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#And Yes For Those Of You Wondering
provendermalkin · 2 months
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there's not a lot you can count on in this world but one thing never changes
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inkskinned · 1 year
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you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.
you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.
instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.
you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.
your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.
because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.
so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.
all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.
#spilled ink#woke up at 530 to write this lmafo#me in a cold sweat:#how do i be normal#edit in the tags:#hey so i've seen y'all talk about like ... wondering if ur ''allowed'' to relate#like if this is about X specific diagnosis#and when i first posted it i really almost labelled it ''please don't assume this is about a specific condition''#because as an artist i am often walking this line of discussing a symptom or discussing my conditions etc#and sometimes yes ! i do want to talk about an experience that is specific to who i am and my condition#but sometimes the effort of the post is about the EXPERIENCE rather than the diagnosis#because yes i am not neurotypical and as a result that influences my work but it is ALSO true that there are many reasons#why someone might experience this particular vague horrible feeling that you are... almost being CHASED by what you ''really'' are.#that you're outrunning your symptoms... that you're not really normal you're just sort of a mockery of a person#.... that's a really isolating and horrible way to feel no matter why you are feeling it. and the nature of this PARTICULAR post is that#it is inherently talking ABOUT that sense of isolation & of feeling not-deserving & of minimizing your own experiences to make urself#palatable for society in a way that others find easy-to-deal-with....#this post is about a certain experience such that my impression is there's a higher likelihood that those who relate#would have more difficulty thinking they ''deserve'' to relate - that it doesn't REALLY belong to them#bc often we are the kind of people who are SO used to being alienated and set aside and ''different'' that we AUTOMATICALLY assume#that things are not ''for'' us... they never have been why would it start now#we are the kinds of people to be ... ''too normal for X diagnosis but too symptomatic to be normal''#[or as this post points out... so good at ''coping''/masking/hiding it that we essentially conform to whatever shape we're poured into]#but i have witnessed others already say in the tags ''thought this was about me but it's about X so it can't be''#and im like ... of course it was about you.#art is not a resource that is diminished by greater appreciation .#you reflect in whatever mirror fits your frame. not just the ones in your bedroom. not just the ones i specifically give you.#there will be - and often are - times that i will talk about my specific conditions... but if you're reading this#regardless of why you're here... we are here together. holding hands through space and time. and i love you for carrying it#and i know you're exhausted. i am too. but i understand. and i see you.
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werepires · 4 months
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worm
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drawnfamiliarfaces · 5 months
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;3
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expectiations · 1 month
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I still find it funny that people call eleven a "deadbeat husband" and their marriage "toxic" but twelve is the "perfect husband" and their marriage "wedded bliss" all because of the few moments we'd seen between 11 and River were them being "toxic". yes of course! let's ignore how the minisodes show how that description isn't true and even how little moments in the episodes themselves – "what? that's it?" (why haven't you kissed me goodbye? are you being sly on purpose so I'd kiss you first?) and "they wouldn't bury my wife out here" and the music room is the heart of the home and it's not a ghost story, it's a love story – show 11 cared and put in the work and yes, they're going to have disagreements like the ones in TATM because duh who doesn't but it does not mean it is the entirety of their relationship but people have taken it and made it the entirety of their relationship.
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ashdoodle-s · 3 months
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apothanein thelo
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the-broken-pen · 4 months
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“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.
They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.
Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.
“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”
The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.
The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.
For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.
Shit.
They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…
They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.
It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.
The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.
The hero would be the death of them.
They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.
“What are you doing with this?”
The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.
“Wrapping my hands?”
The villain hissed in a breath.
“With electrical tape?”
The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.
“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”
The villain blinked at them.”
“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.
“Not if you wrap it right.”
Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.
“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.
Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.
“Bandaids move—“
The villain hushed them.
“Be quiet for a second.”
The hero, wisely, went quiet.
The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.
“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.
“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”
“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”
“I’m not destroying myself—“
“You are.”
“Shut up—“
“Hero.”
“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”
They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.
“Better than who?”
“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.
The villain watched them, waiting.
The hero took a shaky breath
“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”
The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.
The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.
“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.
“No. There isn’t.”
“Hero.”
“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.
“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.
“You don’t understand—“
The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.
They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.
“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”
“But I-“
“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”
The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.
The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.
For now, though, they had to take care of hero.
“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”
The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.
“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”
That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.
“Fine.”
The villain turned to them. “Okay?”
Are you going to be alright?
The hero seemed to understand.
“Okay,” the hero agreed.
Yes.
And so, it was.
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whumperofworlds · 4 months
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Whumpee kidnapped and held for a while.
Problem? They need their mood medicine, and they become more and more angry and defiant the longer they go without it while in captivity.
Cue Whumper being cursed out, threatened, and spat at by Whumpee, and then a few seconds later Whumpee is a crying and babbling mess.
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queen0fm0nsterz · 4 months
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Unanswered prayers from bygones
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was brainrotting about SAGAU again and had a thought- what if the Creator aged?
because technically, you're just a normal human, at least in your world, so there's no saying that it doesn't carry over to Teyvat. of course your followers don't know- they see you as the one true god of all the land, the one who created the world with your tears and breath. you don't care for it much, the whole worshipping part, which is why you spend your time with Ajax and by extension, Foul Legacy, instead- they treat you like a person instead of an object to be admired in a museum. of course they both worship you in their own way, but Foul Legacy does it by lavishing you with snuggles and affection; Ajax preferring to drag you along for fun outings and adventures, both of them seeking your praise and love which you're more than happy to give.
sometimes, you think the suffering and pain you went through to get here is worth it, whenever you see Ajax's usually lifeless eyes light up when you kiss his cheek, or when Legacy trills so happily upon seeing you that his vocal chords give out and he can only smush his face against your cheek
they keep you safe, allowing you to live peacefully in Teyvat. their favorite thing is to steal their shared body from the other, Legacy hijacking Ajax's movements and Ajax yanking them back a few hours later, just to make you laugh- it's such a lovely sound, like music and bubbled glass. you go on adventures together, exploring the highest mountains and the darkest depths of the world, for there's not any monster, Abyssal or Celestial, who would dare to harm you with Foul Legacy by your side. slowly, but too quickly, your hair turns gray over the years, smile lines on your face and creases on your hands becoming more and more prominent. for their part, Ajax and Legacy try valiantly not to mention it, despite how you trip and stumble so much more nowadays, your hands always cold and your voice soft, as speaking too loudly makes your throat hurt- they must be imagining it, you're the Creator! you can't age!
...can you?
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tuinendraws · 1 year
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Metal.
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arom-antix · 3 days
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Me? Posting finished art? Ain't no way :O
No but @korruptbrekker reached out to me and asked if I was interested in doing a collab (go check out their piece here, I implore you), and you know I could not say no to such a wonderful artist asking lil ol me to do something fun like this. We ended up doing a swap @laugaheim and I came up with ages ago that I so sussinctly refer to as a moodboard-sketch-lineart-render swap. Rolls right off the tongue, right? Nah but it's exactly what it says. Make moodboards, swap and sketch from the other's, swap again and line the other's sketch, and then swap once again and finish the piece you sketched.
Very big thanks to Brekker for reaching out! This was so fun, I hope we can do something together again in the future!
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Porcelain Steve - Part 6
Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine
Even though he's expecting company, Eddie still jumps and yelps when his front door flies open without so much as a knock, revealing Dustin and Will.
"I know I said to let yourselves in, but a warning knock would have been nice," Eddie shoots them a glare, not bothering to stand from the couch where he'd been pretending to watch whatever terrible daytime movie was playing.
"Sorry," Will apologizes sheepishly while Dustin just laughs.
"Which of your moms dropped you off? If it's Claudia, I'm filing a complaint about how you were raised."
"Har har," Dustin says, swinging his backpack off and knelling down to unzip and dig into it. "We biked here."
"Lucky you, then. The complaint will wait."
Dustin wrestles a blanket from his backpack. Unwrapping it reveals Steve, hair rumpled but otherwise unharmed. "Alright. Delivered safely. We gotta go meet El and Mike now but we'll see you on Saturday, right?"
Eddie sets Steve on the couch, angled towards the TV. "Yeah. I get the feeling if I don't show for the barbeque that Joyce will show up here and drag me there by my ear."
"She would," Will confirms with an easy shrug. The boys turn to leave before Will exclaims, "Oh! Almost forgot!" before digging into his pocket for something, turning around to give it to Eddie.
"What?"
"El and Steve spoke again. He had a lot of things to say. I spent a good portion of the last three days writing down everything as El repeated it to me. This is your letter," he says, having successfully pulled out what looked to be a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.
"Oh," Eddie takes it, and realizes it's not just one folded piece of paper, but three. "Wow."
"Seems you are Steve's second favorite," Dustin grins at him from the doorway.
"You are first, I assume?"
"No. Robin is. She got five pages."
That tracks, actually. Eddie's not surprised Robin got the most pages.
Soon enough, the boys are off and Eddie returns to the couch, pulling his legs up to sit crisscross. "Alright, Stevie, let's see what you have to say."
He unfolds the pages completely and is met with Will's now familiar penmanship scrawled across the sheets of wide rule paper that has clearly been ripped from a composition notebook. He's seen Will's handwriting plenty over this last year, quickly scribbling notes during DnD sessions and on the little item cards Will makes himself to hand out when he DMs.
Will's handwriting isn't always the neatest, but this looks like Will took time, wanted his writing to be legible. Flipping through the papers he sees it is two pages, front and back, of a letter, and the third page is a list of questions in a different, neater handwriting. He gets the feeling that Will probably didn't paraphrase anything. How many people got letters? How much of Will and El's time was devoted to doing just this?
Eddie feels emotional over this, misty-eyed and a lump in his throat, and he hasn't even read the damn letter yet.
"Shit, Stevie, do you even realize how loved you are?" Eddie asks out loud, turning to look at Porcelain Steve like he might answer him this time. Blank hazel eyes stare forward. Eddie shakes his head, to clear away his thoughts, and gets to reading. Not out loud, because he doesn't want Steve to hear how wet his voice will sound.
Eddie,
I guess the first thing I want to say is thank you. I was kind of freaking out when I first woke up like this. It was calming, that day on the lawn, after Robin and Nancy found me. You were so chill and just chatted my ear off like you would have if I were, like, there. I mean, there there and not like, doll-there, if you get what I mean.
Shit, man, being stuck like this would have been a hell of a lot worse without you, I'm certain. Everyone's been great, of course, and, like, no offense meant, Will and El, but you act most normal. Helps me feel, well, I don't know how, exactly. Describing emotions is not something I'm like, good at. Robin's great, too, but she catastrophizes, you know? And since I can't speak back, she can get herself pretty worked up about this and I hate that. Hate that I can't do anything to help her.
Shit. This isn't your issue. Don't include that. No, wait, do. Sorry, El. (It is here, off in the margin, that Will has added 'I wrote everything word for word. Enjoy the asides to El and me.) Hanging out with you helps her, I think. She seems less anxious on days we spend with you. So, I guess, I also want to thank you for that. For being there for Robin when I can't.
Eddie has to pause there because he had no idea. Robin has been a grounding force for him this whole time. He had no idea he was doing the same for her. She never said, or let on... well, that was probably her goal and now Steve's spilled the beans.
This is getting easier to say, even if I still don't know how to feel about the other two people who are going to be privy to everything said, or I guess from your end, written here. (Here, Will has transcribed a conversation they seemed to have had in the middle of writing this up.) Oh. He means us. - El Yes. Don't worry Steve, we'll do our best to forget everything you've said once it's written down. - Will Steve laughed and says thanks. - El I appreciate that but- well, being honest there's some things I want to say but I don't want anyone else to hear. Those conversations are better left face to face, anyway. So, uhh, what else did I want to say?
Oh! Yeah, I told Robin she could drive around the Bimmer, so she can have a car while I'm- so she doesn't have to bike everywhere but knowing her she probably won't take me up on that offer. Maybe you can talk her into it? Or, maybe she'll be willing to drive your van around and you can take the bimmer.
"Jesus, Stevie, can't you just be okay with existing?" Eddie says it under his breath and tenses instantly. For a moment, he forgot that Steve was right there on the couch with him, could hear him. Now he has to explain himself because Steve's already heard, and without the context of how Eddie really means those words, they can sound judgmental. "Shit. Sorry. I just read the part about your car and, dude, you just don't know how to not try and be helpful, huh? I bet it's destroying you on the inside that you can't do anything. But Steve, you gotta know, we don't care about you because you're useful."
Steve, of course, can't reply, so Eddie goes back to the letter.
Uh, what else was there? Oh! Yeah! I don't get migraines here. Or, in this body? Or, whatever it is. I haven't had one since this happened. Also, no hearing issues. Though I find myself wishing to be completely deaf sometimes. I get that Max can listen to Kate Bush for a week straight, but I'd like a little variety. God, what I wouldn't give to listen to the Top 40 again. Don't say anything, Munson. I can already see your judgmental face at my music taste. Unlike you, I have the ability to like multiple types of music. The Top 40 AND that one song from, uhh, shit. Might not have migraines or hearing issues at the moment, but the memory is still as it was. Which means it is shit. That one song by that metal band where their name sounds like it's metal? You know who I mean. (In the margin, Will has just written five little question marks in a row ?????)
"The band you were thinking of, it's Metallica," Eddie says.
Not important. But, uh, the reason for telling you this. I was hoping you might smuggle me to a show the next time your band plays at the Hideout? Last time I tried to go it was too loud and gave me a migraine, you remember, but I think that I could listen to your whole show like this. We might as well take advantage of the perks of this shit situation, right? So, uh, I wouldn't mind if you did that. Or, like, had Robin or someone else bring me. Whichever.
Actually, wait, I lied, I do care which way. I've already had them pen down Robin's letter, so you'll have to pass this on, but I want Robin to take me. So, I can also watch the show, not just listen. That was the part I liked most, when I went last time, before I had to leave. Wait. Scratch that. Ask Argyle. Other than you, he seems like the only person willing to be caught holding me in public, mostly because I don't think he even knows how to be embarrassed. Jesus that was such a weird sentence to say. Holding me in public. Such a weird thing to experience, too.
Uh, anyway, I think that's it for now. Thanks for everything, Eddie.
"I think you're handling this loss of bodily autonomy rather well, Steve. This letter is a lot more positive than the one I would have written if our roles were reversed," Eddie says with a sigh. He can't help but wonder what Steve would have said in this letter if it hadn't had to be filtered through two teenagers first.
He looks to the last page, the list of questions, and is surprised to see that, mixed in with questions about which sports team is winning (he is not going to watch Sportsball for Steve. There has to be a line drawn somewhere and this is it. He will ask Wayne about it later and hate the glee he sees in his uncle's eyes because now he's going to have to pretend to like sports for the unforeseeable future) and for honest updates about their friends are questions about Eddie's campaign that he's rambled on about since Steve can't escape. Steve wants spoilers, wants to know what Eddie has planned.
Steve has actually been listening. He'd been operating on the assumption Steve just tunes him out when he gets going, unable to stop his brain to mouth filter when it comes to talking about Dungeons and Dragons and his current campaign.
"I'm at your list of questions now. I can't answer anything about sports, and don't think I'm unaware of how you asked me and not Lucas. I see what you are doing and I'm not going to fall for it. So, your first non-sportsball question here; How is Dustin doing, really? Well, that's a whole thing but overall, okay."
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halemerry · 7 months
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I just. What do you think was going through his mind when his car exploded into pieces in front of him and the piece that landed next to him was a hand crank? Like the world was ending around him, he'd just gone through the rollercoaster of losing and then finding his angel again, and from the burning bones of the Bentley fate offers him an echo of the same object he'd once been given divinely. What did it feel like to reach for a souvenir and find that object given to him in this new context? What did it feel like to use that again in this moment of once again offering the fate of humanity up to the choice of one it's own? To be able to hold this thing, born again from a human made object, and say this time I am going to use it to give them the opportunity to choose their own fate?
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jtl-fics · 1 year
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Fluent Freshman - Part 26
PREVIOUS
Nicky can’t help but bounce his legs as they sit in the waiting room at the hospital. He’s had to leave the waiting room a couple times already because in Aaron’s effort to comfort him, and wow how far they’ve come he’s really raised Aaron to be such a thoughtful young man, the jackass has unknowingly made four more Miss Congeniality references.
This is a waiting room full of nervous families and Nicky is NOT about to be the guy who can’t stop laughing because Aaron mentioned World Peace in a snapback at Kevin.
Nicky is not going to be the one to explain FF’s jokes. He MAY already be planning a Miss Congeniality movie night. Neil, Aaron, and Kevin may not remember but ANDREW will and watching Andrew realize his friend was referencing an AMAZING movie when talking about how he took out one of the FBIs most wanted was all he wanted at the moment.
Another nurse comes in and calls out “Elias Smith?” But Wymack doesn’t get up from his seat still sipping his now lukewarm coffee. There’s been 14 different times she’s called for a ‘Smith’ family but Wymack hasn’t moved for any of them and different waiting families have gotten up to get updates and taken back to see their family members.
Maybe he wants to see Andrew’s face a little less than he wants to see FF’s right now. He has his flowers on a chair next to him and a get well soon card that he’d had Wymack also sign. He was waiting for Smith’s grandma to come to see if she wanted in on some card real estate
“Seriously, how many Smiths got stabbed yesterday?” Kevin marvels.
“At this point it’s at least 12.” Aaron remarks.
“I’m at 14 not including Smithy.” Nicky says.
“At least we’ll finally get to find out Smith’s first name.” Kevin crosses his arms and leans back heavily into the chair, “I’m hungry.” He whines.
“Yeah, at least there’s that.” Nicky agrees because not knowing FF’s name at this point made him feel like an incredibly BAD friend. Even mores than the fact that Nicky raised the man that stabbed FF last night. He turns his thoughts away from those thoughts, “You wouldn’t be hungry if you hadn’t bitched about the breakfast burritos I had us pick up.” Nicky argues.
“It was greasy! I’m already slipping on my diet after Thanksgiving and eating that pie.” Kevin argues back.
Nicky can’t help but think of Kevin as a pageant contestant in that moment.
Nicky looks heavenward for the strength not to laugh.
“Then go get something.” Aaron says from Nicky’s side, “There’s gotta be a cafeteria or something around here.” Aaron adds.
“I don’t want to go alone.” Kevin shoots back and Nicky can HEAR Aaron roll his eyes.
“Fine, whatever I need more coffee anyways. Let’s go find a cafeteria.” Aaron says getting up and Nicky looks at his cousin, “Text us if you get a room number.” He says.
“Will do.” Nicky agrees.
Then it was two.
It’s about five minutes before, “David Wymack?”
Nicky’s head shoots to Wymack and he sees the smug amusement on their coach’s face.
That motherfucker.
Nicky followed Wymack up to the doctor in question. “How’s he doing?” Wymack asks.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” The doctor says and Nicky feels his stomach sink into his toes.
***
Neil has NEVER been more relieved to be out of a car and that includes the ones Lola had him in (though that might be because being out of those cars meant he was closer to his death by way of Nathan).
Granny Smith had not spoken a word unprompted since they had climbed into the car. Granny Smith had the exact same expressionless face as her grandson did but it is only now that Neil realizes that there was always some hint of emotion on FF’s face. Neil wasn’t great at knowing exactly what those emotions were but they were there.
Granny Smith’s rage was pretty hard to miss.
“I think she knows.” Andrew had said with his hands white knuckled at 10 and 2.
“How could she?” Neil questions. “Smith’s phone fell in that toilet before he got stabbed.” He says but he can feel the anger and can feel it directed towards them.
She had seemed so nice with Paul!
Though Paul didn’t have anything to do with her grandson getting stabbed. Neil could understand how that might sour any niceness.
Neil and Andrew had pulled into the parking lot and it was only then that Granny Smith leaned forward and pointed towards the entrance.
Words weren’t really necessary then.
Before Neil could even try and trudge through offering to bring her bag to her the woman was out of the back of the Maserati and through the sliding doors of the hospital.
“Maybe…maybe she’s just like that? Smith likes to sit in silence too?” Neil tries but Andrew doesn’t say anything as he turns the Maserati into the parking lot to find a space.
They walked in only to find the receptionist looking confusedly at Granny Smith as the woman spoke in rapid Polish but was getting nowhere.
Neil watched as Andrew squared his shoulders and walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around she the fear and anger shown through in her expression. Neil could understand in a way. FF was her grandson and considering the fact that FF had likely gotten his interest in languages from learning Polish from her?
They’re probably close.
Neil is pretty sure that normal close family members worry like this.
Almost positive.
He may not have the best examples in his own life but he has watched enough television and enough movies to start to see what might be considered normal!
Really!
Anyways…
Andrew points towards the doors that would lead them towards the elevator that they could take up to the waiting room.
Neil watches as Granny Smith visibly struggles before nodding. Andrew holds out his hand and she stares at it before Andrew points at her bag.
She blinks, looking taken aback.
“I can carry it.” He offers.
It’s a few moments of looking between Andrew’s face and his hand before she hands over her bag.
Andrew puts it over his shoulder and the three of them silently made their way up. The elevator ride was slightly less excruciating than the car ride but only just.
They got off and saw Nicky, Wymack, and a Doctor.
“…so he may not wake up.” Neil hears and watches as Andrew’s shoulders go instantly tense and Neil feels his own heart jump into his throat.
Then Nicky laughs.
“Of course he’s sleepy!” Nicky throws his head back.
“Yes, he had a high level of cortisol, that’s the stress hormone, in his blood. He should wake up either late today or early tomorrow though.” The Doctor says.
“Oh thank GOD.” Nicky says with a relieved slump to his shoulders, “You really gotta work on how you start conversations like this Doc! I thought you were going to tell me Smithy died not that he’s just going to sleep like the dead for at least 18 more hours!” Nicky exclaims before his gaze slides off of the Doctor and onto their group. “Oh!” Nicky moves past the Doctor and stops in front of them. “You must be Smithy’s grandma!” He says and offers his hand like the sweet respectable young man that Nicky absolutely isn’t.
“Nicky, she doesn’t-“
“Ty musisz być Nicky! Jesteś taki przystojny, tak jak powiedział mój kurczaczek.” Granny Smith knocks his hand away and pinches his cheek. Nicky visibly melts at the warm tonę even if he doesn’t know what is being said to him.
“Oh!” Nicky says, “I hope I don’t butcher this, Dziękuję! Uwielbiałem Pani ciasto!” He says haltingly before pausing, “Nazywa go Pani swoim kurczakiem? Jakie to słodkie!” he says but this time his enthusiasm has the language come out more smoothly.
Granny Smith seems to light up even more. “Czyż nie?”
“Nicky, since when did you know Polish?” Andrew asks brows raised slightly in shock.
“What? You two aren’t the only ones who decided to learn a cute foreign language so you could have secret couple conversations.” Nicky huffs frowning at the two of them, “Erik’s company has an office in Poland, he thinks it might be fun to try living there for a while so we’ve been learning the last year and a half.” Nicky says, “Smithy’s been such a huge help on it too!” He adds.
Neil opens his mouth, thinks about it, and closes it.
That’s fair.
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MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU
NEXT
EDIT: 6/8/23: Thanks @shirlai​ for fixing my janky Polish for Nicky!
@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @fuckyeahjeanmoreau @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​ @percabethotplove​ @cozyrosykay​ @foxyatlas​
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?
Also if anyone fluent in Polish wants to correct me on any of the Polish wants to correct me / sends smoother Polish please do! I am just using Google Translate for GS.
Translations:
Ty musisz być Nicky! Jesteś taki przystojny, tak jak powiedział mój kurczaczek. = “You must be Nicky! You're so handsome, just like my chicken said.”
“Dziękuję! Uwielbiałem Pani ciasto!” = “Thank you! I loved your pie!”
“Nazywa go Pani swoim kurczakiem? Jakie to słodkie!” = “You call him your chicken? That’s so cute!”
“Czyż nie?” = “Isn’t it?”
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hood-ex · 1 month
Text
Donna Troy added Dick Grayson Mia no fucking way
SCREEEAM @boiwcndr scream scream scream. I'm screaming into the void.
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