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ROUND FOUR >> Rules post. Flat view. Updates Post (WIPs only) Fills Post (completed Fills only) damalur's
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Volunteers always welcome. There may be some delay on posts appearing when there is a URL in the message body as they are automatically marked as suspicious and I
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Thank you so much for writing and sharing.
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It's not something to be shoved and spit at over anymore. It's not showing off, or being wrong again, somehow. University is more cerebral--sure, there are still the rough-and-tumble rugby players who go out of their way to trip him in the halls, but now it seems juvenile. Childish. Charles isn't the freak quite as much as he was--now he's a quiet, somewhat shy boy trying to make his way though his classes, just like everyone else.
Well. Not like everyone else, necessarily, because he figures out very quickly that university is easy. School always has been, for him, but he refuses to feel like an outsider again just because he enjoys lectures and musty old science journals. ( ... )
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It's not something to be shoved and spit at over anymore. It's not showing off, or being wrong again, somehow. University is more cerebral--sure, there are still the rough-and-tumble rugby players who go out of their way to trip him in the halls, but now it seems juvenile. Childish. Charles isn't the freak quite as much as he was--now he's a quiet, somewhat shy boy trying to make his way though his classes, just like everyone else.
Well. Not like everyone else, necessarily, because he figures out very quickly that university is easy. School always has been, for him, but he refuses to feel like an outsider again just because he enjoys lectures and musty old science journals. ( ... )
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She sits down next to him, too close, her thigh bare and warm against the wool of his trousers. She's pretty, he thinks muzzily, in such a California way--none of that anaemic English pallor, just gold skin and white teeth and hair the colour of corn silk.
He realizes, abruptly, that it's the texture of corn silk, too. Which he knows, because he's touching it.
'Sorry, so sorry,' he murmurs, snatching his hand back. He's not that drunk, he's never that drunk. What the hell is he doing? Smiling doesn't mean she's okay with touching him, doesn't mean she wants him touching her and what if she thinks he's trying to pick her up, Christ, he can't exactly come out with ( ... )
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I can't wait to see Erik!
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Thank you for writing this, and for writing this so well.
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