed on his thigh. Panic mode set in. You wanted to move it, but your entire body was paralyzed. This was not how roommates acted.

He stopped coating your bottom lashes in the mascara.

“Yeah?” he replied, still straddling you sitting on the couch, your hand still on his dark denim-clad thigh. Both of you, unmoving. He licked his lips again.

“I…” you started. But before anything could come out, the doorbell rang.

“I uh… ordered pizza.” He slowly untangled himself from you and the couch, put the mascara back in the tube, and the doorbell rang again. “Coming!” he called out, running to get his wallet from the kitchen and sprinting to the door.

You both quietly munched on the pizza, sat on opposite ends of the couch, avoiding each other’s glances. That was, until you glanced at him and huffed out a laugh. He looked at you, smirking. “What?” he asked, through a mouthful of pizza.

“You’ve still got the mascara on.” He swallowed.

“You like it?”

“It’s a good look on you. Though I haven’t seen you much around here, so I can’t be sure.”

“I’m home for the next few months, since we’re recording here. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, love.” He winked, and got off the couch to refill his glass of water. You continued munching on your pizza. He was gone for a few minutes.

He came back with a glass and a brownie sticking halfway out of his mouth, looking chipper.

“Whoa, mate.” You looked at him with wide eyes. “How many of those did you shovel in just now?”

“This’ll be my third,” he said, popping the rest of it into his mouth. “Why?”

You started laughing. “Oh nothing huge, those are just the weed brownies my friend brought over this morning.”

His eyes grew large. “And I fucking ate three? You’re gonna have to take care of me, I’m gonna be down n’ out in a few.”

Van was not down and out in a few. The brownies took a while to work their magic, and it was shitty weed they were made with anyways, so after you ate three to catch up, you both just vegged out on the carpet and finished the rest of the pizza with a normal high.

“Wanna put on a record?” you asked him, and he lazily stood and rifled through the hellhole of a collection you’d all started in the corner of the room. Van and his friend had brought boxes and boxes of records, and they’d started to mix in with yours.

“Lil bit o’ this,” he said, and moved the needle over the vinyl. When it started to play, he audibly sighed in relief. “Moondance.”

He plopped back down on the carpet where you had sprawled out like a cat, and starfished next to you, his side almost touching yours. You both lied there in silence for a while, enjoying the swimmy feeling in your heads.

Listening to the soft melody crawl over the carpet and into your ears was peaceful. Van got up and had a cigarette in the kitchen, and then made his way back to the carpet. His hand languidly stroked yours. “I think Into the Mystic is one of the greatest love songs of all time.” You turned your head sideways to look at him. He had already been looking at you.

You both leaned in, and your lips met, soft and lazy. His hand caressed your neck and cheeks. In a haze, you let him roll over and rest his weight on top of you. Your legs intertwined, and his lips kissed the corner of your mouth. Moondance played Van Morrison’s crooning voice on and on until the record stopped. His lips were still on yours when it ended, slow and soft. You both parted for air, and smiled.

He got up, and pulled you up with him by your hand. He led you to your bedroom, and closed the door behind you as he went to his own. You slept contentedly.

This was how it started.

*****

Late in the next afternoon when you’d finally risen from your comatose states, you stumbled out of your room desperate for cheese toasties. Van was also exiting his room at the same time, and when he stopped rubbing his eyes, you burst out laughing.

“What’s up?”

“The mascara is smothered alllll over your face. It’s run everywhere. You look like a clown.” You grabbed his arm and led him to your bedroom, where you’d relocated the wipes after last night. He stood awkwardly as you retrieved them from your bedside table. You realized he’d never been in your room.

“Here you go, just put them under the bathroom sink like you found them yesterday. Want a cheese toastie?”

“Do I ever,” he replied, wiping clean stripes down his face. He followed you to the kitchen.

“When’s your friend coming home?” you asked while busying yourself with the cheese toasties.

“Next week, actually. You can hang with us if you want,” he said, throwing the wipe in the trash.

“Sure, that’d be good, considering I still haven’t met him yet and he’s my roommate,” you gave him a sly smile as you slid a plate with a cheese toastie across the counter to his leaning form.

*****

Larry was as rowdy as Van, if not more so; but definitively just as sweet. Already he helped with the laundry, cleaned when he wasn’t asked to, and kept his own part of the bathroom neat and tidy. When you’d heard you’d be living with two boys, you were frightened by horror stories others had told you regarding male roommates. However, your expectations couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

When it came time for the official “Welcome Home Larry” party you and Van threw for him several weeks later, you invited a few friends you knew from the area. Van was thankful, because he and Larry didn’t know anyone else besides their band members, and they were staying far across town.

The two handles of vodka you’d bought with Van were more than enough, and you’d high fived in passing during the party when it was going well, chuckling at each other’s bright faces. Van played mixologist behind the kitchen breakfast bar, and Larry got to know some of the local people. You were happy that your new friends were assimilating well into this little world you’d created living here.

Van handed you a drink and it was the most delicious you’d ever sipped; “Me mum and dad ran a bed and breakfast,” he’d said, and he’d watched them make drinks for guests on holidays. He made a drink for everyone in the house before he made himself one. You watched him work with a certain kind of precision you hadn’t seen in him before for a few seconds before giving him a soft smile and heading back to the couch.

After just three drinks, you were already reeling, holding onto tables and the back of the couch as you walked around. Everyone was starting to get drunk off Van’s specialty drinks, including Van himself, and you knew it was turning into a proper party fast. Boisterous laughter echoed from every corner of the lounge and kitchen. Larry was loving it, and plugged his phone into the speakers you had splurged on a few weeks before they arrived. The whole apartment started bumping to the beat of whatever he decided to play with his aux privileges.

“You alright?” Van asked as you leaned against one of the living room walls, watching Larry do an impression of someone famous. Your eyes were drifting in and out of focus. He already had a glass of water in his hand for you.

“I’m just feeling a bit dizzy, is all,” you said, taking the glass of water in his outstretched hand and flashing a smile at him before drinking it down. He smiled all crooked and drunk and walked back into the chaos of the room.

You decided you needed a breath of fresh air, and went to your bedroom to open the window. You stuck your head outside for a few minutes, watching your cool breath leave your lips, and then inhaling the sharp winter wind. The cars on the street below honked and screeched every so often, and you breathed in the smells of the city. When your teeth were too cold to bear, you slid the window shut and walked back to the noise and laughter, refreshed.

You stumbled through the thick of the crowd of people who’d gathered around Larry. They were really enjoying his company and his jokes; a few of the girls were probably sure to ask for his number later. They were definitely enjoying his accent. You laughed, and walked into the kitchen.

Under the fluorescent lights, Van’s hair was starting to stick to his forehead as he mixed drinks. He brushed it back with one hand, and you felt a lurch somewhere deep inside you.

You moved to stand next to him, and before your mind could process quickly enough to say no, you grasped at his hand. He let you take it. You led him into the hallway, out of sight from the other partygoers, and he willingly let your hands roam. Your cold nose and lips touched his. His lips met yours again, soft and sweet. His hands held your cheeks steady, his tongue slow in drunkenness running between your lips. Your hands felt down his abs, and rested on his hips. Your head was tilted slightly up, giving him more access to your mouth. His hands were warm on you, and you felt safe.

When the kiss broke it was because your lips were getting tired and people were starting to notice you’d both drifted from the party. You returned to the room as if nothing had happened.

*****

That was how it went for the next few weeks. Whenever you both got drunk or high, usually listening to music or partying, you’d make out with each other to fill the time. It was fun and easy with Van; no strings were attached. The convenience of living together meant if either of you were frustrated or sad or needy in any way, a quick make out under the influence could save bad decisions being made with potential sexual partners, or prevent fights from breaking out due to irritability or pent up emotions.

The roommate dynamic still stayed the same. You and Van were content being friends that made out with each other, and there was an unspoken rule that it was just kissing. That’s all you both ever seemed to want anyways. Larry had caught you both making out on multiple occasions, but never pressed the issue further than the intermittent “So you guys kissed last night.” When one of you would answer “yeah,” that was it.

******

“How’d I do this time?” Van asked, strutting into your room a few months later with an almost full-face of makeup on. He’d taken up the art of makeup in the time that you and he were alone together in the house, which was infrequent, but enough to give him time to hone his skills.

You inspected his face from the bed you were cross-legged on. “Mascara is perfect, as always. Maybe should have put the highlighter up a little higher on your cheekbones? But the subtle lip stain you used is spot on. I don’t remember teaching you how to do that.”

“A little experimentation never hurts.”

“I completely agree.”

He started to walk out of your bedroom, but you called him back in. “Hey, I dare you to wear highlighter to the party tonight.” He glanced at you with a look of distaste. “Pleeeeeaaseee. I’d kill for cheekbones like yours. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“With a compliment like that, I don’t think I can say no.” He walked out of your room, and you heard the water running as he washed his face off. You lazily flicked through the pages of the magazine you were reading. He returned with the fan brush and his favorite highlighter, and sat on your bed.

“Can you do this so I don’t look like a fucking idiot?” he asked, grinning stupidly. You knew he was secretly giddy to step out of the house in a little makeup just to see people’s reactions.

“Sure,” you said as you scooted closer to him. Some of the berry-red lip stain he’d used lingered on his lips, and they looked delectable.

You’d never really had the urge to snog him sober before, and your revelation surprised you. You were uncharacteristically quiet as you dipped the brush in the shimmery powder and spread it across his cheekbones, avoiding eye contact. You didn’t want him to ask about the look on your face.

“There,” you said quietly, reserved. You replaced the top on the shimmery powder and set it on the bed for him to collect. You didn’t let your fingers brush his. You returned to the magazine you’d been leafing through, head down in the pages, waiting for him to leave you in peace.

He didn’t leave.

“.... Y/N?” he said, dipping his head to your level to try to get you to look in his eyes.

“Yeah?” you replied, dodging his eyes.

“Is there anything bothering you?”

“No, sorry, I’m just feeling kind of weird right now. I’m in one of those moods. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to party.”

“Okay, sinnabit,” he said, rubbing his hands together and rising from the bed. He left your room and went to his own devices.

“Christ,” you whispered to yourself. You dressed yourself in the clothes you’d set out for the party, taking a deep breath in the mirror.

*******

The party at the bar was a rager; you’d arrived with Van just before the energy of the party reached its peak. People were already smashed, and you and Van gave each other an eye-twinkling look that screamed, Let’s catch up with them.

You and Van were usually the type to grab a beer and stick with it, but tonight, you headed straight for the shots. Due to the weird tropical theme of the party (in winter no less), they were tequila and lime. Your favorites.

You walked up to a tray of shots already out on the table. Van leaned his elbow on the high table, playful look in his eye as he grabbed two shots and handed one to you. You licked a line on your hand, and Van did the same on his. A little sprinkle of salt was dashed across your hand, a clink of shot glasses came with smirks as you raised them together, and a subdued burning, followed by the refreshing sour of lime, hit the back of your throats. Little stolen grins became wider, crooked smiles as you both took two more shots, and set off to meet up with people.

The highlighter on Van’s face shone brightly under the hot lights of the bar as he conversed with people, and compliments were being thrown his way left and right, from girls and boys alike. He responded with an obligatory but sincere “Thank you very much” every time, and then proceeded to look at you with admiration. He wrapped his arm around your waist, and it stayed there. The shared looks were searing a hole in your heart, and you didn’t understand why. Between the alcohol and his praise, you were feeling very, very good.

“More shots, please, Van,” you tugged at his arm during a lull in conversation, and he followed you to a table with fresh shots lined up across it.

“Here we go!” he said, licking a line across his hand, shaking salt onto it. You did the same. Right before he downed it, he winked at you. Your shot burned harder than it had before, and you almost choked when you sucked a lime wedge. You were about to ask him a very bad question to ask someone when drunk just as one of his favorite songs came over the speakers and saved you from embarrassing yourself.

“No fuckin’ way!” he yelled, taking your hand and guiding you through people to an open space on the dance floor.

You never thought you’d be able to dirty dance to Someday by The Strokes, but it was happening.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, and his hands were gliding up and down your back, at your waist, and thumbing over your hip bones. His slow movements up against you didn’t match the beat at all; if you’d been sober, maybe you would have cared about the odd looks you were receiving from people.

Toward the end of the song, his slightly grinding movements got harder, and you got a little sweatier. Your arms and legs felt weak as he held you. His forehead dipped and rested against yours. And just as Julian sang out the last “I aint wastin’ no more time,” Van’s hand cupped your face. His thumb ran across your bottom lip, pulling it open just slightly.

“SHOTTTTSSSSSSS!” a deep-voiced burly guy shouted at the top of his lungs. Everyone who’d been out on the dance floor rushed for what seemed like the third round of shots. You and Van lingered there frozen on the floor, looking into each other’s eyes. You broke eye contact to find one of his hands and lead him away to the shots, avoiding any awkwardness that could have come with the moment.

Lick salt, take shot, bite lime from rind. Rinse and repeat. Or, that was how it was supposed to go.

As soon as you dragged Van to the table, he spun you to face him, and your head swam happily as you looked into those eyes.

“We don’t have to do it like always,” he said. “Try something new?”

“Sure.” With eyes like his, and the light sheen across his cheekbones, you would agree to anything he asked of you right now, not to mention how you trusted him immensely.

You licked a line across your hand, setting it up against the table laterally so some of the spit wouldn’t run, and Van did the same. Sprinkle of salt here and there, done.

Before you could think, Van licked the salt off your hand, slow and steady, eyes dead set on yours the whole time, boring into you. He quickly took the shot, not breaking eye contact. He let it burn for a few seconds before soothing it with the lime. You shivered. He looked incredible standing in front of you. His eyes were rimmed red from drunkenness, but still. Hair ruffled, shirt collar sticking up funny, fingers brushing your arm. Head hovering close. You felt a tingle between your legs.

“S’ all you, babe,” he replied.

You licked the salt from his hand, just as slow and painstakingly as he had from yours, salt scraping up against wet flesh, and saw his reaction just before you closed your eyes and downed the shot. You picked up a lime wedge, but before you could suck the juice, Van’s hand swatted at it, letting it fall to the floor. He kissed the burn from your lips and you melted into his embrace, tongue tingling from the alcohol you’d consumed as it glided over Van’s in an unabashedly sleazy kiss.

You’d never kissed him in public before, and in such an open space. Closets or bedroom floors or secluded couches always seemed to be the move. This time you knew the feeling was different; this kiss felt frantic, even though you’d both been kissing on occasions where you’d been much more inebriated than tonight.

In the back of the taxi on the way home, you still hadn’t stopped kissing. His lips were a plump cherry red every time you pulled apart reluctantly for him to give directions to the taxi driver, who didn’t seem to care you were both horizontal in the back of his cab.

Van’s hands trailed up your thighs, and you knew with every fiber of your being that tonight’s decision to wear a skirt couldn’t have gone better.

The taxi braked with a halt, most likely to get your attention so you could untangle yourselves. Van chuckled above you, and helped you out of the taxi.

Once inside, the hands and the lips didn’t stop.

It was past saving now, this friends-with-kissing-benefits-only relationship you had with him. You knew it had left when you’d put highlighter on him earlier that day and made a realization.

He stepped backwards, letting you lead him to his room, smiling mischievously all the while between heavy kisses. You both forgot Larry was home.

For the first time, you let him undress you, and you, him. You fell back onto his bed, his scent lingering everywhere, and let it envelop you. He kissed you harder, and with more passion than he’d exhibited before. His hands caressed your body with such sweetness you thought you were going to implode.

“I love you,” he’d whispered, just before you both melted happily into each other.

*******

The light shining through the window blinded you both, seemingly simultaneously, as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled, tossing a pillow over his head, and, coincidentally yours, before he opened his eyes fully and realized you were still next to him.

He smiled sleepily and used an arm to pull you into his side. His skin was soft and pale in the dark sheets, and you molded yourself to fit his form.

“You good?” he asked you. You contemplated everything silently for a few moments. The best friendship you’ve ever had, the emotional and physical comfort, the proximity, the trust --- everything added up, and it had for a while now.

“Yeah. I’m good. Are you?” you looked up at him. His answer to your question was a kiss, with little giggles in between. His excitement shone through the kiss, and you were happy.

The door to his bedroom opened.

“Van, I --- Christ!” Larry stood there, open-mouthed and about to laugh at the sight of the two of you kissing, traces of last night evident in the clothes strewn across the floor.

“Finally,” he said, closing the door with a soft thunk.

You and Van smiled at each other before returning to the kiss that had been interrupted. Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip, and he pulled away, stretching it until it left your teeth and sprung back to normal.

“Round two?” he asked cheekily, moving his hand to rest on your thigh, just like you had the first time he’d put mascara on you. How coincidental.

[ruddiestbubbles]

Demons and Knights

He fell. He fell hard. It wasn’t a proud moment, like a fallen warrior protecting his king. No, this was a fall from a weakness too strong to overcome. He didn’t know how to handle it, not sure what was too much-- too far, too hard. He had big shoes to fill, and dragons to slay. But his demons were far too many to battle alone, yet he was too scared to ask for help.

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10152110

  Kent Parson was a demon and a knight in shining armor. He knew all of Jack’s darkest secrets, and he helped, and shoved him farther under the drowning waters of anxiety. Back when Jack met Kent in the Q, it was a simple friendship. They both didn’t have any friends, and both demons that clung to their souls and clawed at their necks. Some point along the way, definitely after some sort of party with alcohol-- not long after their first real game-- they found themselves behind a locked door. Quick, sloppy jerks and hot open mouthed kisses; dirty, alcohol driven, messy first time. It was so much from the build up of everything as it was the alcohol.

Jack’s anxiety was rearing in full force, especially with his father’s shadow constantly looming over him. All eyes were on him, forever on him. HIs every single step was criticized, from the way he let his hair grow all shaggy, to the way he still had so much of his baby fat and he wasn’t a perfect specimen of of human much like his mother and father. But Kent, well, he was truly Jack’s knight in shining armor. He made all of that pain go, through hot touches and dirty kisses. Kent made Jack feel wanted, like maybe his imperfect body was actually something that someone wanted, even if it was only ever behind a locked door, stowed away from the prying eyes of the world and their judgmental daggers of words.

Out of those rooms, away from the secureness of a locked door, Jack was so, so alone. Kent was there, but not in the way Jack needed. Kent couldn’t give Jack what he needed, not when all eyes were on the best duo the hockey world had ever seen. Not when they lived in a world where being anything but straight was a downright sin. The medicine helped. If only for a while. It calmed the world, let him breath air that didn’t feel like cotton. But maybe that was the problem, it was too calm. That got under his skin, ate away at his sanity. He was anxious, and the medicine makes him calm, but that only results in a clear mind to run itself in circles.

Living away from his parents was rough. Even though he visited often-- every chance he got really-- he felt like their already opaque relationship was growing thinner and more fraut. Especially when Kent went home with him one break-- his mom was in one of her worst slumps yet. They hadn’t meant to do it, not really, not when Jack’s parents were home. It was an overwhelming amount of stress and a whirlwind of anxiety that brought them both panting and writhing away because of one simple touch from each other. Jack could feel the worried glares directed at the back of his head. His maman couldn’t look either of the boys in the eyes for an entire day. His papa bit his lip and clapped Jack on the back before disappearing out the front door in his tigh running clothes and bright yellow trainers.

After Kent flew back home, Maman and Papa had sat Jack down at the kitchen table, worried blue and brown eyes boring holes through his opaque screen of resilience. His droopy sad blue eyes just couldn’t look at either of his parents, so he stared at the table, his shaking hands in fists to keep from roughly pulling at his hair.

“Jack, honey.” Maman started, and that’s all it took for Jack’s wall to tumble down, a crumbled pile of lies on the ground.

“I’m sorry!” He sobbed, his eyes glassy and sad. “I don’t know what I’m doing…. I-I don’t know….” It was loud at first, but his voice trailed off until it dropped of the edge of audible and into a sub-conscious string of I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. His hands flew to his hair and he gripped at the long shaggy hair.

“Oh Jacques, my baby.” Maman said quietly, gently taking Jack’s wrists, rubbing slow circles into the taught muscles. “We’re not upset. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing.”

“We just want to make sure you’re safe, bud.” Papa spoke softly, his usually booming voice now like a feather floating through a gentle breeze. “We just want what’s best for you. And if Kent is what's best, then we’ll support you.”

Jack did look up then, eyes red and brimmed with unshed tears. “R-really?”

“Of course sweetheart.” Maman ruffles his hair. “Now I wouldn’t go shouting it out, but you know, what you have could be good. Just be safe honey, okay?”

He actually managed a wet laugh at that. “As long as I don’t have to sit through ‘the talk’.”

“Considering yesterday, I don’t think you need it.”

“Papa…” He groaned, head falling with a thud to the table.

Jack’s relationship with his parents was still rough and communication wasn’t the best, but it was getting better. Well, it was till Kent and Jack got into a huge fight. They were each other's own demons, a presence forever looming and clawing at each other's throats. They knew each other's deepest darkest secrets which was truly they’re strongest front and greatest downfall. They knew exactly what venomous words to spew to drive a blade through each other's hearts.

That’ll sure make your dad proud, huh?

At least I have the full support of my parents!

Real funny Zimms, at least I don’t have to constantly take meds to keep me sane.

The words were poison and drove them apart. Jack grew distant quickly. He didn’t accept calls from his parents. He didn’t say anything at his last meeting with his team, just kept his head low and refused to give a speech when requested. Then in his room the day of the draft, he had just woken up and he was starting to get around when his phone buzzed. The dim screen showed several messages from his parents, thirty missed calls, and a single message from Kent.

Hopefully everything goes well today, maybe we’ll end up great rivals on the ice. Good luck with your life, Zimms.

It was the finality of the message that sent Jack reeling. He was drowning in the swell of anxiety that crashed into him, like the ocean upon a shore during a raging storm. He gripped the counter, knuckles white. One glance in the mirror showed him the sunken in pale skin and sad, droopy blue eyes. He wasn’t taking care of himself. It was starting to show. But he was drowning and gasping for air in rugged gulps. His whole body was shaking and his knees were weak.

What if… what if…. What if…. What if……

His mind was running in circles, digging a rut in his opaque sanity. So he grabbed his pill bottle, popped the cap and took one, two, three. It wasn’t enough. His hands shook and shook and he couldn’t breath, not with a sixty pound weight on his chest. His heart was beating so fast. So he took another, one, two, three, four. His heart was beating fast, till it wasn’t and tiny blue pills scattered on the floor and he fell. He fell hard.

Recovery was a long process. The media lurked in every dark corner, tracking his every move. But his parents built a protective wall. That didn’t stop them though, not when everyone wanted to know where Jack Zimmerman went and what happened before the draft. Eventually the story got out and everyone at it up and spit it out with some new version of an originally untrue story. It didn’t help Jack’s recovery, not one bit. But he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and held his head high.

Samwell was a big step in his recovery. He was a nervous ball of anxiety when he got there, and that continued for many weeks, until a mustachioed man approached him.

“Hey Zimmerman you fuckin’ beaut!”

That startled Jack. “Um hi, hello…. Euh?”

“You haven't socialized with the team yet bro! I know we’re both tadpoles, but come on brah!”

“I just… euh… um….”

“Deep breath man. I know the ‘Jack Zimmerman Story’ already. It took the hockey world by storm, but you know what? Fuck that shit! That was before, not now.”

Jack looked like a deer in headlights, sad droopy eyes wide.

The guy clapped him on the back with a booming laugh. “The name’s Shitty B Knight, and no that’s not my real name. Now come on, I heard there’s a Mario Kart tourney going on at the Haus. And yes, Jacques Laurent Zimmerman, you are required to go.”

“How…?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Let’s go kick some hockey bro’s asses!”

“Oh… haha?”

They did kick ass, but only after Shitty ‘accidentally’ knocked Johnson's controller out his hand. And later that night, after Jack had awkwardly waved off any offer for beer, Shitty and himself headed back to the dorm, and they sat in Jack’s single dorm and talked. Or rather, Shitty rambled drunkenly and Jack listened, but it was great. That became a pattern quickly, except every long night talking started including far less clothing on Shitty’s side of things. And oddly, Jack was okay  with that too.

Shitty became Jack’s rock, he grounded him and brought him down from the ever imposing well of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. And eventually they had the ‘Jack Zimmerman Story’ talk.

“Do you… euh, really wanna know what happened….?” Jack had asked nervously, his hands shaking slightly.

“Brah, of course.” Shitty replied with a gentle smile and a hand on his arm.

“Oh… okay… haha?”

And after that, well, Shitty very quickly shut down anyone who even dared calling Jack an addict. It was the beginning of a ‘fucking beautiful’ friendship, and Shitty B. Knight became Jack’s knight in shining armor.