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#i'm already probably going to have to extend the chapters from 12 to 15
lostmykeysie · 2 years
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bestie omg that new ch was delicious the angst is starting and it is just <3 i really enjoyed seeing sirius cry and im not going to apologize for saying that :(
btw i was wondering if that chapters the last we’re going to see of peter or 👀
y'all just bloody love angst and it makes me die hahahahahaha and the thing is. i do quite enjoy writing angst IN MODERATION i just find it stressful but you know what i will own up to. i love making him cry. i have said this before and i will say it again there is something so delicious about breaking sirius into tiny little bits it just feels so right. i love making remus angry and i love making sirius cry!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i am combining this ask with a spoilery ask SO to answer both of your questions.....
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(again. ignore the orange PLEASE i am begging you i swear it looks worse every time)
so chapter three we saw the evil little rat in a ministry cell and that is NOT the last we see of him, we will be going to his trial!!!!!!!!!!!!! i will not give details but i have two directions i'm considering. one is more drama than the other but i'm unsure about it because i'm not sure i'll be able to close it off properly, and i don't want to throw in drama and leave it unaddressed no matter how fun it will be.... either way. i think it's safe to say peter is unlikely to go quietly :)
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distortedclouds · 8 months
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I'm here for the writer's ask game :)
1, 2, 3, 4, 5,6, 7, 8, 11, 12, 15, 16, 27, 28, 29, 30, 37, 39
Well, hello there! :D
Questions 1,3,5,6,7:
Answered here
2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?
Memory loss, but also growing old together. I think both tropes would require a lot of care and nuance to go into characterization that'd be very interesting to me
4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?
Quite a few, actually! A couple of one-shots I'm working on, but also long-fics that I'm not sure whether I'll have the time or energy to tackle
The one most likely (still unlikely) to see the light of day is a post-rumbling, fake-dating fic because everyone's trying to get the new ambassador of peace to marry their daughter and Armin is (and Annie) just getting sick of it all
I mostly want it to be Armin-centric, everything that "Take my hand" fic was meant to be but couldn't (sorry Moon)
8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
This probably wont' be the most honest/accurate answer, but since my brain has been flooded with ch 20 for the past 2 weeks-ish straight, it's gotta be this:
“I knew it, you and your plans,” Annie breathes with a small laugh, and it’s enough to make him smile, too. It always is. “What? You’re planning on marrying me on a remote beach somewhere?” “I will,” he promises. “You’ll get sand in your shoes.” She smiles. “Our friends will all be there.” He hopes. “The cake will get dirty.” She frowns. “I’ll promise to love you,” he vows. “We’ll spend the whole night brushing sand out of our hair instead of anything fun.” she pouts. “Yeah.” “I think I’d like that, Armin,” she murmurs, voice soft in his ears as she shuffles closer.
Dialogue is already not my strongest suit, so whenever I find myself writing bits that just flow between the two characters, I'm immediately pleased!
11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?
Is there a difference between the two? I've been writing stuff and imagining worlds and scenarios since as far back as I could remember. I find writing to be an excellent practice of empathy and compassion, for not only people I may otherwise not fully understand, but also extending it to myself and how I may be feeling at specific times but having a hard time realize
definitely a passion!
12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?
I wouldn't say an episode/chapter, since I'm mostly consuming aot as whole arcs. But definitely the final arc, not only for aruani, but also as a life philosophy, if that makes sense lol
15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?
I mean... I wanna saw BW, since that's the apple of my eye, but I also fail to see how so much internal monologue and emotional writing can be distilled into an image (but then again, I'm not well versed in the visual arts)
It's gonna have to be I'm begging for you to take my hand
16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?
I may be biased to my current writing, but I can totally see myself exploring a wide variety of human emotions and circumstances with Armin and Annie in the aot universe and outside it
27. How do you feel about collaborations?
Never been in one before. It's intriguing but also the perfect opportunity for my imposter syndrome to step in and fear of disappointing other writers I may be working alongside
28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.
It'd be hypocritical not to mention @/you first! Not only is your writing incredibly poetic and artistic in nature, it also delves into the very depths of a character's emotions. It feels like I'm writing something that should be categorized as literary, instead of just writing or fiction
@moonspirit (come get yo praise!)
It's the movement and animation in your writing that always captures me. Everything always feels so vivid and alive even if it's inanimate! You're like of Ghibli studio was a literary publishing house
@/ackermom on AO3
the emotional pull is out of this world HOLLY FUCK! I can't just casually read any of their fics, I need to mentally prepare (maybe even have a full day off :| )
29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
@dudewhy3 give us more of deep cuts!! (no pressure :) )
30. Do you accept prompts?
Yes and no. When I do I usually only do it for very short drabbles just as an exercise in writing and have some "mindless" fun so I don't have to stress over every single word I write
37. Talk about your current wips.
Well, I wanna finish BW sometime within the next month or so, A couple of... one-shots that I wanna write (IYKYK) but I also really wanna get back into Slow and Steady
39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?
If it's on tumblr:
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Similarly on AO3, I just don't give them the time of day. People like that 99% of the time are just looking for a reaction because they have nothing better to do IRL and want to feel important online. I just don't engage
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porrokin · 3 years
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“SAINTS BEFORE SIXTH”
i have actually never posted anything like this on my tumblr - i'm kinda nervous ngl.
below you can find the blurb and entire first chapter of the fantasy novel i'm writing! 🤎 i'm so incredibly proud and wanted to share it with you :)
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Andy was almost an adult now, not once in the past decade had she been entirely sober. This hadn't been a choice of her own; she didn't get many of those anymore after becoming a permanent resident in the Institute. She'd been permanently deprived of direct sunlight ever since her sixth birthday, on December 30th.
Meanwhile, her best friend claims to speak with his deceased parents and the Keepers found her newest ally before she did. They've been forcing him to use his powers for their selfish winnings, cruel violations like this could go unseen since the Warden disappeared.
Escaping the Keepers is one thing; they're still worlds apart from getting home - considering there's anything to come back to in the first place.
story : all rights reserved ; @porrokin
don't copy or claim this in any way; it is my work and belongs entirely to me.
THE ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER IS POSTED BELOW !
-
Never once during the past decade had Andy been entirely sober, that fact would, however, become even more disturbing when you considered she was barely eighteen years old. It hadn't been a conscious choice, at least not one of her own.
Ever since her sixth birthday - almost precisely twelve years ago - Keepers had taken the freedom of making decisions away from her. What she ate, where she slept, who she talked to, and whether or not she took her meds four times per day - which she did, much to her disliking.
The Keepers no longer informed Andy of their plans for her, they used to back when she was still enrolled in the program. Christiano was, though she wasn't sure if she always believed him when he talked about what he did during those three hours every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Sunday. Nine hours each week, that's how much time they did want to spend with her roommate. She was on her own, once again.
The line scurried along. Andy hesitantly followed as she took in the newly arrived smell of potatoes and spinach. Lunch must start soon, meaning the clock could say 12:55 am anytime now. The rest of the world outside was sleeping, in contrast to this place - heavily lit by beaming, quietly zooming tubes. The grey ceiling was covered in them, leaving nothing to go by without catching the eye of at least one Keeper. Andy didn't know why they lived during the night, rather than when the sun could cast real and natural light into the long, empty hallways. Probably to keep the public from asking much-needed questions about this place, or perhaps they did know but couldn't care enough.
Another name was called out - not hers. The girl in front of the line had been injected, she swiftly turned around and started walking in against the direction of the line. Back to her room, she went, another day of the same, mundane routine. Day after day, twelve years before you got away.
Long ginger hair draped over her slim shoulders, curls bouncing up slightly with every step she took. Her face looked tense; not unusual for this place, but it was rather strange to see from this girl. When their eyes met, Andy was surprised to see an almost luminescent light grey shade. The girl's eyes were once green but now reminded her of the colour of freshly polished silverware reflecting in the light.
As she walked past her spot in line, electricity seemed to flow through Andy's spine; causing her entire body to shiver. Her eyebrows shaped themselves into a slight frown, for a moment she glanced behind her to look at this girl for an extra second. She wasn't allowed to speak to anyone in white but her roommate, though by now she'd been here long enough to recognize who slept in the same hallway and who didn't.
A loud crackling sound disrupted the silence, a moment later the automated voice began to talk through the speakers. Same time every day, the same voice at exactly five minutes before 1 am. 'Ten minutes before lunchtime, those who have not yet received their injections will be expected back in Hallway 162B in exactly 45 minutes'.
In a matter of seconds, their plan was about to be set in motion.
Right away, rummaging sounds rose from the back of the line. 'I need Andy!', a familiar voice shakily called out. 'My roommate, Andy Donahue!'
'Not up to you, get back in line or I'll make you.' Andy recognized his voice as the heavier Keeper with the bushy, unmanaged moustache. He sounded calm, he'd been quick to tase someone in the past and would most likely have his beefy fingers wrapped around the device already.
She raised her hand and started walking towards the back of the line, her body shaking entirely as if it was freezing and she walked into the cold without any clothes on her limbs.
Without expecting it, she was forcefully yanked back from behind. Before Andy even had time to blink, her arms were locked firmly behind her back, wrists pushing hard against her spine.
'You too, now? Don't think you're an exception to the rules.' Captain Keeper; not because he's the leader, but he sure did like trying to boss the others around. She didn't answer him right away but rather tried to stretch her body and spot Christiano in the hallway. She couldn't.
'I'm his roommate, that's Irvine. Sometimes he freaks out in the presence of many people-' A sweaty hand roughly pulled her head back by her hair, causing her to face the ceiling. Her body alarmed her of the pain this caused to her neck. The bright lights made her eyes tear and she struggled to swallow.
'Did I tell you to open your mouth?' Clammy Hands scoffed.
She attempted to reason with him: 'Let me take him to our room so he can calm down.'
'Get back in line. Otherwise, I'll make sure you don't get out of solitary until snow melts.'
She managed to free her arm from his clammy grasp. 'I can ensure you-'
He reached for her, his face caught between anger and frustration. He was getting impatient, little was he aware that this was exactly Andy's will. She stumbled backwards to avoid him this time, successfully, both of them were surprised by it.
'Christiano will throw up. Do you want that to happen when..' She ever so slightly raised her chin, dramatically pausing for a moment as she raised her boney finger.
Andy continued. 'About six hundred kids still need their injections in this hallway? That seems to be a big inconvenience — if I am allowed to voice my opinion.'
'Sir.' she added. The encounter would surely have been more entertaining would her head not be pounding, the shakiness of her knees increasing by the second. She knew her body needed the meds she managed to rid this morning - she would deny this dependence at any cost if someone were to ask.
He sighed and resultantly nodded in Christiano's direction. 'Go. I'll know where to find you in five minutes.'
She did as told, anxiously searching the hallway for her roommate. So far everything was going just as she so meticulously planned; she was okay.
By now she imagined the time creeping closer to 1:00 am, breaks for the Administration would start in ten minutes; she only needed three. The two minutes after that meant for racing back to their room, in case Captain Keeper was indeed determined to stick to his earlier promise.
Something as cold as ice grabbed her hand, effortlessly disrupting her thoughts. Chocolate brown eyes met hers, a feeling of relief washed over Andy's body. Squeezing his hand, they swiftly disappeared behind the corner at the end of the hallway.
'You got the key?' Andy hushed her voice. Administration breakrooms were still in the same hallway as their offices. She wondered whether they got as little sunlight as the kids here did.
'I do. Traded my last blanket for 15 minutes of borrowing the thing, this place leaks of greedy bastards.' He grinned, accentuating his sharp facial structure.
'If you're right about the Bidding we'll be out of here soon enough anyway.'
'I am right.'
'I believe you.' She extended her hand for him to hand her the key. 'I want to prepare for everything, that's all.'
While Andy gained access to Ad 348H, Christiano leaned nonchalantly against the drinking fountain, his finger push-ready on the button. If she caught the sound of water running, she needed to hide. Christiano would have to sneak her back out after their lunchtime. Not the desired option, as this would be too close for comfort with the Administration break ending at the same time.
Thanks to Christiano's contacts she knew immediately which cabinet to find; about twenty seconds had passed already. Her hands rummaged through the several files and envelopes, one of the many drawers containing surnames with "D" as their starting letter.
She gasped audibly when finally skimming across her own, "Andy Donahue" it said. As she attempted to pull it out, the cardboard folder ripped on one end; the contents spilling out like jelly beans at an overwhelmingly disorganized children's party.
She cursed to herself as she attempted to fish for whatever just got lost within the mass amount of documents and belongings. A soft texture brushed against her finger and with some effort, she managed to grab onto it.
Her journal! Andy's heart skipped a beat, who knew they would've collected this in here after confiscating it years ago. Without hesitation she dropped it into the neck of her jacket, holding it against her stomach with her other hand. What else did she need? Her file was too big to ever sneak out in its entirety and to take this heavy notebook was already a reach.
A loud cough echoed into the room as if she had her fingers in her ears this whole time to block out the noise. Finally, the sound of splashing water seemed to reach her. She slammed the cabinet shut, somehow getting her black sleeve stuck in the process. No, no, this was bad - this was so awfully bad.
While securing the journal with her other arm she put her body up against the heavy metal cabinet and made a desperate attempt at freeing herself from its hold.
'Yes!', slightly too loud.
Within a moment she smoothly turned around, slamming herself against something and stumbling onto the cold concrete flooring.
'We really don't have time anymore, why didn't you come out when I signalled for you?', Christiano grabbed her free arm and hurriedly pulled Andy back up on her feet.
'I'm sorry!'
She followed right behind him, both came to a sudden stop once they'd realized what was waiting behind the walls of Ad 348H. At least six Keepers surrounded them in the hallway, pointing that same amount of stun batons in their direction.
Captain Clammy Hands was the one to break the silence: "Such a shame, Donahue."
-
© PHOTOGRAPHY : @/k_reckd [ TWITTER ]
to read more, check out my story on wattpad @/porrokin [ same as on tumblr ]
CREDIT WHERE IT IS DUE ; THE COVER
© PHOTO - MODEL : @/iiphugs [ TWITTER ]
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I'm 26 arcs into Worm: The Stick Up Brian's Butt
So I'm listening to the We've Got Worm podcast and they keep talking about KingBob, the guy on reddit who really related to Alec and ended up understanding him (and by extension Aisha) far better than most of the other readers.
I haven't really gone into this on this blog, I've been reading Worm for like six months now and I don't update that often, but throughout this read I've been the KingBob to Brian. It's gotten to the point where I actually took a few mental health breaks from reading Worm. I know a lot of people thought Brian was boring and dumb. I'm almost done with Worm now and I feel like the inclusion of Brian this story elevated it, for me, from a fun superhero story to something intensely personal, something that was almost a struggle to read. I know from spoilers that Brian's part in this story is almost over. He isn't my favorite character (Dragon) or even my favorite Undersider (Aisha) but I felt like I should write something before this is over. It wouldn't be an honest blog otherwise, as infrequently as I post.
But Kuno, you say. You're a 22-year-old white female engineering student. Why the hell is this the character you relate to?
For a collection of dumb reasons that add up to a large part of who I am. From the time I was eleven to the time I was about twenty-one, I had night terrors. Seven times a night sometimes, I dreamt vividly of the people I loved getting hurt, hurting me, getting killed, killing me. My students and pets melting in my hands. My mom and I clutching each other on the freeway as we're stopped in traffic, a terrorist approaching our vehicle with a shotgun. We don't make it. The dreams made life almost impossible. Seeing people during the day and being absolutely certain they would die before I saw them again. It didn't matter how many times I saw them come back okay. They never would.
I'm afraid of everything. Every missed phone call is a sudden death. Every text message brings terrible news. Every possible situation brings danger, but if my friends go, I can't let them go without me. Something could happen. They'd be safe as long as I could see them. If I was looking at them, everything would be okay. Some child psychologist I spoke to at a young age noted I was a "natural leader". To this day, I lead because I am a control freak. I am afraid of what would happen if I let someone else be in control.
Interlude 15 fucked me up.
My fatal flaw extends from this. I'm terrified that people will see me as weak. I dated a boy on my robotics team when I was in high school. I treated him like shit in public because I didn't want anyone to think I cared about him, even though he was my boyfriend. What would they think of me if they saw there was a person I treated as an equal? Horrible things. I became a better girlfriend to another boy, years later, because someone mentioned to me they thought I could be a good girlfriend, and that it was rough, calloused girls who were the weak ones. It was the perfect two sentences to convince me that for people to see me as strong, I had to be a good girlfriend.
In the We've Got Worm podcast, Scott and Matt always mention that each of the Undersiders brings the team down somehow, their inputs to every situation silly or stupid. I was confused. I always thought Grue's avoidance of conflict, always taking the slow, deliberate path, was the right way to go. Then I realized that, to many, this behavior indicates brokenness. Maybe they're right.
Yeah so I said I'd talk about the stick up Brian's butt in arcs 25 and 26. I don't think he has much to say for the rest of Worm so here we go. I'm building off a lot of what the WGW guys say, but I think I can take it a little farther.
So in arc 10 the WGW guys point out that Brian resists letting Taylor back on the team until the precise moment when it becomes apparent that everyone else wants her back, when he suddenly changes tactics to talking about how they "need her for offense". They make the imo correct deduction that this is because he's afraid of looking weak. Everyone knows Taylor likes him, so, logically, to be Stoic Leader Man he should want her to go away. He needs permission to want her back on the team. Once he has that permission, he is all for it.
I know that sounds convoluted but trust me as a person with exactly these issues this makes perfect sense.
Arc 11, Brian has still not decided to be Taylor's friend again. This is because she's on the team to be offense. Their friendship doesn't help nobody's offense. When Lisa calls him and tells him he needs to lay up on her, that to be her friend would be good, he goes directly to Taylor's house and declares them... best friends. Because Lisa has given him permission to do so.
I hope you're following because I'm aware this is stupid.
In arc 12, I'm gonna veer a little to the side. Let's talk about Brian's second trigger, just so that I can educate the public on exactly how this came around. Keep in mind that trigger events happen from a long period of a specific type of stress coming to a head. And that Brian's previous trigger happened from feeling like he maybe couldn't help Aisha for a long time, and then suddenly being hit with the fact that he definitely couldn't help her.
Arc 1: The Undersiders save Taylor who was saving them from Lung Arc 2: Brian punches Rachel for attacking Taylor Arc 4: Taylor gets blown up by Bakuda, Brian sits in her hospital room and stares at this for presumably a while Arc 5: Taylor looks like she's been hanged, having fought Lung again Arc 7: Taylor and Rachel are attacked by the ABB, Brian shows up late. Taylor is attacked later the same day by Sophia, Brian shows up pretty late. Taylor propositions the boy, he tells her he thinks of her like he thinks of his sister. I am 100% certain at this point, looking back, that this was an early indication that the second trigger process was starting towards a lack of ability to keep up with Taylor. He wasn't just saying he thought of her like he would think of her if they were related, he thinks of her like Aisha specifically, the one his power is attached to. His little brain is drawing the equivalences already. Arc 8: Broken spine, betrayal, yadda yadda Arc 9: Sophia attempts murder because it's Tuesday Arc 10: Brian pretends to not want Taylor to come back Arc 11: Brian does his now-classic "walks into room/why is Taylor injured/maybe she should not be doing this" routine Arc 12: Repeat of arc 11, except now he starts stumbling over her name. He tells her she should have let her people die. If there's a point onscreen when he realizes there might be something going on, this is it.
Point is, this has been stewing in the background since as early as arc 1 and as late as arc 7 but probably actually started in arc 4. It wasn't out of the blue, it was the logical culmination of the entire story's events thus far from Brian's perspective.
Arc 13: Yeah, you know what happens here. In the final chapter, he tells her he thinks about her too much, but even though he received a new set of superpowers and a vision from aliens telling him that he probably loves her, the vision is definitely wrong and he just feels like he can't keep up with her.
She's been attacked by everyone. Lung, Rachel, Bakuda, Sophia, Armsmaster, Leviathan, the Merchants, Mannequin. He doesn't want her to keep fighting, he feels he needs to be the one to do it. At the same time, he knows he's not powerful enough. No one power is enough to deal with all of these threats.
No single power.
But he doesn't love her. That would mean he was weak.
He doesn't even agree to have dinner with her in 15. He allows it to happen because Aisha set it up. She knows what's going on, and she has given him permission to have this.
Aisha had to be the one to give him permission because his previous powerset was for her, and now it doesn't work with her, either. At the same time as his second trigger was stewing under the surface for Taylor, he was losing his power's connection to Aisha because their powers didn't work together and he kept being forced to forget she exists. He had lived for her before, and being Super Big Brother was exactly what Brian wanted to be. Now, Aisha doesn't want to be lived for. She wants to be her own person.
Brian spends the next several arcs simply living for Taylor.
I strongly suspect that the side effect of Brian's power is that it makes him pathologically need to be 100% responsible for others. No matter how dumb everyone's plans are, he always has to be there. No matter how stupid it is, Coil told him being a villain will allow him to get his sister back. No matter how dumb it is, he tells Taylor she has to sit out running from the Nine in arc 13 because she might be tired. He pays for it.
Brian's powers will probably never actually allow him to get over Taylor Hebert. It's like Taylor and bullies. No amount of therapy or time will get Brian's shard to let the fuck go.
So when the girl whom you are physically incapable of not thinking about leaves and goes to prison and tells every single person on the planet exactly how weak you are, who goes to an even more dangerous situation where you cannot follow her, what can you do?
The only possible thing. Try your absolute damnedest to pretend you never knew her.
You walk out of that meeting with the most powerful people in the world because she is there. You go find yourself somebody else. Another girl. Taylor hated her little boobs? This girl has big boobs. Taylor can't stay away from violence? Cozen seriously appears to have never even seen a corpse.
When Taylor comes back, Brian greets her with the new girl on his arm. He tries to shake her hand. Time has passed. There's nothing between them any more.
The next day, Grue is presented with the choice of pushing back against Taylor and standing with the new girl, whoever she is, or supporting Taylor. He chooses Taylor.
Of course he does. The situation calls for it. The situation has given him permission.
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diningpageantry · 5 years
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First Days
Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44630452
Chapter 2/12 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)
Word Count: 2451
Chapter Summary: Simon makes a friend, and maybe an enemy at the same time.
First days send me back to being a teen.
The anxious new faces and tired, sagging ones of upperclassmen trying to get around them. The pushing, the shoving. The new class schedules, and the confused kids who don't even know who they are, much less what they're doing.
Thankfully, now, I get to watch it from afar. Although I feel like I'm locked up in a tower.
This is the shittiest fairy tale I could imagine.
Brushing my hands over the stack of papers laid out on my desk, I let the day's weight ease onto me. I only have five appointments today, but that doesn't mean I won't get bombarded by students trying to change their classes last minute. I know how it is, I shadowed a public school counselor for a year.
The pile of work out in front of me is a bit dense, but easy. New students, all second or third year transfers. And… lunch is in four hours. That's, at least, something to look forward to.
Well, except for being thrown further into that teenaged “Who do I sit with” bullshit. I haven't left my room much in the past week, and I highly doubt Mr. Stick In The Arse will let me sit beside him (though, I wouldn't be shocked to find that he sits alone). That, of course, leaves me with no other option that the fact that I'll be standing alone, waiting to find the furthest spot from everyone else.
Brilliant.
I get halfway through my morning before the Dean stops in, standing at my doorway as I'm rearranging a student's schedule. He knocks once, sending me jumping before I straighten up. “Oh, hello. Good morning sir--David.”
His nose turns up unimpressively. “You'll be introduced before lunch so that the faculty knows you beyond a welcome email.”
Well, there's no yes or no to that. Guess it's an order. “Okay. I'll be there.”
After nodding briefly and flicking his wrist watch out for a look, he turns on his heel and leaves me without another word.
I know I've never had a father, but he's the closest thing to a disappointed, high standards parent I think I've ever gotten, and it's only been a week.
Checking the time doesn't prove to be much of a spirit lifter. 10:48. Lovely.
I stare out the window, pen clicking impulsively in my hand as I follow a few leaves fluttering across a sidewalk. Empty. It's all empty. Locked away classrooms and borderline solitary confinement for me.
I introduced myself to the other counselor. She's in her late 60s and seems very cold. I doubt I'll talk to her much except for good mornings. That, of course, leaves me knowing three people so far. The Dean, Professor Pitch, and her.
I might as well count the pigeons I fed last night as friends too. They've paid more attention to me than anyone else around here.
Exhale. Slow, steady exhale, blowing out through my mouth.
It feels like a century before lunch finally hits. It takes me a bit of navigating, but I finally find the building after roaming the grounds for a good 10 minutes. Once inside, I steer myself towards the lunch line, avoiding the watchful eyes of students and faculty alike, starting to fill up the rooms.
I'm guilty of stuffing as much food as possible onto my tray, swiping my ID, and scuffling back to the staff dining room. It's empty, all but for the Dean, who's pacing towards the back. Such an odd man. “David?” I manage out, weight shifting nervously from foot to foot.
His head perks up, fingers resting upon his chin. “Ah yes, Mr. Snow. Thank you for being early. Come, sit.”
Following orders is easy to do. Take a seat and stare at my hands as others filter through. I worry that I'm sat in someone else's “spot” as a short, unamused woman takes a seat a few chairs around away from me. She gives me a familiar once over, looking through the top of her glasses before she shoves down a mouthful of salad.
A hand clasps over my shoulder, snapping my from my trance and jolting me standing. It feels as though the entire room is staring (they probably are). Scurrying quickly, I find myself standing feet away from the Dean, nervously picking at the pills of my jumper. Everyone falls silent at the wave of his hand--it's like magic.
“I'd like to take this opportunity, as we're all already gathered, to allow our new guidance counselor, Mr. Snow, to introduce himself.” Introduce myself?
“Uh, yes. Yeah. Thank you.” I stumble over my words, eyes scanning the crowd as I pull at my sleeve. I'm absolutely shit at public speaking, on top of barely being able to form a solid sentence in the first place. Brilliant. “I--uh--hi. Hello. I'm Simon. 26, just moved from London. I-I was a social worker for kids in the system, helping them get proper care and whatnot. I took this job to save up a bit, though. Social work isn't really lucrative, and I have bills.” I try laughing, but it comes out more as a nervous chuckle. “Besides that, I-I'm always up for a chat. I quite like football, I suppose. So yeah. That's… that's pretty much it.”
My hands rest on my thighs, back hunching in the slightest as the Dean looks over, nodding and finally letting me go back to eat without all the eyes in the room on me. Except, when I do sit, the woman with cat-eye glasses is staring at me again.
Slowly, I open my mouth, trying to formulate a response. She cuts in before I can.
“You don't have to move, you're fine here.” Oh well, that's lovely information.
“Thanks,” I exhale, squinting at her ID. “Penelope, is it?”
“Call me Penny,” she shrugs off, picking up her napkin and wiping her face. The rings on the fingers shine slightly in the dull light, catching my eye as I count them off.
“Are you engaged?” I ask rather bluntly, eyes following her right hand. There's a rather nice ring on her finger--I can see it closer now, as she extends her hand and offers a look.
“Mmhm,” she begins. “He lives in America, though. He was studying abroad in uni. He flies out every summer to see me. This year, I flew out to surprise him in more than one way.” She admires the glint, and I can't help but study her. She's interesting. Smart. Large personality, larger hair.
“What's his name?”
“Micah.” Her hand settles back on the table. “Anyway. Enough about me. Who the hell are you, really?”
I hold back a careless snort, poking at my food. “I'm… nobody important, really.”
“That's bullshit if I've ever heard it. Where are you from? Your accent doesn't sound like London.”
Good question. “Here and there,” I shrug. It isn't exactly a lie. “I settled for secondary in London, though, and that's where I stayed through uni.”
She side eyes me, taking a few bites as I shovel in my own food. I'd be more embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that my back is to most of the room. Still, she's looking at me the same way Agatha would at fancy dinners--like I have no table manners (because I barely do).
She lets me finish before she starts up conversation again. Given it's me, it doesn't take long for that to happen. “So, who'd they put you up with?”
“As in, my roommate?”
She nods, peering around.
“Well, uh… Mr. Pitch. I don't really know how to say his first name, but--”
“Basilton?!” She whispers hushly, eyes raising before she laughs. “Oh you poor bastard, they put you with Mr. Prick.”
“Mr. Prick…?”
She waves a hand dismissively, sipping her coffee as she holds back a grin. “That's what the students call him. Rightfully so, I'd say. He's quite the wound up loon, if you ask me.”
I can't help myself from looking around, trying to find him to get a good look. I catch him, eventually, sitting in the near back, alone at a table with earbuds in and a book in hand. He's got the signature scowl on his face. “What's… he do? What's the deal with him?”
She's rolling her eyes when I look back. “Tenured in. Did they not tell you what he does?” I shake my head. “Brilliant. Well, he's head of the English and Literature department--I teach 10th and 11th year Lit and Creative Writing--and everyone who has him says he's an absolute nightmare. It's a shock that anyone takes his Queer Lit course.”
“Queer Lit?”
She nods dramatically. “See, fun as all hell course. Wilde, Shakespeare, Nin! I'd campaigned to teach it, but he got first call on it, being the teacher for the Gender Sexuality Alliance.”
I stop, cogs turning as I stare down at the grease streaking my plate. It processes slowly, then all at once. “Is he… you know…”
She laughs again--this time, it's a big, snorty laugh. Once she calms down, she gives a final chuckle. “Are you asking if Mr. Pitch is gay?”
I give her a shrug, blinking back to reality. “I-I mean, there's nothing wrong with it! Nothing at all, I'm just… I didn't know, and--”
Her hand settles over mine. “Don't get your knickers twisted. He is. Just thought it was evident, given literally everything about him.”
I glance back again, and I swear on my year's salary that he was looking at me. “I don't like to assume,” I add back into the conversation.
“There's a difference between assumption and context clues, dear.” The bell rings, cutting her short as she sighs. “Well, fuck. I've got a group of clueless 15 year olds to yell at. I'll save you a spot at dinner.”
And with that, I think I've made my first friend (well, besides the pigeons).
It's a pain to drag through the rest of the day. Even though the classes usually wrap in the mid afternoon, my office hours are locked into staying until half an hour before dinner. Basis of this? Fuck everything, and I need to buy snacks to hide in my desk.
I spend roughly half of it staring out the window or playing solitaire on my computer, and the other half was spent reworking schedules to the stuck up kids whimsy. I wonder if part of my job description is “doormat”, and I just hadn't read it clearly enough.
When I'm finally able to lock up and go to eat, I'm feeling half starved and completely exhausted. Thank God Penny seems to like talking, because she spends the entirety of our meal wholeheartedly ranting about how much young boys are the absolute worst group to teach.
“I should've taken the job at the all girls prep,” she huffs, practically throwing down her soup spoon. “Imagine how much happier I would have been not having to ask a boy to not replace ‘rump’ with ‘asscheeks’.”
“Why didn't you take the job?”
“Same reason as everyone else--money.”
I nod solemnly, taking another mouthful of baked chicken.
She keeps going. Long enough for me to get the occasional word in, but not so little that I have to talk often. By the time everyone's starting to file out, she's finally wrapping up her story about her least favorite student so far.
Thankfully, there aren't many students out and about once we're done. They're all scuffling off to the library or any other hang out on campus.
Penny and I part ways by the dorms. As per usual, Mr. Pitch has me locked out (or is it Basilton? Is what what people actually call him?) When I step in after scraping my keys around to find the right one and actually get in, I find him sitting right by the door on the sofa, doing work. That bastard.
He looks up, lips curving distastefully as I carefully close the door behind me. And thus, I'd assume, begins our nightly routine of avoidance. I lock myself in my room, and only step out for maybe a glass of water.
Tonight, though, I suppose I have something to attempt a conversation. “So…” I begin, fiddling with my glass as I stand in the kitchen. The light's off, but the soft yellow of the living room lamp washes over us, making the room feel all toned down. “You teach English, yeah?”
He doesn't turn, still seeming to stare ahead. “Yes, Snow. Astounding conclusion.”
“I… I'd meant that Penelope told me--”
“So you're all pals with Bunce then. Good. She's been sat alone for some time now.”
It hurts a bit, coming from him. As if he's assuming we're both too much of outcasts to be friends with anyone but each other. I worry that, maybe, he's right.
I inhale slowly before continuing. “She said you teach Queer Lit, and that you run the GSA. That's…” I think for a second--a long pause--trying to find the right word.
It's a second too long in his eyes, because he whips around quickly and stares me down. “Don't bother finishing that sentence, Snow. I don't need to hear semi coherent blubbering about how brave I am. Yes, I'm gay. So kindly fuck off.”
I freeze momentarily, glass squeezed tighter in my hand as I stand bolt-still. He stares back, sighing exaggeratedly after a minute before going back to his work.
Taking the glass back, I try not to slam my bedroom door.
Does he have to be an absolute dick about everything? Jesus Christ, this is why they call him Mr. Fucking Prick. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe I'm not actually mad, and he's just ridiculously mean.
I scratch my arm absentmindedly, settling down my glass before falling face first onto my bed. My mind runs over things to do, body working up into a red flashing anger. Who's it for? I don't even know.
It's just… unfair.
Everything's unfair. I thought it'd be livable--I thought I could be optimistic.
I push myself up, then kick down onto my mattress, hitting my fists against my pillows.
Rat bloody bastard wants to be a little dick and yell at me. Fine. Fine. I'll just avoid the shit out of him. Let him be fucking alone, for all I care. He seems to do that to himself anyway.
I manage to sit myself up, chest struggling to heave a full breath in and a full breath out. In the corner of my eye, I see myself in the mirror. Hunched, reddened. Sad. I'm so fucking sad.
Fucking hell. What am I doing?
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