Chapter Text
- Like my other tma fic I’m just gonna handwave the end of the apocalypse.
- Random things about this fic to know
- Jon keeps his powers because this is my self-indulgent fic.
- Also Jon, Martin, and the others that were kinda (idk what the official terminology is so:) fear-touched still don’t need to like, sleep or eat, but they can now that the apocalypse is over.
- This does not stop Jon from being sleep-deprived all the time, due to the fact that he barely sleeps.
- Helen is more,,,human, I guess?
- Jon and Martin have moved to a very cute house in idk like sort of the country-side?
- Unlike some fics everyone remembers the apocalypse.
- So Jon just thinks one day ‘hey I could be teacher and try to help kids’ and Martin, who got a job at a plant shop, thinks that’s a decent idea.
- I’m gonna handwave the whole application and acceptance thing, the only excuse i can conceive of is that literally everywhere is short-staffed, seeing as only some of the population is even remotely mentally stable enough for work.
- So Jons a history teacher for idk,~15-year-olds? It goes well with the whole all-knowing shtick he has going on.
- I’m American I don’t know what the names are for the grade levels over there are.
“Hello class. I’m your history teacher, Jonathan Sims. I use He/they pronouns. You can call me Mr. Sims, or Jon if you prefer. Before we start, I’d like to make something clear. If you ever want to talk about anything feel free to talk to me. You don’t have to, but I just want you guys to know I’m here. And I do mean anything. You want to tell me about a cool rock you saw? Go for it. Want to talk about some media you’re interested in? I’m all ears. Also, you don’t have to do it now, but if you have any triggers and you feel comfortable telling me, please do. I want this to be a safe environment. Thank you for listening. En-” shit. He almost said end statement, like an idiot.
Meanwhile, the class was taking in their new teacher. He had waist-length hair, dark brown streaked with grey. He was wearing a soft-looking, long-sleeved, light green shirt with a dark grey sweater-vest and a pale purple skirt. They also noticed his many scars. However, it was rude to stare, so the class dutifully chanted “Hello Mr. Sims.” like they were children again.