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greenglowinspooks · 6 months

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(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

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Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

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Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That your new look?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

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#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :)#aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

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themightynyunyi · 1 year

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His.

#marauders #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #james x regulus #nyudoesart #since I cant play 'the game' i started to read marauders fanfics again #but as a mature adult woman i moved on on my og otp remus/sirius to his lil brother and james #so after consuming many many chapters of jegulus fics it made me draw again #not faces tho maybe next time #one day im gonna draw faces again... but today is not that day #im happy that I managed to finish one(1) art piece

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trikaranos · 6 months

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TRIKARANOS is a dramatized narrative based on ancient events following Crassus (and Pompey and Caesar) through the years 87-48 BCE. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read (in the near future, you'll have the option to support this comic & my ability to make it through Patreon!)

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

#AND SO IT BEGINS #chapter one will get posted sometime next week or the week after/before the end of the month

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skywerse · 2 months

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would you still love me if I dropped an earth-shattering fnc fic or no?

A few excerpts under the cut :3

#this chapter vs next chapter is like a coughing baby vs hydrogen bomb #fun fact i got this fic idea after i got a concussion and was waiting to get it checked #the braincells got rattled so hard they gave me a new fic idea lol #I only skimmed it after editing it 100% so might sound silly in some places???#jrwi riptide #jrwi #just roll with it #gillion tidestrider #jrwi chip #jrwi fish and chips #jrwi fnc #jrwi fanfiction #skye's fics

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fleetways · 10 months

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Chapter 20: Mutually Beneficial

#sonadow #sonadow fanfiction #sonic the werehog #shadow the hedgehog #mdlhea #chazart #sonic the hedgehog #shadow #sonic #werehog #FINALLY!!!#hoep you like :)#i should have a chapter out next week and hopefully a few more after that #mdlhea chapter

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plush-rabbit · 10 months

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Simmering and Smothering

Part 2 to It’s Always Coffee

Word Count: 7K

A/N: I’m soft for this guy rn. He’s so !!! Anyways, I um don’t know what else to say

- You stand with a group of people, a lanyard hangs from your neck, and you pinch at the plastic cover that holds a card reading “Visitor” stuck on it. People part of the group peek through windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the wonders behind the glass. You're sure at some point you saw Dr. Ohnn standing close to a coworker. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked up and you had to fist your hand to restrain yourself from waving at him. But when the scientist beside him puts their hand on his back, returning his attention to the project in front, you find yourself digging your nails into the flesh of your palms.

You look around, but nothing catches your eye as it should at Alchemax. While you knew that they wouldn’t show a tour group all the dark and gritty experiments, a part of you wishes that you were able to slip away to explore, but any chances of that were snuffed out with a warning at being kicked out and banned should you stray. However, you do enjoy getting to step foot into the building. The group is led through glass doors, and you hear a few people sigh in relief. Walking in, windows line the room and let in a nice glow of sun.

“Okay,” Dr. Octavius says with a clap of her hands, “this is the cafeteria where we will be having lunch. Those tables over there-” she points over to a cluster of tables that have been protected with stanchions- “will be where you all will be eating. Lunch is one hour, and if anyone needs to go to the restroom, please contact a security guard.” Her gaze is friendly, smile wide and tone with the slightest hint of superiority, she speaks to all, before her gaze lands on you, her smile falling ever-so-slightly. “If you fail to inform a guard, and are caught wandering, you will be immediately removed from the premises.” Smiling, you give her an “okay” symbol, and in response, she looks away from you. “Okay!” She chirps, taking a step to the side, she sweeps her arms towards the selection of food. “Enjoy your lunch.”

You’re at a cart, holding a tray consisting of fruits, and a bottle of juice. You peer over the selection of bread, holding a saran wrapped bagel. You pull your mouth into a line, wanting to put it back, but unsure if that’s okay to do so. Sure, it’s saran wrapped, but what if it’s not okay to place things back. You’ve already picked it up, and with a sigh, you place it on your tray. You look over the rest of the selection of the grains, and perk up at the sight of a muffin. Happily, you reach to grab at it before your wrist is grabbed at.

“Hey-” You bark out, pulling your hand out of the grasp and turning to look at whoever it was that clutched your wrist. You stop short when you realize that it’s Dr. Ohnn. “I feel like we talked about appropriate ways to greet others,” you muse, grabbing at the saran wrapped muffin.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, and you frown.

Your eyes scan his face, and you fold the tray closer to you. “You’re upset,” you conclude, tilting your head with furrowed brows.

“Of course I am,” he hisses. Your ears begin to burn, and you look around the cafeteria, many of the patrons sitting down and ignoring you- including the tour group you are a part of. When you look back at him, he continues. “Why are you here?”

“I’m part of the tour.” You jerk your head over where your tour members sit behind the stanchions. “Fisk was promoting it- something to show off Alchemax and how family-friendly it is. But if you ask me, I think it’s just a cover to stop people from asking-”

“I don’t care,” he rushes.

You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay, you don't have to be rude.” His eyes widen, and his shoulders rise. He opens his mouth, but you press forward. “Listen, I paid my way in, okay? If you’re upset with it, then I don’t know what to tell you.” He stays silent and you look back to your group. Turning back to him, you start. “Is that all, Dr. Ohnn? May I go sit down, or do you want to continue reprimanding me?”

He opens and closes his mouth, and when you turn on your heel, he calls your name. You turn to him with a waiting look. “I apologize.” You encourage him with a nod of your head. “I just-” he looks around, and grabs your wrist, pulling you to another station of food, grabbing a tray, and standing in front of the selection of fruits.

“You just?”

“I hadn’t thought that you would be here. I-” with his middle finger, he pushes up his glasses by the bridge- “I wasn’t aware there was a tour going on.”

“Does that matter?” You ask, grabbing at a cup of peeled mandarins.

“Scientists are usually the one to lead groups,” he says quietly, "due to the fact that it is our projects we are showcasing. We all take turns with it given that leading groups take time away from our projects. This should have been a group that I would have led. Dr. Octavius must have seen your name on the roster and decided to lead it for the day.” He gives you a look. “I’m surprised that she let you in.”

“I paid,” you shrug. “She isn’t happy about it or anything, but-” you end it with a shrug. “Anyways, I won’t bother your lunch or anything. I’m simply here to see the building and enjoy lunch.” You give him a smile as you lift up your tray. “Have a good day Dr. Ohnn.” You nod your head, ready to walk away before he stops you.

“Do you have to sit down with the others?” You turn to him, and look at him quizzically. “We um- We never finished our conversation from the other day.”

You tighten your grip on the tray. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “You kinda left without exchanging numbers. But I don’t think I’m allowed to sit elsewhere.” You look back at your group. “I’d invite you to sit with me, but I’m not sure if I could give you quite a riveting conversation as your work buddies.”

“You can. You have,” he says so, without any hesitation. “Our last conversation was entertaining.”

"You think so?"

He opens his mouth, before being interrupted by someone calling his name. "Jonathan," calls someone far too cheery from the door. A few heads turn to watch as another scientist- you think that they look familiar- and turn back around once the scientist enters the cafeteria. They turn on their heel to wave at another and it clicks- it's the scientist that touched his back.

You look back to the doctor, giving him a raised look. He has a sort of flush that colors in his face, and you purse your lips together.

The scientist walks toward the both of you, but their attention is solely on Jonathan. "Jonathan-" they say his name with a sickly sweet tone- "I thought you were going to wait for me so we can have lunch together." They smile brightly at the other and you watch as they reach over to squeeze at his bicep. "You hadn't forgotten, had you?"

"My apologies, Dr. Owens." You don't miss the way that he refers to the scientist by their last name while they refer to him by his first. A frown tugs at corner of your lips- they refer to him by his first name. You glance between the two and a pit settles in your stomach. "I hadn't forgotten, but I got distracted. It must have slipped my mind."

"You don't normally get distracted," they note, and their eyes dart at you. With the consequence of being acknowledged, you smile at them. "Ah. Part of the tour group, huh? No wonder you bothered our precious doctor." They're far too sweet with their words, it makes you uncomfortable. You open your mouth to apologize, but they continue on. “I was wondering if we could get the chance to go over our notes?” You feel as if you're in the middle of something. Standing besides Dr. Owens, you feel unsure of yourself. You clear your throat. They turn to you, and their smile is beaming. “Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt. While I’m sure Dr. Ohnn would love to engage with others about theories and his work, I do have to steal him away from you.” Their smile turns gentle, and you feel silly standing between them. “Sorry,” they apologize with a smile.

"Uh, yeah." You grit your teeth- that came out less eloquently than you would liked. "Sorry, Dr. Ohnn." You tap your heel against the ground. “I’ll leave you to it.”

"Oh- Um-” he looks at you, and you smile at him, shrugging your shoulders. He returns his look towards the other scientist, and you let your gaze drift down. You walk away, catching only a glimpse of their conversation. “What would you like to discuss?”

Sitting down at a designated table, the other tour members greet you. You smile and pick at your bagel, taking small bites, regretting not getting some kind of topping. You bite at your muffin, nodding along as the other group members talk about the experiments going on at the building.

It would make sense for him to have a partner. He's attractive, and has a good job. With the one conversation that you've had with him, he was well spoken. You eat your mandarins, letting the citrus fill your mouth. Dr. Owens isn’t unattractive and they certainly seemed nice. You do your best not to look at the doctor and his partner, keeping your head down as you listen to the other people in your group.

You know why you feel so bothered by it all. It’s dumb. You only had one actual conversation with him, but it was nice. He was nice- much nicer than you had ever given him credit for. You feel silly over being jealous of a man you only knew for a minute.

"Fuckin' driver," you mutter under your breath, your lips curled in disgust. Fixing yourself, you cross your arms and decide to walk to the train station. It's incredibly late and something that you actively avoid doing, but you don't want to risk yourself with another driver. "Now I gotta walk."

A part of you pays with the idea of putting in your headphones and at least having a calming walk, but you shake your head at that idea. You will not be murdered just because you wanted to listen to music.

Headlights flash by and you bite the inside of your mouth every time. A car passes by, and you watch as the red tail lights blink on. You stop in your steps, taking a look around. No one else on the sidewalk acknowledges the car.

“Okay”, you think to yourself, “I can't get abducted in front of other people.” You take a step forward and pause. “That's dumb. Yes, I can.” You scowl and tap your foot against the pavement, holding tighter onto the strap of your bag.

However, no one else seems fazed by a car pulling over, and that gives you confidence to walk further. At the end of the car, you see the passenger window roll down. You hesitate again. Sucking in a breath, you roll your wrists, and as you walk past the car until you hear your name being called.

You turn, and through the windshield, you see a familiar doctor waving at you. Looking around, you clutch onto the trap of your bag before making your way towards him.

"Dr. Ohnn?"

He smiles nervously. He looks far too tense for someone in their own car. "Hello," he calls you by your name. "I was sure you would have left ages ago."

"Tour ran late- one of the kids explored without permission," you explain.

"I'm surprised it wasn't you." You weren't aware he could tease.

"I wasn't in the mood for any trespassing charges. Maybe tomorrow." You shrug, and send him a grin. “Who knows? Night’s still young and all.”

He turns his head, and you follow his gaze out onto the street before the both of you. "Why are you walking?"

“People had their own rides, and I didn't. I took the bus. After the whole fiasco, I missed it. I got into a taxi, but uh-" you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest- "the driver was being too sleazy for my tastes so I decided to take my chances walking.”

“Oh- I’m sorry to hear about that.” He leans over the middle console of the car, with his hand pressed down on the passenger seat. “It’s quite late,” he tells you.

Your lips stretch into a thin grin. “Correct. It’s no wonder that you’re one of the top scientists at Alchemax.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.

“I try,” you tell him. The soft glow of the streetlamps casts him in a warm glow. “But I'd be more inclined to believe you if you were actually laughing.”

“Yes, well, I’ll try to laugh next time.” He rolls his eyes, and you smile sharply at him.

“Is that why you stopped? To hear my humor?” You tease, taking a step forward, and he tilts his head to look at you.

“No, actually. I thought it was you, and I wanted to know if you would like a ride?”

You’re taken aback. “Oh! Um- No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you correct yourself. You turn looking down the street where the crowd of people slows. You look back at him. “I’m sure you have your own plans for the night. I wouldn’t want to intrude or interrupt or anything.” You twist the strap of your bag in your hand. “While I appreciate the offer, you don’t have to worry about me Dr. Ohnn.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I don’t have any plans.”

You stay silent, weighing your options in your head. While you’d like to be in a car and taken to your home, you also can’t just enter his car. Even if he is the one offering. No. You can’t. There has to be a line. You have a crush on him- maybe. You’re attracted to him. Wait, that’s actually worse. You shake your head.

“I shouldn’t.” You bite your bottom lip and look at the air freshener that hangs down the rearview mirror. “I would want to get you into any sorts of trouble.”

“Trouble?” He says in a quiet voice, but alarm is still laced into his words.

“You know-” you wave your hand in front of you- “with Dr. Owens. Would they be okay with you giving me a ride?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “What does Dr. Owens have to do with this?”

Your chest begins to burn, and it travels upwards to your face. “Would they appreciate you giving a ride to a stranger?”

“You aren’t a stranger,” the way that he calls your name has your breath hitching, and heart racing. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you walking so far to a station at night.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “But you have to put in the directions on your phone. I’m easily distracted and won’t be able to give you any good directions.”

“Fine by me,” he pulls away and the door unlocks. You open the door, and the window slowly raises. “Between you and I, I’m not entirely great with navigation.” The noise from the outside mutes as you close the door, the lock clicking down on itself. You click the seatbelt as you give him a look. “I get lost easily,” he admits. He grabs his phone and sorts through his applications, finally passing it your way with the map function on display.

“Don’t you have a PhD?” You enter your address, and return the phone, watching as he places the phone on the holder stuck to the car.

“Doesn’t mean a thing if a shopping center has me turned all sorts of ways,” he admits, setting the car to ‘drive’ and pulling away from the sidewalk. You laugh, it starts as a snort, and forms into a chuckle and it has you hiding your smile behind your hand, trying to quell the laughter.

You turn to look at him, the corner of your lips tilting upwards and wrinkling at your eyes. “I don’t even think I could picture you getting lost in a mall.”

He sits up straighter, and casts a glance through the corner of his eye. “It isn’t a particularly good image of me,” he confesses.

Humming, you lean back into the seat, fixing your bag onto your lap, playing with the zipper. “No, I’m sure it is,” you hum. “A renowned scientist, lost at a mall.”

“It can be quite traumatizing.”

“I’m sure it can be,” you muse, trying to hide the smile that slowly grows. "Many children often fear the mall for that same reason."

He scoffs at your remark. “Did you learn anything interesting on the tour?” He asks, and you cross your ankles.

“I think we learned about atoms?” He chuckles at that, and you feel warm. “I gotta be honest, I was hoping for something a bit more, ya know?”

“Atoms aren't enough?”

"Not nearly,” you tell him softly. “Maybe if they brought out some secret project or like showed some sort of light show, then I’d be impressed.”

“Oh, of course,” he says with sarcasm laced into his words. “A secret project shown to the masses, especially where one child had gone missing.”

“Explored,” you correct, turning our head to look at him.

The GPS voice speaks, and he misses a turn. He mumbles an apology, the application already rerouting him. “If you join another one, I’ll make sure that there’s a light show.” He casts a glance, and misses another turn, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I’m thirsty,” he tells you.

You blink at him. “You can stop somewhere and get something. I don’t mind waiting in the car.” The metal zipper of your bag shines under the passing streetlamps.. “You’re already doing me a favor by driving me home.”

“The coffee shop is still open. Would you mind accompanying me for a drink?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah- sure. I’d be okay with that. I still owe you that cup of coffee. You know, from when we met at the shop?”

He shakes his head. “Consider it my treat. I am inviting you after all.”

“But you did win that little wager, and you are driving me home. I could at least buy you a cup of coffee or something.” He shakes his head. “Come on-” you slap the back of your hand lightly against his bicep- “don’t make it difficult.”

“I’m not making it difficult,” he frowns.

The GPS continues to tell Dr. Ohnn to make a right when he can, and he fumbles with turning it off, grumbling under his breath until you offer your hand out. The phone is placed down, and you shut down the application. The phone is held in your hand, the application minimizing to show his background- a picture of- the phone is pulled out of your grasp.

“I don’t even get to learn what your background is?” You give a faux pout, leaning back against the seat. “Come on, I didn’t even get a chance.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” he tells you. “It isn’t all that exciting.” You stick your tongue out at him in response and he fails to suppress a smile.

Pulling to the side of the road, you place your bag on the floor, snagging your debit card before zipping the bag up. Getting out of the car, you’re careful not to slam the door. You rush to beat him from opening the door. “Okay,” you draw out the vowel, slipping to move in front of him, “how about this. You buy my cup, and I’ll buy yours. I’ll even let you get a pastry- you know as a thank you for driving me home.

“You don’t have to. I offered to drive you home, it was completely my own volition.”

You give an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever you say, but the offer is there.”

As he orders his drink, you press your card against the payment terminal, telling the barista that it’ll be two separate transactions. You can feel his eyes on you and you can only smile, nodding when the barista confirms. Lacking your energy, he pays when you order your own. You’re sure that the barista is annoyed with the two of you, but at this point, you had a win that he was owed.

With the lack of patrons, the two of you find a table placed beside the window. The two of you sit across from each other, and wait for your drinks to be called. Tapping your hands against the table, you look out the window, watching the people and the cars.

“I was more than happy paying for your drink,” he comments.

You look at him through the reflection, and he meets your gaze there. “I know. But you’re already doing me such a favor by taking me home and stuff-” shrugging, you turn to face him- “might as well buy you a drink.”

“You didn’t have to,” he mumbles.

“I wanted to.”

Looking at you, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when he can’t find the right words. You nod, letting him take his time and to continue with whatever he is going to say. Clearing his throat, he can only get a breath out when the two of your names are spoken. You turn just in time to see the drinks placed on the counter as the barista walks away.

“I’ll go get them for us.” He stands from the table and you watch him. He takes long strides, his head bent and arms close to himself, as if trying to make himself to the public. You hadn’t realized that he had such squared shoulders. He almost reminds you of a rectangle.

Placing your drink in front of you, he takes a seat. His teeth bite at his bottom lip and he brings the cup to his lips. Placing the drink down, he clears his throat. “Why did you ask about Dr. Owens?”

Ah. Maybe you should’ve kept quiet about that. “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned that I would get in trouble with them if I had driven you home.”

“Oh um, yeah. It’s whatever, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m asking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, your gaze focused on your drink. “They just seemed into you is all. I thought there was something you know-” you lift your head looking at him- “between you and them.”

“You thought they were into me?” You choose to ignore the wonder in his voice. Opting to stay silent, you nod. “I can assure you, Dr. Owens is not into me.”

“It sure seemed that way,” you mumble into the rim of your drink. He stares at you, and you shift in your seat, hiding behind your cup. “What?”

“What made you think they were into me?”

Your molars grind against each other. The rim of the cup is brought to your lips, but you don’t take a sip, you only press your lips against the opening, before lowering it back to the table. “Oh gosh, are you into them? Look, that's sweet and all, but I’d rather not play matchmaker to some scientists.” He stays silent, and you look outside the window, watching a couple walk past by. “You really wanna know?” He makes a noise of confirmation, and you let out a held breath. “In that little time that I saw the two of you, they had no trouble touching you. And they call you by your name, too.”

“My name?”

Nodding, you twist and untwist your legs. “Yeah.”

“Is that usually an indicator?”

Lifting your hand, you make a see-saw motion. “Sometimes, I guess. Depends on how it’s used and all. Context, ya know?”

“I call other people by their names,” he counters. You nod, letting him continue. “I call you by your name.”

“Oh yeah- I um, I guess so,” you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, desperate to keep yourself busy.

“You never call me by my name.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was allowed.”

“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”

“I always thought you found me annoying.”

“I did.” You frown, and he gives you an apologetic smile. His hand lifts up, grabbing at a strand of hair and twirling it around his finger. “That doesn’t mean that I disliked you. I have to admit-” he lets go of the strand and it falls back to place- “I always did find your drive admirable. You weren’t one to give up. You’re quite stubborn.” You stare at each for a few moments, heat blazing itself against your skin, making a chill over your body. He breaks eye contact and tilts the cup, making a circle with the bottom edge. “Do you really believe that Dr. Owens likes me because they call me by my name.” You nod, your mouth too dry despite the drink in your hand to even consider speaking. “Hm, okay,” he hums. His hand runs over his stubble, and you wonder if he’s growing out a beard. “You said that they touch me.”

“I um, saw the two of you in an office- while on the tour.” Your hand pulls up to scratch at your shoulder. You feel the need to hide from him.

His smile stretches even more. “I thought I was losing my marbles.” You take a sip of your drink. “I thought that after all my imagining about-” he clicks the last consonant, and you straighten yourself, leaning forward- “I thought that finally, after all of your incessant questioning, that I was beginning to imagine you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, taking another sip of your very diluted drink.

“You were saying.” He rolls his hand expectantly.

“When you turned around- when you saw me- they immediately turned you back around.”

“So? I believe we were discussing the recent project that we’ve both been assigned on”

Grabbing a napkin, you dab at the table where a ring of water from the condensation has formed on the table. “It was how they touched you. They touched your back and lingered their hand on you.”

“I’m not following.”

You make a noise of discomfort, and fist the wet napkin in your hand. “I can’t explain it in words. It’s- It’s in the details and stuff. The observer's point of view.”

“Can you show me?”

“Like?”

“Touch me.”

The napkin is clenched tightly in your hand, your nails ripping through the soft paper. Warmth flushes through your body, and you fear that he can notice the change in you. You know that he doesn’t mean it that way, but for him to say something so- so, intimate sounding, without meaning to, made your heart skip a beat. His eyes widen, and he stumbles over his words. “No- Not- Not like that. I hadn’t meant for it- I’m so terribly sorry-”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, waving your hand in front of you. “It’s cool,” you smile at him and he stops his ramble of words. There’s a rapid beat that bruises inside of your chest at his words- even if he did mean them innocently. “But you know, they touched you at the cafeteria too. They went up to you and touched your bicep.” You lift your hand, reaching over the table, letting it hover over his forearm. Glancing at him, he’s watching you, and you close your fist, pulling your hand back to you.

“And you believe that all of those actions are due to the fact that they like me?”

Shrugging, you suck in your bottom lip. “It’s just my theory,” you whisper, embarrassment laced into your words. “They wanted to eat lunch with you too.”

The two drinks remain untouched and outside, you can hear sirens. His hand lifts up to rub over his mouth, and he has this faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he mumbles.

“Okay?”

“Is there anything else that you want to add?”

You pout. “No.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a worker clean a table with a rag. You watch for a moment, and turn your head when chairs are fixed back into their positions, scraping along the floor. A part of you feels unsure about the conversation. While you wouldn’t believe that the scientist had a crush on you, you had at least humored the idea, but knowing that he isn’t interested in you, makes you want to go home.

You open your mouth to speak, and he beats you to it. “I’m hungry,” he states.

“I told you you could have gotten a pastry,” you point out.

“I want dinner. An actual dinner.” Sitting straight, it’s as if he has a new resolve. “Are you hungry?”

Blinking in surprise, you lift your shoulders. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I could eat something.”

“Good,” he nods to himself, and stands up, the chair squeaks against the floor. You follow his eyes, looking up at him as he adjusts the chair and stands by the table. “I’d like for you to accompany me to dinner.” Clearing his throat, his shoulders bunch together, and any confidence that he did have, is slowly evaporating. “That- That is if you want to, of course.”

You scoff with a smile. “Yeah, I’m game with that, Dr. Ohnn.”

“Jonathan. You can call me Jonathan. I don’t mind it if you call me that.” He twists his hands, interlocking them, and pulling on the back of his palm, his skin stretching thin over his knuckles.

Straightening yourself, you nod. “Okay. Jonathan it is. The same um, goes to you of course. You can call me by my name.”

“I already do,” and the way that he says your name, softly and tenderly, held with a smile, makes you turn your head and scratch at your neck in a desperate attempt to hide how wide your smile is.

“Mhm,” you squeak out. Standing up, you make sure to push the chair in and grab at the loose napkins and your drink.

Following behind you, he throws his drink into the trash. This time, he’s made sure that he stands in front of you, stretching his arm out to hold the door open for you. Mumbling, you thank him, standing beside the door as he goes to open the passenger side door.

None of what he’s doing is helping quell your attraction to the scientist.

Clicking his seatbelt, he starts the car, driving away from the coffee shop. “Do you have a preference?”

“On food?” He nods, fumbling with the radio that plays the song of the week. You tap your foot to the beat. “Um, I think I’m good with most stuff. Restaurants are pretty inclusive about diets and stuff most days.”

“There’s a burger place on the way to Alchemax, do you know the one I’m talking about?”

“With the really good burgers?”

“Yes. Would you like to go there?”

“Isn’t that too far?”

“They opened one relatively nearby.”

“Oh okay, yeah.” You nod. “I’m game with that.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The drive to the restaurant passes by quickly as you chat about miscellaneous things- the weather, work, different coffee shops. Uncomfortable with silences, you keep the conversation going, jumping from topic to topic, trying to make something stick. However, the driver seems to be content with silence, nodding and giving one-worded answers, only really contributing to the conversation when you give your opinion on something.

Pulling into the restaurant, he takes a glance at you, and you smile in response. He opens his door, and steps out, and you follow close behind. The door is held open for you, you order your own meal, and before you can pat your pockets to find your card, he’s already paying for the meal. You aren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. You feel good- happy and flustered even- but you can’t kid yourself. It’s dinner. With a scientist who you have pestered for a good while about what exactly is going on within Alchemax. It’s dinner with a guy who you had coffee with- twice. That’s it.

When he sits in front of you, and smiles, you think you’re about to pass out.

Oh. He’s really cute.

No. Whatever feelings you’re having is a moment of weakness. Maybe you should download a dating app or something.

Your newfound emotions aren’t settled by the end of the meal where you tell him a story about an old job that you used to work. He’s an avid listener, expressive and laughing when you start to smile uncontrollably. He pushes his tray closer to yours, letting you snag what little left of fries that he has. Even with bags under his eyes, he remains attentive during your story.

“No, and like my supervisor tells me “Well whole milk is regular milk,” and I’m so adamant-” you laugh mid-sentence- “that two percent is regular milk. Or like can be qualified as regular milk.”

“Why were you so adamant about it?” He laughs softly, leaning forward.

“Honestly?” You lean forward, stealing a fry of his and plopping it in your mouth. “I just really hate being wrong. Anyways-” you wave your hand in the air- “we have this whole spiel about milk of all things. And I tell him that I like oat milk and he’s like-” you deepen your voice to portray your supervisor- “‘Oat milk isn’t even milk. How do you even milk an oat?’”

“How do you milk an oat?” He asks with knitted brows.

“I-” you pause and tap at the table. “I always thought you blended it. You know, like peanut butter?”

“Yeah, but people don’t drink peanut butter.”

“I bet you that there is at least one person in the world who does drink peanut butter.”

“Okay, you find me that person and I’ll buy you a coffee next time.”

“Yeah, yeah-” you wave your hand, trying not to let your competitive side leak out. “Anyways, I’m sure they make almond milk the same way. Blended.” You lift a hand and point with your index, swirling it in the air.

“I’m partial to oat,” he admits.

“I gotta be honest, I think all milk tastes the same,” you whisper out the confession, covering the side of your mouth with one hand.

“Oh, now you’re being difficult,” he says with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his glasses by the leg.

“I’m not, I swear! It just all tastes the same. Doesn’t stop me from asking for it at the coffee shops.”

“Even if it tastes the same?”

“I like feeling fancy,” you lilt, and he laughs.

“So you’re tricking your mind?”

“Oh totally.”

“With the fake milks?”

“Real, regular milk,” you counter. “Soy is fake- I think.”

“Oh, soy is fake, but the others aren’t.” He scoffs. “That’s where you draw the line.”

You laugh, taking the final sip of your drink. “Yeah, obviously.”

He joins your laughter, dipping his head down, and stray hairs fall in front of him. When he lifts his head, his smile is wide and open, and he has such a nice laugh- deep and the type that shakes his body. Pride makes your chest swell and heat burn over your cheeks at making him not only smile, but laugh. Fighting back the urge to move away the tray pieces of hair that have fallen, you clench your hand into a fist, your laughter slowly dying down.

A quiet moment befalls the two of you, and you both look at each other. You rub the bottom of your shoe over the top of the other, and check the time. With a click of your tongue, you gather your trash onto the tray.

“We should probably get going. It’s close to closing time for them,” you explain, nodding your head back to the register where two workers chat.

“Oh, should we?” Despite questioning you, he follows your example and gathers his own trash.

“As someone who used to work customer service jobs, yeah.” Tossing your trash into the designated area, you stack the tray overhead. “I’m pretty sure that the employees probably hate us by now.”

“Good point.” He holds the door open for you, and you follow him back across the mostly empty parking lot. Inside the car, he waits for the engine to heat, and he turns to you. “I apologize for keeping you so late.”

“No, this was,” you hesitate choosing your words, “fun.” You nod your head and pull your bag up onto your lap. “I had a good time.”

“I’m glad that you did,” he says softly, giving you a final look before he gives his attention to the road.

After a long day, you stand in front of your building, Jonathan joining you. You’ve always been much more comfortable with chatter than you have been with silence, but as you stand with him, you don’t feel as uncomfortable. You might even like the silence if it gives you reason to look at him. You stand on the steps leading to your home, finally looking him in the eye, and you hate the fact that he has such soft brown eyes.

“Thanks for driving me home. And getting me a drink.” You kick at the ground, scuffing up at the dirt that lays in a thin layer. “And paying for dinner.” A jitteriness falls over you, and you can only twist and grip onto the strap of your bag. “Thanks for all of that Dr.-” he gives you a narrowed look and you quickly correct yourself- “Jonathan.”

“You don’t have to add my title,” he tells you. Beside him, his hand twists at the hem of his shirt.

“Force of habit,” you say shrugging. Clearing your throat, you start. “Still, thanks. This was nice, Jonathan.” You like his name, and you hate the way that it makes you feel.

He nods, and raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, thank you for accompanying me to dinner. I had a good time.” He says your name delicately, rolling off his tongue, and you never thought that you would want to hear your name repeated over and over.

“No worries,” you answer breathlessly. You can’t think around him. Everything feels as if it’s too much- too hot, too close, too sweet.

It was one day- two technically- but it was a short amount of time. You wear your heart on your sleeve despite trying so desperately not to. All it took was one day with him, and you think that you might like him.

Oh, how you wish he was with someone else, then you could give yourself a reason to look away from him.

With cotton stuffed into your mouth, you don’t trust yourself any further. You think that you should go inside- that maybe you shouldn’t be taking up his time. A part of you wonders when you’ll see him again. Shifting your weight between each foot, you pat your hands on your thighs, drying off the clammy feeling. You wish he would start talking again. Or maybe you should. If you go inside, then this could all be over. You turn your foot, and wave your hand in a goodbye, when he starts to speak.

“Will you be joining another tour group?” There’s a hint of hope that’s weaved into his words. He’s looking at you, and you wonder if you look pretty.

“As much as I enjoyed it, no.” You think you imagine seeing his shoulders slump at your words. “It wasn’t really for me. It was nice, but much more kid-centered.” His glasses are slipping down his nose and you wonder if he’d get upset if you pushed them up. “Will you be going to the café tomorrow?”

“I work tomorrow,” he admits.

“Oh,” you clear your throat, and fighting away the burning feeling that is burning in your chest, you suck in a deep breath. It makes sense to do this now. You have to take a risk. It’s dumb and highly unprofessional, but you need to tell him something. He has to stick around, just for a moment longer, just so you could get whatever pink and sweet is in you, out. “Would-” he word comes out much softer than you would have liked- “Would you want to exchange numbers, maybe?” You hope he says no.

“Really?” He looks so shocked, and so happy. A grin tilts his lips upwards, and like seeing his smile.

Nodding, you rub the flat of your middle finger against your jawline. “Yeah. It would be a better alternative than meeting during lunch on a tour group or a random chance meeting at the café. Only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it,” he says eagerly.

You nod eagerly, unable to fend off your smile. “Cool, cool.” You suck in a deep breath, and wait for a moment, before you start to pat your pockets, pulling out your phone and clicking at the ‘New Contact’ section. Holding the phone to him, he grabs the device and places his information.

Holding the phone tight in your hands, you tap your fingers against the back of the case. “I’ll message you later?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He lifts his hand and waves at you. You watch his back as he steps into his car.

You can hardly believe that you even made it inside without dropping your keys from excitement and nerves. Behind your door, you clasp your hand over your mouth, pitifully trying to stop the smile that beams across your features. Oh, this isn’t fair. And oh, you can’t wait to message him.

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jtl-fics · 11 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 23

There were a few reasons that Andrew and Neil could not get past reception to go see FF or get updates on his current condition.

The first reason was that visiting hours were long over by the time they had arrived a little after midnight.

The second reason was that hospitals, in general, don’t just give out information on their patients to any random person that walks in and asks for an update on their condition. They are ESPECIALLY hesitant to give out updates on patients when the people who are asking can’t give you anything other than a first name, general description, and the reason that the patient is in the hospital.

Somehow “Completely average looking guy with the last name Smith who was stabbed in the stomach” is not enough for the receptionist to go off of.

“There are multiple people here that fit that description. I would need at least a first and last name before I could even begin to start seeing if you were someone who we even could give updates to. No, I will not continue to play your fun little game of guess the first name.” She says when Andrew opens his mouth to start listing off names alphabetically again.

So now Andrew and Neil found themselves under the watchful eye of a security guard as they sat in the back corner of the front reception area.

“I can’t believe we still don’t know what Smith’s first name is.” Neil says his face is buried in his hands as he and Andrew sit in the uncomfortable chairs trying to figure out where to go from here.

“I think she knows exactly who we want to see.” Andrew scowls towards the receptionist who, long used to the ire of the public, pays him no mind. Andrew just refused to believe that there were that many brown haired, brown eyed, average height and weight guys who had suffered a stab wound to the stomach that would have been admitted in the last two hours.

“I just hope they actually are looking after him and that no one went and forgot about him in an hallway somewhere.” Neil says hands sliding up into his hair to grip.

“That wouldn’t happen.” Andrew dismisses despite knowing that Wymack had ABSOLUTELY forgotten FF at a stadium once during the period where FF had been low presence to keep his family from bothering him.

The U-turn he had pulled had definitely been illegal when FF called and asked where the bus was when they had been on the road for five minutes. Wymack had felt terrible about it but FF had just seemed relieved that the bus had come back for him.

Wymack.

Andrew pulls out his phone and dials a familiar number. Wymack, reliable as always, picks up on the fourth ring with the sound of cursing as he got the phone up to his ear. “What.” He asks and Andrew can hear the sounds of driving and Kevin’s infamously train-like snoring in the background.

“What’s Smith first name. You know it.” Andrew demands.

“Classified.” Wymack clips back immediately.

“I need to know it so that we can get updates.” Andrew hisses.

“He isn’t interested in people knowing it and you wouldn’t be able to get updates anyways.” Wymack dismisses.

“We want to be able to head back to see him.” Neil tries.

“Visiting hours are long over Josten. You know that I’m not settling that bet that you little fuckers have floating around about this.” Wymack responds back.

Andrew grits his teeth and then forces himself to relax his jaw, “It’s not about the bet.” Andrew shuts his eyes in irritation.

That stupid bet.

The betting culture within the Palmetto State Foxes Exy team that Reynold’s had cultivated held strong even after her graduation with the remaining Foxes. The Bet had started when one of the other freshmen had mentioned that it was funny that FF went around like Cher or Madonna. The realization that none of them knew FF’s first name was one that had them placing bets on a multitude of things. Things like: “Do you wanna bet it’s a super normal boring name?”, “Do you wanna bet that it’s a weird foreign name?”, and “Is FF intentionally not giving it out to people or since he goes by his last name normally he has no idea that anything is amiss?” Had lower pools since you were betting on a spectrum. The bet with the highest pool is: “What is FF’s first name”.

Wymack had categorically refused to answer it and all other attempts to discover FF’s first name had been met with frustration. There was a solemn agreement that no one could just go and outright ask him since that would ruin all of the fun. Andrew had agreed to not ask when the team had collectively filled his freezer with ice cream cake and he was a man of his word.

The general belief (after the revelation of his major and the number of languages FF spoke) was that FF’s name was just not easy to pronounce for English speakers.

Andrew hadn’t participated but he know that the Foxes do have a running list of names they know it’s not. (Greg, Will, Smith (again), Matt, Kevin, Neil, Andrew, Aaron, Nathaniel, Jack, Beyonce (Sheena’s drunken guess), Nicholas, John, Fred, Garfield, Frank, Alfred, Augustus, Adam, etc. (Andrew had been trying to guess with the receptionist for a while))

“You’re coming here aren’t you? We can get updates when you get them.” Neil says.

“He’s in emergency surgery right now and will remain there for the next few hours most likely. There’s not going to be any updates hopefully.” Wymack says with a sigh loud enough that they can hear it over Kevin’s snoring.

“Surgery? He needs surgery?” Neil asks sounding surprised s if FF hadn’t been stabbed to the hilt into his stomach with one of Andrew’s knives. He’s about to give Neil some shit for the question before remembering that if there was any person who would think that a stab wound to the stomach wouldn’t necessitate surgery it would be Neil “I’m Fine” Josten.

“Yes Josten, he needs surgery. They have to stitch up his stomach and the surgeons are also going to be dealing with some of the ulcers that were ruptured by the knife.” Wymack explains likely coming to the same conclusion that Andrew had on Neil’s stupid question. “They were a bit worried about him bleeding out but he stabilized before the surgery.” Wymack sighs.

“I’m going the hospital since I’m Smith’s medical proxy. If anything goes wrong with the surgery I want to be there so I can make an informed decision on his care.” Wymack says and… Andrew figured there’d be surgery but to hear it and the possibility that something could go wrong, that the last thing FF had said to him had been something non-sensical about “Gracie Hart wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. I’m Cheryl at best.”as he’d started succumbing to all the blood loss. “If you could stick around long enough for me to drop Kevin off with you I would appreciate it.” Wymack says.

“What if he needs a blood transfusion?” Andrew says.

“Smith is AB-, it’s the second easiest blood type to transfuse into. Go home Andrew.” Wymack repeats.

Andrew works his jaw irritated that there didn’t seem to be a path to getting his way.

“We’ll stay here until you get here.” Andrew agrees, “But you’ll get an update before we leave.” He adds.

Wymack sighs, “Fair enough.” He says before hanging up.

It’s 45 minutes of waiting and tossing a few more name possibilities at the receptionist who seems more amused than anything at their continued attempts to guess their friend’s first name (Neil goes through the entire list of names that he’s gone by and none of them get the thumbs up).

Wymack comes through the doors with a half awake Kevin Day following his steps. “I have another favor to ask you.” Wymack says instead of any form of greeting.

“I’m not going to leave Kevin in the car overnight again. It was just that one time.” Andrew says with a roll of his eyes and honestly he’d been punished enough listening to Kevin bitch, moan, and sneeze for the following week while talking about all the supplements he was taking.

“Not that,” Wymack pauses, “I have two favors to ask you. First don’t do that. Second, would you be able to pick up Smith’s grandma from the airport tomorrow?” He asks.

Andrew blinks.

“She’s coming here?” He asks.

“I updated her on my way here. She booked a flight and will be arriving around noon tomorrow.” Wymack says and Andrew doesn’t know why he’s confused by this. FF’s grandma got him two still warm pies to cheer him up on Thanksgiving.

He’d stabbed that woman’s grandson.

“I’ll pick her up.” He agrees.

Shorter one today

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #Might be taking a bit of a break after this post #I wanna figure out the overarching joke of the next part #So FF is under the knife getting stitched up so he doesn't make an in person appearance this chapter #Kevin is coming along with Wymack because he wants to figure out the recovery time and PT FF will need #They were planning on having him be the starting Dealer next season #Honestly he can't BELIEVE that Romero would fuck up his line-up like this #Yes Kevin is aware that he is not the Captain #FF never lets anyone forget who the Captain is #It's Captain Neil #Neil and Andrew try to become close to the receptionist so she will release FF's first name #But god they are both super bad at small talk #Andrew and Neil: So...busy day?#Receptionist: Actually considering the fact its Black Friday it wasn't that bad #Neil: Is it...is it that dangerous? (Thinking about FF this morning)#Receptionist: I've seen body builders get their thigh bones snapped in half by exhausted stay at home moms for a blender you tell me #Neil: Anyone from the (location) Target?#Receptionist: Oh that was a bloodbath didn't you see the news?#The misconception that FF is a cool badass guy continues to grow throughout the Foxes #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG Fic #FF - Pt 23

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