#alright so thanks for reading my rant babes xx | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cyborg-franky · 2 years

Note

hi hi franky, congrats on the milestone!! i am so so happy for you, sending you all my love. this is such a cute event!

nickname: lemon

door number: 39 or 20 if they’re open!

wearing: something comfortable, but also nice and cute! probably cute boots, like a sweater tucked into jeans with a nice coat if it’s chilly. probably light makeup? but not a whole lot, lots of neutral tones and nice earrings.

booze or sober: I’m not opposed to getting a drink or two! but won’t get drunk

ideal first date: hmm going somewhere where there’s something to do, like going to a museum or exhibit or aquarium or something. a meal during it is fine, but not required! just more involved and get-to-knowy than a movie or something

3 personality traits about me: kind, open, shy

3 things you look in a partner: funny, honest, having something they’re passionate about

3 dislikes: if it’s personality, self absorbed, inconsiderate, judgemental. if it’s just things, heights, hot days, crowded places. i wasn’t sure which oops

I think i got it all but pls let me know if I forgot something xx this is such a cool event, I’m so excited to read everything! sincerest congratulations again, love you so much and am so proud of you <3

Thank you bean <3 I am still shocked tbh haha enjoy your date <3 --------------- You feel cute and comfy in your clothes, you changed earrings maybe five or six times but that’s okay you settled on the pair that looked best with your sweater. You were nervous, but you liked the dangling earrings you had picked.

Wondering what sort of man would come to pick you up on the date was both exciting and nerve-racking, you almost tripped on your foot when the doorbell rang, opening it to reveal.

- He was wearing all black, black shirt, shoes, pants, jacket, everything.

- It should have looked sleek and smart.

- But somehow the grin on his face and the shades perched on top of his head made him look like he was going to try and sell you a shitty used car.

- “Hey babe, you look great.” He grinned and opened his arms wide, grabbing you and pulling you into an unwanted hug.

- His cologne was strong, and you tried very hard not to cough.

- “I’m Lemon, c..can you… just…” He let go of you and slapped your back, laughing to himself like it had been a joke.

- “Lemon huh? But you look so sweet! Names Jabra.” He offered his hand, but it seemed like a moot point since he’d already dragged you into a hug.

- “Alright doll, let’s get going.” He walked over to where a very sleek black sports car waited.

- You were a little impressed but so far you were not digging his vibe.

- The entire car ride he was complaining about what a bitch his ex-wife was over and over while telling you with a sly grin on his face “But I’m a nice guy!”

- You weren’t convinced.

- You sighed; you wore your cute earrings for this guy?

- He pulled up to the bowling alley, okay so that wasn’t your ideal first date, but it could be fun right? you just wanted to get out of this enclosed space with him as soon as possible, where didn’t matter.

- “I’m just saying there isn’t anything wrong with expecting a chick to put-“He was stopped when you shot him a look.

- “I’m joking, I’m joking! Come on babe, let’s get the shows on and a beer yeah?”

- You were torn between the desire to get drunk vs the need to be sober around this guy.

- He proceeded to flirt with the poor woman at the counter who provided the bowling shoes.

- Bowling would have been fun if he wasn’t so competitive.

- Every time he got a strike, he would literally rub it on your face, do a fake wolf howl and then try sike you out of your go.

- When you did get a strike, he’d be so sour about it. He would claim it was luck and would rant about some superstitions on bowling or something, you don’t know, you’d gotten used to tuning him out.

- He liked to try and drape his arm around your shoulders, and you would wriggle to the side each time he got closer.

- “So that was fun yeah? Wanna go back to mine?” He quirked an eyebrow, that grin on his face growling and wolfish.

- You see the people in the next alley watching what was going on.

- There was a man with green hair, a blond with a curly eyebrow, a woman with bright orange hair and a guy with a straw hat who looked like he was ready to punch him.

REBLOG: I’m not going to judge you or anything but.. reblog to go back with Jabra or going to go and chill with this fun looking group of friends and get nachos?

#one piece x reader #2k event #blind date event

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wondershawns · 5 years

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Can I request 36,38 and 46? Thank you xx

Of course! Here you go, the prompts were “Are you high?” “Somebody’s cranky - Somebody needs to shut up” “I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.”🖤

Summary: Coming home from a bad day to find Shawn perfectly relaxed and ready to talk for hours wasn’t always compatible, and if he couldn’t directly help you he could at least make sure he didn’t make anything worse.

“Shawn?” You came home exhausted after your day to find him sprawled out on your couch.

You hadn’t agreed he’d be there for sure, but with his key he could pretty much come anywhere.

“Hey hun,” He grinned without getting up.

“Hi love,” You took your shoes off, your frown still on your face because you needed twenty four hours of sleep if you ever wanted to feel alive again.

“C’mere,” He held his hand out for you to come join him, and you dropped your bag down before making your way to him.

His eyes were a little red and his pupils were more dilated than normal, and your suspicions that he smoked for confirmed when you got closer and got hit by the smell.

“Are you high?”

“Maybe?” He bit his lower lip, knowing you didn’t particularly like it.

He could do anything he wanted with his life, that wasn’t ever your problem, but you didn’t drink or smoke so you weren’t into that stuff and he knew it. You didn’t mind too much, you just knew he mostly did that when he was feeling anxious and it always made you worry about him.

You made him shuffle on the couch to make space for you, and he spooned you tightly to make sure you wouldn’t fall. He randomly began to speak, bringing up random things and stories he told you while you closed your eyes and relaxed in his arms.

“Hey baby, do you think we’re alone in the universe?” He asked, and you sighed.

“I have no fucking clue Shawn.”

“Cause I read this thing on Fermi’s paradox, right?” He started and you moved a little.

“Can you tell me about it over dinner?”

“Why not now?” You could almost picture the frown on his face.

“I just want to rest for five minutes,” You needed a lot more than that but you’d take what you could get.

“It’s exciting babe, I promise,” He tried to convince you.

“It’ll still be exciting when we eat,”

“Somebody’s cranky,” He observed.

“Somebody needs to shut up,” You whined, shutting your eyes while he tightened his grip on your waist.

“Alright,” He kissed your shoulder, knowing that you were rarely in a bad enough mood to tell him to shut up. He knew you were tired and he was sure you’d listen to him rant about anything once you felt a little bit better, so he simply held you and made sure you were comfortable so that you could sleep.

You were dead tired, you hadn’t slept properly in weeks and it didn’t take much for you to simply pass out in his arms. He shifted a little, trying not to disturb you, but when he realized you were really asleep he slowly peeled himself from you and got up.

He slid his arm behind your knees and secured your shoulders with the other to carry you to your bedroom. You didn’t even wake up when he took your socks off before pulling the covers over your body, and he kissed your forehead before sauntering over to the kitchen.

He fixed himself dinner with leftovers he found in the fridge and watched a few episodes of a show he was trying to catch up on before joining you in bed. He was surprised you were still asleep, and he was even more surprised when he managed to wake up before you in the morning.

He figured you must have had a tougher week than he thought, and he wanted to do something nice for you. He looked up a pancake recipe on his phone and grabbed everything he would need from your kitchen to get started.

“Morning,” You stood in the doorway as he tried to measure the quantity of flour he needed.

“Good morning love,” He hummed, staying focused on what he was doing while you came up behind him.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Making you breakfast?”

“Mmh, pancakes?” You observed the things laid out across the counter.

“Yep,”

“Alright, let me do it,”

“I can make you breakfast,” He tried to convince you and accidentally let an egg roll off the counter and crash on your floor.

“Can you?” You rose an eyebrow and he whine.

“Babe,”

“I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.” You cut him off and gently pushed him aside to clean up.

“At least let me stay,” He pouted, and you gave in when you saw his puppy eyes. He had you wrapped around his finger and he knew it.

“Alright, just don’t break anything,” You teased, cleaning up the egg before you got to work.

You were at the stove cooking the pancakes in no time, and Shawn begged you to let him take over again.

“You’re going to burn them,” You snorted, there was nothing he could make without poisoning you.

He didn’t have many arguments in his favor when he thought back on the three times he set off your apartment’s fire alarm, and he decided to keep his mouth shut until you were both sitting at the table with a stack of pancakes.

“So, ready to hear all there is to know about Fermi’s paradox?”

#request #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #blurb

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 7

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): I decided to post this earlier than usual, both in honor of fanfic writer appreciation day and because I finished writing this one yesterday, and I was going to schedule it, and just not worry about anything... and then there was a power shortage and as I’m was writing this, on Tuesday, I had to rely on my phone to provide me with wifi. God bless... (Well, I have wifi now, don’t I?)

I just thought that after all the angst of the last two chapters you’d appreciate a bit of sweetness, and where this chapter started almost as harshly as the last two, it’s just. So sweet. And fluffy. And I feel so happy that I managed to do such a thing. Well... that and prove to the world that I’m a massive nerd. (If you really want to know, some of Emile’s rants in this chapters are based on actual answers I gave in my finals. And those of you who know me well enough know that I studied theatre in high school...)

Thanks and credits go to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the initial idea (and for being there to listen and talk about ideas with when we hang out, which happens a lot more lately actually), to @whatwashernameagain the absolute angel for Keep Him Safe and for being incredibly awesome (and for the German translation of one of my favorite quotes ever), to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual for their usual contributions that shall never go un-thank-ed and uncredited, and a special one to @winglessnymph who is the person and inspiration behind a good chunk of Emile’s background and who, after showing them a screenshot of this chapter, just said “my old high school can burn, but yes at least Emile survived”.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemygaydad, @violetblossem

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter in particular also has mentions of alcohol and drug use.

—————

"But I want you to come!"

"Leah, sweetie, I can't come. I'm going to Emile's. But I'll see you sooner than you think, okay?"

"Okay… but it's not going to be fun. Rachel is two and she's boring and I don't like Mom."

Leah called every day after school. Remy could've been in a class, or at a group meeting, or taking a shower, and she would call every day after school. It was somewhat adorable.

But now was no time to deal with adorable.

"Emile, my darling, my precious, my sweet sweet love," Remy declared at the beginning of their morning sols 20 class last Monday, "can I come over for thanksgiving?"

"Didn't you say you have to see your mom?" Emile whispered over his cup of tea, struggling to get comfortable. The weather got extremely cold lately, and at thirty-six degrees at eight in the morning, not even the four layers and giant thermos full of tea could keep Emile warm enough to survive morning classes.

India literally asked him if he's not supposed to be used to such temperatures, which earned her a lecture on hypersensitivity and illness caused by stress.

"But it's Linda! Emile, babe, sweetheart, darling, dollface—"

"Don't call me bubbeleh and I'll consider it."

"It'll be worth it. I promise—"

"I need to ask my mom, and my sister is coming to pick me up because I'm kinda scared of flights, and Minnesota is kind of far away."

"Alright. I don't mind."

He really hoped Nathalie would agree.

"I don't want to be here alone," Leah half-whined.

"I know, babe, but it won't be long. Trust me."

He let her talk about school for a good while more, at least until he could hear Linda screaming at her to stop holding the line. It was horrifying. He didn't remember her doing it much.

Then again, she was barely home anyway.

The call disconnected rather quickly, right on time for his appointment at the psych clinic. The grad student who claimed Remy as his personal project was supervised today by the head of the department, as part of his research, which meant Remy had to be on his best behavior.

It also meant he'd get misgendered. Which was a thing said student, whose thesis was on gender dysphoria and gender identity (same subject as his big project for AP psychology back at Bronx Science, really), made sure to not do.

This was going to be fun.

——

"You went to the Bronx High School of Science, right?"

"Yeah? Gurl, why you asking me? I told you that already."

"A 4.0 GPA, went to a gifted program in Columbia—"

"Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?"

"Dr. Freeman wanted to hear those for himself," Remy heard the guy - Michael, his name is Michael, stop calling him "the guy" - mutter to himself as he typed away on his laptop.

"What makes you think that you're a boy, Miss Harris?" The doctor asked, pushing his glasses up. What a prick…

"Well, considering how I was quite literally diagnosed with gender identity disorder by a licensed psychiatrist, I don't think I am. I know I am."

"And yet, you've enrolled into Harvard under the name Rebecca. Is there any explanation as to why?" Freeman looked directly at Remy. "You're an intelligent young person, and enrolling under your preferred—"

"I didn't know I could do it, and now I have, like, no idea how to change it in administration."

"Biologically speaking, Mr. Harris, the concept of sex is very non-binary." The older man's gravelly voice seemed to chill even Michael, still taking notes. Suddenly he didn't seem so evil.

"First of all," Dr. Freeman said, "in sexual species, you can have female be XX and males just be X. For example, in insects. Female birds are ZW and males are ZZ, for reptiles it's temperature differences that female or male make. In some flatworms it's a penis fencing competition. Some fish like clownfish and parrotfish can have females become males because there are no males left, and the New Mexico whiptail lizards are a female-only species who reproduce asexually. Some species, like cuttlefish, have males act like females in order to get close to the females. And fungi have thousands of sexes. And that's not even getting close to humanity."

The doctor cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. "You can be male because you were born female but have a 5 alpha-reductase deficiency, and so you develop a penis in puberty. You can be female because you were born with XY chromosomes but you're insensitive to androgens, or because your Y is missing the SRY gene, both of which would result in developing a female figure. You can be male because you were born with two XX chromosomes but one of them does have the SRY gene. You can be male by having two X chromosomes and one Y, or a female by having only one X chromosome. And you can be male or female by being born in the wrong body for your brain.

"As I said, there is no such thing as two biological sexes only. So I'll ask you this again. Why would you enroll as a female named Rebecca if you know that you are neither?"

Remy had no idea how to respond. The professor looked at him, straight at him, and Michael kept typing away…

"...I told you, I had no idea I could do that."

"I'll write you a note to give to Vivian in administration. She'll take care of everything, you just need to provide her with a name."

"It's Remy—"

"I hope you understand that this isn't legal, it's only official. I don't have a doctorate in psychology just to explain what's the difference between the two to my students."

Remy nodded nervously, swallowing air. "Yes sir."

——

"Your suite is so much more comfortable than mine," Emile wiggled on the couch, petting his bunny, as Remy was making him a cup of tea. "You can… clearly see Leah was here."

"The marks on the wall? Yeah… she brought her scooter with her and wouldn't stop running into the wall with it."

Emile giggled - how much cuter could this boy get? - and scratched Mycroft's head a bit. "I asked my mom and, yeah, my grandparents and my uncle and his family are coming over, so it wouldn't be that much of an issue if you came over, but…"

"But?"

"We're having thanksgiving at my grandparents' on my dad's side. So it might be a bit of an issue. I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It's okay, we didn't plan for this or whatever. I'll watch over Leah and you take care around your family, okay?"

"Okay. Have fun with her. She'll really need it."

"I know and I'm willing to suffer for that."

The kettle started whistling. Remy filled the mug with the boiling water and took it to Emile.

Just yesterday Emile screamed "I waited five minutes and the weather didn't change, get your shit together, Boston" at the sky when it started to snow. It wasn't even that much, Remy had seen bigger storms and he was sure that Emile did too - he was from Minnesota, after all - but it was still somewhat funny. After asking, Emile explained that in Minnesota, and basically all around the Midwest, "if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes".

Remy didn't think he meant it literally. He probably didn't.

"How's India doing?"

"Midterms."

"Cool."

Emile was muttering something to himself in a language Remy didn't understand. He let Mycroft go and the bunny just sat there, on the couch, looking happy enough.

"Hey Remy, what's the Hebrew word for thanksgiving?"

"...I'm a Christian from New Jersey. Why are you asking me?"

"I don't… I don't know. My parents are expecting me to call my cousins before thanksgiving and they don't know English or Dutch yet… not that I know that much Dutch either, but… wait, you're from New Jersey? I thought you're from Manhattan."

"Only since I was five."

"Oh. Cool."

Remy moves the bunny and sat down next to Emile, who leaned against his side and put his head on his shoulder. His hair was incredibly soft, Remy was never quite able to stop running his fingers through it, and the whole situation just… made Remy feel like everything was going to be okay. Just… don't move from this spot, where the his adorable, tiny friend was cuddling up to him and muttering to himself in a different language, and everything will be alright.

His hair smelled like jasmine and seawater. And Remy was torn between admitting to himself just how much he liked it, and wondering if Chris would be jealous.

"You went on a date, right?" Emile raised his head, his hair tickling Remy. "I just…"

"Yeah, I did." And it was a bit better than Halloween. Chris was… way more interesting when not in parties, apparently. For one, he did not talk about his crush on Harrison Ford, and he did talk quite a bit but at least it was about law school and not Indiana Jones. It was… it was great.

"Huh… that's nice." And then, "a friend once asked me on a date. I had to say no."

"Why? Was something so wrong that—"

"No… I like that guy, but… he's the same guy who always paid me to bake weed brownies for him and his friends, and that's not very appropriate, right?"

He had to do a double take. "Weed brownies?!"

"Yeah… my school was the druggie school, you know?"

"No… I didn't know."

"Yeah… it's not like my parents couldn't afford to send me where my sister went, but they were worried about how the stress would affect me so I went to a public school. And… at least I only ever sneaked vodka in water bottles and baked weed brownies, I never, like… held someone's hair out of their face in the bathroom or had to keep someone from killing themselves, which now that I say it out loud just sounds so bad and I totally would've done it if I had to but—"

"Emile, babe, you're making me worry. Like, really."

"Sorry… I never ate weed brownies, though. I'm sensitive to weed."

This… this was the thing that baffled Remy about Emile. This… tiny, pure, angelic thing, with the soft hair that always smelled like jasmine and seawater and the bright, sparkling eyes. His soft little friend whose sunny disposition never faltered, not even in the darkest of times, and whose dedication and determination shone through everything he did.

Emile Picani, the sweetest human Remy ever met, was used to sneaking vodka into school and baking weed brownies.

Fuck.

"How do you even find out that you're sensitive to weed if you don't, like, smoke weed or whatever?"

"You have to decarboxylate the weed to activate it, which basically means heating it up, and the smell gives me migraines, so… that's how I found out."

Yeah, because that's so much better.

"But I mean, good riddance. Can we watch Mulan? I want to do something…"

"Aren't you reading that Sartre thing?"

"No Exit? I already finished it." Emile sipped on his tea. "I don't… get it? I can see why Estelle and Garcin will never achieve an epiphany, but Ines came in already aware that she's amoral… can't she just… leave Hell?"

Gilliam gave the class an optional assignment, to read and analyze No Exit by Jean-Paul Sartre. It wasn't even going to go into their final grade, but he did say that it might be very important to the next semester when they study Freud ("and how he almost ruined the entire field of psychology, more or less"), so Remy chose to leave it for Christmas break. Or maybe not even read it.

"It's something like sixty pages, it's shorter than Hedda Gabler or The Cherry Orchard… it's an easy—"

"Question one, what the fuck is Hedda Gabler, and question two, what cherry orchard?"

Emile's eyes lit up and he almost jumped in his seat, spilling some of his tea on his lap and causing Mycroft to hop a bit farther. "Did you ever do theatre?"

And off on a rant he went, explaining every little nuance and allegory in both the plays ("so like, back in Ibsen's time, realistic theatre was meant to portray real life and keep the three unities, so Hedda shooting herself off-stage is meant to shock the audience as well as preserve the unity of place, which is pretty much…", "you know, the reason it's called Hedda Gabler despite Hedda being married to Jorgen Tesman is to show that Hedda sees herself as the daughter of General Gabler first and the wife of Jorgen Tesman second", "the cherry orchard is never really in scene ever, so it's kind of like a fantasy, or trying to hold onto a thing that isn't there anymore, like the Russian aristocrat's status, so when middle-class Lopakhin buys the orchard and orders to start cutting it before the others even left is like an even bigger sign that the aristocracy has fallen and there is no place left for it in the modern Russian society, in the face of the upcoming bourgeoisie and their budding materialism").

It was worse than Leah talking about betta fish. Well… no it wasn't, but he couldn't bring himself to shut Emile up… he was too cute to be told to shut up.

"So I just… I don't get it. Ines should be able to pick herself up and walk out the door, so why isn't she doing it?"

Emile was out of tea by the time Remy caught him looking at him with questioning eyes and realized he'd completely zoned out.

"Maybe… societal pressure?"

"Maybe… but it still makes no sense. She's in one room with two incredibly selfish people… can I boil some more water?" Remy nodded and Emile practically jumped out of his lap. The cold immediately hit Remy with a wave of disappointment. He wanted to hold Emile just a bit longer...

"Then again," Emile kept ranting, "this is the play that coined the term ‘Hell is other people'. L'enfer, c'est les autres. De hel zijn de anderen. Hagehenom hu hazulat."

"How many languages was that…?"

"Four." Remy choked. "I don't speak Dutch or Hebrew very well, I told you that. I only know the basics because of my family. But I do know this saying in five languages. I think... My oma and opa really like saying it. But I don't remember how to say it in German."

This boy was impossible.

"No, no, I do remember it. Die Hölle, das sind die anderen."

And Remy absolutely loved him. (A bushel and a peck.)

"And I only know how to say it in German because my neighbors are German. So like… I really only speak two languages."

"That's still way more than me, babe."

"Well, enough about me! I want to hear more about your date! How awesome was it?"

Oh, it was great. Chris didn't talk only about himself, he was actually interested in listening to Remy talk about his interests, they had a lovely dinner and went to see a slightly better than okay movie (he was not going to tell Emile that The Ring gave him nightmares for three days after watching it though), and he kissed him when they got back to Harvard. Nothing big, everything was nice, and they were going on a date again in early December. Nothing could be better.

Except the voice in his head, calling him a liar.

"That sounds very nice," Emile muttered as he plopped back down next to Remy and put his cup of tea on the table. "I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun. The Two Towers and Chicago are supposed to come out in December. And I promised my sister I'll go to see both of them with her."

A comfortable silence settled in. Remy tried to focus on anything but how nice it was to cuddle Emile, especially today that all his suitemates had other obligations. It was almost time to leave for thanksgiving - those who left for thanksgiving anyway - and… it meant he wouldn't see Emile for a week.

He didn't think he was a fan of the idea.

"Can we please watch Mulan? I haven't seen it in forever!"

Remy had to oblige.

——

"Hello?" The tiny voice that came through the phone made Remy so happy, and he had no idea why. "Who's that?"

"Leah, aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?"

"Remy oh oh oh Remy I have so many things to tell you so yesterday I went to the park and I found a shiny rock and—"

"Leah, I called to tell you and Linda that I'm coming over for thanksgiving." The high-pitched scream almost ruptured his eardrum. "But you have to be on your best behavior, okay? I know it's a very hard thing to do, babe, but it's for Linda."

"Okay! I can behave very good!"

"I know you can, sweets. I just need you to promise me that you will."

"I promise that I will! Pinky promise! When you get here it'll be a pinky promise, okay?"

All that was left was to hope that thanksgiving won't be such a disaster.

If it was, though, Remy would start considering smuggling Leah with him to Cambridge.

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #tw: period appropriate transphobia #tw: mentions of drug use #tw: mentions of alcohol

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