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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

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Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 17

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Chapter 10, Chapter 15, Last Chapter

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

Notes (I guess): Happy school year in two weeks, folks.

Not gonna lie, I actually had a plan for this chapter, and then forgot it. So... yeah, not the most cohesive or best chapter, but I got it out, and it’s nice, and I like it this way because it’s a break from the wave of panic attacks and mild transphobia the last chapter or two.

Yes, I’m back home now, and I’m doing actually much better mentally and physically than I have since September till June. But the chapters are gonna take a while longer to write from now on, because I’m about to join the scary world of job searching for the unstable ADHD brain, not to mention being involved in three regular ttrpg campaigns (where I play a halfling sorcerer, and a half-elf bard, and also DM the third one), so... my brain is busy. But I promise this fic isn’t going on hiatus! I’m still extremely dedicated and excited to be writing this fic. I love it so much. Honest.

As per every chapter, thanks go to @whatwashernameagain for KHS and for generally being a wonderful human, to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for putting up with my fangirl-levels of excitement over everything (and coming up with the original idea), to @winglessnymph, @asleepybisexual and @anony-phangirl - who, while I know they’ve all fallen out of the loop, continue to have long-lasting effects on this fic as a whole - and new to this list, to @ilovemygaydad, who I’ve asked to beta this fic for me and I hope they’d have time for that starting with the next chapter.

Happy start of college and good luck, my darling dear child. I love you.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @violetblossem, @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch, @thatrandomautist, @thebiggestgaypirate, @marshmallow-the-panda

(Wanna be tagged? Lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter is light on the transphobia, but includes aphobia, deadnaming, panphobia (yes, pansexuality was a term in the early 00s, as I learned just half an hour ago) and vague mentions of child abuse.

—————

Sunday, July 27th, 2003

Incoming call: 218-357-5555

"Ye—"

"Remy? I didn't forget your number? Oh good!"

"...Emile?"

"Yeah?"

"...what's this phone number, darling?"

"Oh! Yeah, I… my phone died, so I got a new one! Sorry I didn't tell you sooner… but, umm, I'm gonna get to the point, yeah okay, happy birthday!"

"Thank… you…? Em, you shouldn't have—"

"Ah, but see, that's where you're wrong! Because I had to, because I said that I have to! You're my best friend in the whole world, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least call you to say happy birthday?"

"You're precious, darling."

"Thank you! Oh, did you get my gift yet? I sent it to you in the mail last month! Did you—"

"I did, it was… well, it was unexpected, I'd give you that. Where did you even find a Jack mug anyway?"

"Disneyland…?"

"...you know what, that's fair."

"Yeah! So, happy birthday! I'll be in Manhattan next week, so like… do you wanna go see a show or something…? I haven't seen the Gypsy revival yet…"

"...it's a date, then. But you're paying."

"Yes, yes of course! It's gonna be alright, okay? You trust me?"

"With my life."

"Yay! Okay, okay, umm… yeah. I miss you! Happy birthday!"

"Thank—"

"I gotta go right now at this second it's my cousin's bat mitzvah in two days and I need to get my suit and everything but I'll call you tomorrow evening too okay?"

"Sure… have fun, darling."

"Thank you! Okay, bye!"

—————

"India M—"

"Why didn't you tell me Emile has a new number? I cannot fucking believe you!"

"He wanted to do it himself, peach. On your birthday."

"Okay… okay, I guess that's fair…"

"Happy birthday, too."

"Thanks, mom…"

"So… how'd you spend the week?"

"Nothing big happened… my dad took me to see Nina West last night. It was the fucking best."

"I'll bet. Did you have fun?"

"So much fun! She's fan-fucking-tastic. Honestly. I'd give anything for her to either do me or spare a bit of her funny to me."

"Wow… gay much?"

"Shut up."

"Don't worry, it's fine. I still need to take Jenna to a drag show sometime. Did anyone hit on you…?"

"You'll be surprised how many people hit on my dad, actually. But no. I actually broke up with Chris today because of this."

"Oh? Do tell."

"It wasn't… much. He called me a couple hours ago to say happy birthday, which is fine if you ask me but I just… it ended in him trying to talk me into not talking to Emile again. And that's normal, okay, ain't something I can't handle. But he said ‘sure he's asexual, when he isn't spreading his legs to everyone he's asexual'."

"...did he seriously think he can get away with it?"

"India, no—"

"I don't give a fuck anymore, peach. I'm not going to beat him up, you have nothing to worry about, I just… this shit is so fucking infuriating!"

"I know. But hey, look at the bright side. Ulysses and Mandy said they'll take over next year, I'm gonna let them know. He won't be back."

"That's… that's true. I'll call Mandy later. Don't worry about it. Just… what then?"

"Then I told him that it wasn't his choice, he didn't choose any of it, so he said ‘just like you couldn't choose to stay a girl, Rebecca'."

"...oh yeah. Yeah, definitely. I'm telling Mandy. She'll deck him for sure next time she sees him."

"Thanks, mom. I just… I so wanted to deck him right then! So I gave him a piece of my mind, broke up with him and hung up and deleted his number. Now we wait and see what's gonna happen."

"Good boy. I taught you well."

"Thanks… again… he also said that asexuality isn't real, and—"

"I'm flying down to Texas right now to sock him. I took karate for three years. I can do this."

"India, no… hon. Babe. You need to get settled in DC. You need to—"

"I'm buying the plane tickets right now, Remy! Watch me!"

"—You need to get your life together and get your master's degree. You do not, however, need to go break the nuts of someone who doesn't deserve your attention—"

"Who's the older and wiser one of us?"

"Right now? Not you. You told me this very thing when I wanted to kill that asshole who made a joke out of Emmy, I'm telling you this now. Don't."

"...fine. But if I ever do get the opportunity, I'm doing it."

"Good for you."

"Nobody plays my kids dirty like that."

"You go, mom."

"I will! Oh shit, I have to go!"

"What? Why—"

"I forgot Jenna's parents are coming over today and I need to go pick them up from the airport. I'll call you later to keep catching up, okay peach?"

"Okay, but—"

"Awesome, happy birthday, we love you! See you in two weeks!"

"...see y—"

—————

"...Remy?"

"Good evening, Linda… where's Leah?"

"...and here I thought you called to talk to me. But I suppose I'm only your mother, nothing—"

"Mom, please, I'll talk to you after I tell Leah something really important."

"Alright, I'm sorry. But you got the package we sent you, didn't you?"

"I did, I… I just don't understand. You painted that…?"

"Who else would sign my name on a canvas, Remy?"

"You're… right. I'm sorry. It's very nice. Thank you."

"Happy birthday, son."

"Thank… you…"

"...hello?"

"Leah…? Leah, sweetie, can you hear me?"

"Remy! Oh, oh oh oh Remy I told you I'd tell you about my camp and—"

"And how was your time at camp? Take a breath and then tell me."

"Okay! Okay, so, so we were in the woods, and in cabins, and I kinda wanted to sleep in tents but it didn't happen and it was kinda disappointing but I can always do that later, and…"

—————

August 2003

There was a blackout as Remy was trying to write an essay Dr. Gilliam asked of his class.

So his dad put him on a bus to Georgia, which is why he's making do right now at doing his schoolwork with two children running around.

"We gotta go bowling too!" Leah whispered excitedly. For the fifteenth time this hour. "And then we need ice cream, and, umm, I know where the puppies are, and—"

"Leah, love, I need to finish this essay for school right now. Give me a couple minutes, about twenty, and I'll be with you, okay?"

"Okay!"

Remy couldn't be happier to be there at that moment. He had a plane ticket booked to Boston, his rooming was already set at Lowell, the papers have all been set and he was about to room with Emile, Mandy called him the other day to ask if he'd like to help her run the queer society meetings (and of course he said yes)...

And then there was a crashing sound. And a crying toddler sound. And he had to put his laptop aside to go check on Rachel.

More like run to the kitchen to check on Rachel, who was now standing in front of broken pieces of cheap china and bawling her eyes out.

"No, sweetie, it's okay…" he picked her up and started playing with her hair, hoping to calm her down. "We're gonna clean this, okay? What were you doing with the plate?"

"Tea party!"

"You wanna have a tea party?" She nodded, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. "Okay… okay. Let's wash your face, then pick up the pieces, and then make some tea and have a tea party with your dollies. Okay, love?"

She nodded again, and he kind of had no choice. So he did what he said he'd do, sitting Rachel down in her high chair as he cleaned the broken pieces, and for a moment, he felt like an absolute idiot. He felt like he was his mom.

Well… like Rachel was his mom, and the plate was him, and he was his dad, and holy fuck Emile's show analysis habits have definitely had an effect on him and he really should stop thinking about all this ridiculousness right now.

"Remy?" Leah whispered from behind him as he was picking up the shards. Rachel was entertaining herself, rather unaware of what's going on. "Is daddy gonna be mad?"

"I—" He had to stop. And think before answering. "I don't think so, honey."

"But a plate broke…"

"...he doesn't have to know. It was just a plate. He doesn't count the plates in the cupboard, now does he?" She shook her head, her hair flying everywhere. "So he won't know. Because we won't tell him."

"Okay. I can do that."

"I know you can do that, hon. Now, how about you get your roller skates and we'll go to the park?"

"But you said tea party…"

"We can have a tea party after the park. Rachel, do you wanna go to the park?"

Rachel, who up until then mostly minded her own business, looked over and started nodding with a big smile on her face.

"So we can go to the park and then have a tea party. Where's your roller skates?"

—————

Saturday, August 30th, 2003

"It's always nice to see new faces at the queer society meetings," Mandy said with a huge smile on her face as she balanced the clipboard on her knee, Remy holding her iced coffee. "I'm glad you all could make it today. Now, let's do a name round. Everyone state your preferred name - please no dick jokes, we have people who are very uncomfortable with those in this group as well - and what brings you here, and a small fact you'd like people to know about yourself if you'd want to."

Remy just kept looking over the room. Mandy had this all under control, already having printed out a list to put everyone's names and contacts in for if they need to. India trained her well.

From the corner of his eye, Remy could see Emile bouncing in his seat.

"I'll go first. Hi, I'm Amanda, I go by Mandy, I'm pansexual—"

"That's not a real word," someone called out. Remy did his best not to glare at the person.

He was pretty sure it's Chris.

"Pansexual is a word, Christian," Mandy replied, not even looking at him. "It was coined before your grandmother was even born. Anyway, I'm Mandy, I'm pansexual, and I'm in this wheelchair today because I have fibromyalgia and today is a very bad pain day. Who wants to go next?"

It was the same old sharing circle. Some people elaborated more, some people chose not to. Emile went ham on sharing, telling everyone he was gay and asexual and talking about his bunnies at length, looking as proud as he can be.

And then it got to Remy. And he wasn't nearly as anxious as he was last year.

"I'm Remy, I'm gay and transgender, and my therapist said I can start hormone therapy this year."

#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: aphobia #tw: panphobia #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: deadnaming

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mediaeval-muse · 5 years

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Why “Anglo-Saxon” is a racist term, even in academia

I received a message from @shotofstress asking about the term “Anglo-Saxon” and why it’s bad, even in medieval studies scholarship, so I thought I’d post something publicly so everyone can know. And just as a note, I’m largely drawing on research collected by my colleague, Dr. Erik Wade (who is mildly tumblr famous).

For the sake of clarity, I will be using the term “Anglo-Saxon” in this post.

TW for racism and transphobia.

The term “Anglo-Saxon” was originally used to describe the language of early medieval English peoples (now “Old English”), but gradually became more of a term to describe the time period and inhabitants of England from c. 500-1066 AD. During the early part of this medieval period, following Rome’s withdrawal from England, Germanic peoples from Scandinavia invaded England and settled there. “Anglo” and “Saxon” refer to 2 of these peoples, but there were others, such as the Jutes. In many early medieval texts, you can see “Angle” and “Saxon” in things like law codes and chronicles, but they largely die out during Alfred’s reign (8-9th cent) and are replaced by the broader term, “English,” in the attempt to create a proto-national identity. The hyphenated term “Anglo-Saxon” was never used by medieval people to describe themselves. It’s an invention by modern scholars, gaining popularity around the 19th century... which is also when England stepped up its imperial agenda.

As white people came into contact with people of color more and more, they began to form a collective white identity to try to unite against others and justify their superiority. Early medieval scholars were not immune to this racism. In fact, many of them used their expertise in medieval studies to try to justify white superiority. See this excerpt from Jacob Abbott's 1862 History of King Alfred of England, for example:

Here is an example from Dexter Hawkins, "The Anglo Saxon Race," published in 1875.

Here is an excerpt from a commencement address given n 1875 at Syracuse University by Dexter Hawkins, "The Anglo-Saxon Race: Its History Character and Destiny."

Many of these early scholars also supported racist “science” such as phrenology. It’s quite easy to see how their scholarship was informed by their ideology, and not the other way around.

Another prominent example involves the creation of the Early English Text Society, an organization that many scholars still rely on to this day for definitive editions of medieval primary texts. EETS initially saw itself as promoting Old English literature as part of an explicitly colonial mission. They said "We are banded together to trace the springs [...] of the language that shall one day be the ruling tongue of the world."

In the 1950s, the term WASP (”white Anglo-Saxon Protestant”) first appeared to describe a social group in American society with a lot of political and economic power. Race is inextricably linked with social influence and power. Although the term became one of disparagement, I still hear stories from my colleagues of it being used against people of color (to exclude them).

So, it’s not just a case of the term being misused by politicians or imperialists or “scientists” of the day. This racist history is embedded within our own field of academia.

Since the 19th century, the term has been adopted by various white supremacist movements to uphold a racial hierarchy. Stormfront once published something on their site, proposing a connection between swastikas and "Anglo-Saxons." It also lists Beowulf as essential reading. Here’s a tweet from this year from a white supremacist who uses runes and the term to claim an ethnic past that technically never existed:

Even if academics use the term nowadays in a more or less “benign” manner, students and scholars of color are still being targeted by people who wield “Anglo-Saxon” as a weapon against them. Many of us do not want to give white supremacists the idea that we’re on their side - white supremacists have continually looked to the medieval past to legitimize their worldview, and if we don’t address our own complicity in white supremacy, our classrooms will continue to attract these students and alienate others. Here’s an example. Michael Drout is a major scholar, and though his tweet isn’t making fun of the current ISXX debacle, look at the way it’s worded, and the response:

White supremacists are emboldened when scholars use the term “Anglo-Saxon.”

And it’s not just people outside academia. Here are some links by scholars of color detailing how the academy itself upholds whiteness and white supremacy:

https://medium.com/@mrambaranolm/anglo-saxon-studies-academia-and-white-supremacy-17c87b360bf3

http://www.inthemedievalmiddle.com/2019/04/public-medievalism-and-rigor-of-anti.html?m=1

http://www.inthemedievalmiddle.com/2017/07/decolonizing-anglo-saxon-studies.html

Here is an email from a scholar JUST THIS WEEK which claims to want to reclaim the term from racists, but gets transphobic along the way.

Those who claim we “can’t let racists appropriate our term” is woefully ignorant. Racists have been using it for centuries, and in most cases the racists were scholars. In my opinion, the term cannot be reclaimed. It has gone the way of the swastika, and even of runes and Thor’s hammers. They are linked to white supremacy, and it’s more important that we prioritize real people and their safety than hanging onto an archaic term.

For those of you who might be shocked to learn this, know that I myself was ignorant of the racist history until recently, and I have been "Anglo-Saxon” to describe the things I study. For that, I am embarrassed and I apologize to anyone I have hurt. Hopefully, my future actions will help make up for any damage I caused. You can do the same. The future of the field is one that does anti-racist work, and this is one of the steps. It isn’t the only thing, but it’s a good start.

#medieval #tw: racism #tw: transphobia

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crush-zombie · 6 years

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I finished Akazukin Chacha, an absurdist humor magical girl show from 1994. My final impressions (including wanting to punch a certain character in the brain) under the cut~ (TW for transphobia)

Akazukin Chacha is an anime about a young magic-user (Chacha) who can transform into “Magical Princess,” a somewhat supernatural being who uses particular weapons/items bestowed upon her to defeat her enemies, and her squad (Riiya, the “werewolf”; ie, he can turn into a small, fluffy dog-like animal and possesses super-human [”idiot”] strength, and Shiine, an underdog magic-user who is every ounce proper and polite as he is abrasive and mildly underhanded) as they, for the most part, go on quasi-backyard adventures to defeat an evil king and restore the former monarchy who were turned to stone. Chacha lives with her warlock sensei, Seravy, who shares a past with a witch named Dorothy, who incidentally is Shiine’s magic teacher. This show, from the beginning, shows a propensity for two things; absolutely manic humor and being more well-animated and stylish than it has any right to be, lol. About a quarter in it starts to weaken because of a considerable amount of filler that doesn’t consider its strengths, etc, but one of the backing plots over its entirety is Seravy’s obsession with Dorothy’s childhood appearance (to the point where he constantly carries around a doll in her image that he speaks through via ventriloquism), in particular, her blonde, curly hair that she changed to pink (and straight) as a kid as to break Seravy’s infatuation (and therefore consider her a proper rival for the title of world’s greatest magician)-- after all, when she changes her hair he spews insults at her almost non-stop, calling her all sorts of names and going so far as to begrudge her for it, and to be honest, it never really ends. Dorothy, however, has a sister who looks almost exactly like her but happens to be presented as trans-- Doris, who loves Seravy without condition, happens to have the curly, blonde hair he’s consumed by, but Seravy has an absolute, mortifying hatred for her which is presented as comedic (albeit almost sad) and, of course, leans into slapstick violence at times. When I watched the episode where Doris was introduced I just... hurgh. I stopped watching this show for months before going “Well... this is the only anime I have on my computer atm... Also, this is from 1994, so I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess.” Although, saying that, Sailor Moon is also from around that time period and their treatment of Fish Eye in SuperS is ten million times more appropriate (although far from perfect). A couple of characters (including Riiya, but somehow excluding Shiine and Chacha) even refer to Doris as an “okama” (a weird, complicated word that is far more often than not derogatory). I hate Seravy, lol. The last episode sees almost every surrounding character in context harassing Dorothy and he into marriage, in spite of their terrible relationship, and their explanation is a familiar one if you’ve watched any anime ever in the history of earth; “Conflict is how they express their care for each other,” which is a really dumb thing to say to absolutely anyone at all. Several characters’ strange affection for Seravy are presented in this episode (except Doris’, of course) as this tragic thing, and there is actually no-one at all to do the same for Dorothy.

...I got into this show because I really liked the design of one of Magical Princess’ weapons, but unless you have some thick, courageous skin and are willing to do some extra-curricular suffering for some great episodes and amazing animation, I don’t know if I suggest it, which really sucks because this show otherwise has a lot going for it. Sigh.

#Akazukin Chacha

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

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Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 16

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Chapter 10, Last Chapter

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

Notes (I guess): I realize it took me way too long to do this, but I can explain. Uhh...

So for those of you who don’t know, I haven’t been home since September, and I won’t be home for another... two weeks, more or less? I’ve been to places where I couldn’t know if I’d have working wifi or any wifi at all so updating this fic has been a mission. So I do whatever I can to update at reasonable times.

With that being said, I finished this chapter way back last month while on a two week long trek in Nepal and haven’t had the opportunity to upload it, so I’m grateful I can now. Because this one... was a hell of an exposition ride for a lot of shit I planned a long long time ago.

Quick disclaimer - some bits of this chapter deal with the definition of transgender, and a specific learning disorder. The definition of transgender mentioned in this chapter has been taken from the DSM-IV-TR, which is a defunct edition of the DSM that came out in the year 2000 and has been replaced by the DSM-5 in 2013. The definition has since been changed and separated, and I believe it is now called gender dysphoria, though I’m not quite sure. But it does not reflect my opinions on how dysphoria is related to being trans, I do believe (and have several sources to back me up, including the DSM-5) that you don’t have to be dysphoric to be trans. The same goes for this learning disorder, what is said in this chapter reflects only the way the characters think of it - and it will change later on, I can assure you - and not at all what I would think or say about it.

As is tradition, thanks to @whatwashernameagain for KHS and for all her patience with me and my shenanigans (and not getting frustrated with my stupid ideas) and to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original idea and for giving me the best commentary for my screenshots when I send them. And also to @winglessnymph , @asleepybisexual and @anony-phangirl , who have fallen out of the loop but are still there. I know I haven’t sent you anything much in recent days, but... still.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @ilovemygaydad, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @violetblossem, @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch, @thatrandomautist, @thebiggestgaypirate, @marshmallow-the-panda

(Wanna be tagged? Lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter also includes (rather controversial) opinions/ideas about the definition of transgender (as mentioned in a now-defunct, but then the most recent, edition of the DSM), discussion of abortion, mentions of past self-harm, discussion of personality disorders and hospitalization, panic attacks, and description of rejection sensitive dysphoria. I’m pretty sure I forgot something though, so let me know if I have so I can add it.

—————

Friday, May 30th, 2003

"...your valedictorian, Jenna Miranda Wheeler."

"Class of 2003…"

New York was beautiful in May.

Sadly, that was not where Remy was heading today.

According to Linda, Stephen was going to go on a business trip for at least two weeks in June, starting late May. So Remy was invited over for the summer. Not his first choice, but Leah begged him to come and Emile said that it might be a good idea. But…

Spending more than a day at Linda's, combined with the knowledge that Jenna and India have graduated just a few days ago and Chris hasn't, was a good enough reason for Remy to feel shitty. And he did.

The main upside was that Georgia was beautiful in May too.

He managed to cheer himself up somewhat by thinking of the good things that happened this month - Emile's TOVA results (9/9 inattentive symptoms, 4/9 hyperactive-impulsive, definitely has inattentive type ADHD), India's name being called at graduation instead of her deadname, Jenna graduating valedictorian, his friends moving to Virginia and so on - by the time the taxi from the airport pulled up in front of the, by now, rather familiar house.

And then his stomach dropped.

Stephen was still there.

"Do you need help with those bags, Rebecca?" He asked, eyeing the massive, neon pink duffel bag and the incredibly heavy purple backpack that sat on the sidewalk near Remy as he tapped his foot nervously.

"Not from you I don't. Thanks for the offer, but… no thanks."

He was too proud to admit that the duffel was too heavy for him to lift and he could barely drag it, but he packed most of his clothes and books in it. Some were mailed home. But not most.

"That shit gotta be heavy as fuck—"

"I said, no thank you. Now, move out of my fucking way."

Leah was napping by the time he finally dragged everything inside, but Rachel was doodling in the living room, smiling brightly when she saw him come through the door. She abandoned her crayons and waddled all the way to hug him.

As much as he barely knew her, Remy definitely loved Rachel too.

"I'm going to daycare," she mumbled somewhat, trying to use words she didn't quite know yet. "You have to come!"

"You're such a big girl!" He ruffled her pigtails, picking her up. She was so light for a two-year old. "Going to daycare already?"

"Mmhm."

"I'm so proud of you!"

She just hugged his neck and babbled on about her friends and daycare, her hand flying and her almost falling from his hold. This was another happy thing to add to the list.

He wasn't happy. But this was happy. For now.

—————

Stephen left on his business trip at around seven thirty, and Remy took a huge sigh of relief. Leah also woke up from her nap a few hours earlier, all grumpy and upset for some reason, and Remy tried talking her into telling him why she was so upset.

Linda said it was because of the nap. Leah only got even more upset.

"Why am I here?" Remy asked during dinner, while Leah entertained herself (and he was sure she didn't notice much) and Rachel was almost dozing off. "We haven't had a single good interaction since I was five years old, Linda."

"Am I no longer allowed to want to be around my son, Remy?" She stung back, looking anything but as aggressive as she just sounded.

"I'll be honest with you, kid. I know you don't like me. I can understand why. But what I don't understand is why you're bringing this up in front of your younger sisters. They're too young for this to—"

"I saw a movie about penguins on TV," Leah started rambling. "They're really weird…"

The argument stopped just as quickly as it started, and Leah was allowed to go on and on about penguins bringing rocks to each other. So he proceeded to just glare at Linda, who helped Rachel eat her pasta. This was awful, this was absolutely the worst situation he could've found himself in, and… he just wanted out.

And he kept wanting out even as Rachel already went to sleep, Leah was busy doing her homework last minute, and Linda asked Remy to help her clean up.

"I'm only here because Leah asked me to," he almost hissed as he was tasked with packing the leftovers in incredibly familiar tupperware containers.

"I want to spend more time with you, Remy. I'm still your mother—"

"Well, you haven't acted like it, like, ever!"

Linda sighed, putting the plate she was holding in the dishwasher. "I don't want to sound like I'm making any excuses—"

"So don't make any."

"—but I was barely your age when I had you. This is no excuse, I'm not trying to say that I had no idea what I was doing because of that, but I sacrificed so much of my life to raise you!"

"You could've aborted me! You could've been smart and used protection in the first place!"

"Condoms aren't a fail-proof—"

"Face it, Linda. You never wanted me. You're not homophobic or transphobic for the sake of it, it's clear you have at least some level of respect to queer people. You just never wanted me in the first place."

The next plate she was holding broke in the sink. "How fucking dare you say that?!"

"I'm just saying—"

"I have never wanted something in my life more than I wanted you!" Her screams hurt Remy's ears, going as far as to make Leah cry in the other room. Linda immediately lowered her voice. "I know I've been a bad mother to you. I regret every decision I've ever made while I was married to your father, except being married to him and having you. And I've spent every day since leaving you and your father regretting my decisions, and wanting to make it up to you, but you kept pushing me away. How do you think that makes me feel, huh? Do you still think you're the only one who's been robbed of something in this relationship?"

"...you had Leah while you were still married to Dad" was all he could say. And he hoped he'd have the last word. "Was she a mistake too?"

Sadly, you can't always get what you want.

"Leah… is problematic. But she wasn't a mistake either. None of you are, and you can stop saying that. Whatever is wrong with her does not make her a mistake. Just as your gender identity disorder does not make you a mistake."

"No, you're right. It doesn't. It makes me transgender. A female-to-male man. You know those terms? Female to male, transgender? It's what people call it nowadays."

There was another long moment of silence as Linda cleaned up the broken plate and Remy finished packing up the leftovers, and Leah stopped crying.

It was a stressful silence. Very typical of home life with Linda Brigham-Hollander.

"...you may not have come at a time I liked," she sighed after everything, falling into a chair. Remy was ready to leave the kitchen, but this wouldn't let him. "I know we could've… waited a few more years. But you came when you did, and I don't regret that. You were never a mistake. I may have a hard time understanding… what… your identity. I'm trying my best to educate myself now, you know—"

"That's almost five years too late."

"I don't know what Leah told you about her school life, but whatever hardships she got understanding stuff—"

"She has no trouble understanding stuff as far as I can see—"

"Educational stuff. School material. She got that from me. Education comes harder for me, you may not know that. I was never the brightest student and I only completed my high school diploma when you were three years old. Don't get me wrong, this has nothing to do with you. But I couldn't learn when you asked me to. It felt like—"

"Linda, it didn't take Dad five years to be able to call me by my name and use the correct pronouns. Even if you don't mean it this way, this is bullshit to me. And I hope you get it."

And then he got up and left, leaving her to her own. If she cried, well… that's none of his business.

—————

Sunday, June 8th, 2003

Nathalie and Emile were getting ready for the Tony awards when Emile had a panic attack.

No, that's not true. Emile has been having panic attacks all week long for some weird reason he couldn't explain, most likely not being able to talk to Remy all week long since his phone died and he couldn't get a new one just yet. But today was the worst one. So Julie lent him her phone for a call, to explain himself so he won't panic so much, but…

But Remy wouldn't understand. He'd be mad if Emile tried to call him from Julie's phone because of some panic attacks… and then he'd hate him, and then… and then…

Then he wouldn't have a best friend anymore…

What was India's phone number again…?

She picked up on the fourth ring. "India McGinty—"

"It's Emile," he almost sobbed the second she picked up. "I… I have a question…"

"Oh, honey, of course. What is it?"

"Do you think Remy would hate me…? My phone died and I can't get another one until next week and—"

"Emile, are you… are you crying right now?"

"No… I did before, I just…"

She sighed before clearing her throat. That's it, she hates him too—

"Do you mind if I pass you over to Jenna? She's better at this than me."

"...okay…"

"...Emile?" Jenna's voice was softer than India's somehow. She'd never raise her voice, but Emile was scared of the people who'd be there when she does once she becomes a lawyer. "Can you please explain what's going on?"

"Well… my phone died, and I can't tell Remy because he's with his mom and I don't wanna call him while he's with his mom, so I'm scared that if I don't talk to him all summer he'll hate me and then he won't talk to me anymore and I can't—"

"Let's slow down, you're only upsetting yourself. Remy is your best friend, right?"

"Yeah… I mean, I like him a bit more but, but it's not like I can just tell him that, and…"

"That's fine, we're not gonna focus on this for now. That's for another time. But he's your best friend, right?"

"Yeah, I just told you!"

"So why would he hate you for something like that? He's going to understand, I'm sure."

"I don't… know… it just feels like he might…"

"I know. This feeling fucking sucks, doesn't it?" She chuckled. Emile couldn't answer to that. He just… he couldn't. "But it's not healthy to dwell on this feeling. It might become a self-fulfilling prophecy if you fret about it so much."

"What do you mean…?"

"...have I ever told you that I was institutionalized until my second year of college?"

He couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. "No…"

"Okay. So I'll tell you now. I… how squeamish are you? I don't want to… trigger anything…"

"I don't know… I don't… I don't think I really mind much…?"

"Okay, I… I'll censor it anyway. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah."

"So when I was fourteen, I started harming myself. It's not… it was what you'd think, but not for the most part. I didn't cut really. But my parents knew, and they gave a ton of fucks and not just because they had a reputation to uphold like I thought they did back then. They just… they gave all the fucks."

"Okay… I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't apologize, you had no part in this. And you never will. I promise."

"Okay."

"Two years after I started, my parents sent me to a psych ward. At that time they thought I was depressed, it was too early to diagnose me properly, so… I've lived for three years on doses of antidepressants that didn't do a whole lot, because nobody knew. I was finally diagnosed with borderline personality disorder when I was nineteen, my medication prescription was fixed and I was let out of there when they decided I'm doing well enough to be able to live on my own again. I spent my first year of law school with a nurse attached to my hip, can you imagine?" She laughed, and Emile struggled to hold back a smile.

"Actually yeah… my sister is narcoleptic…"

"Oh shoot, sorry… didn't mean that. Anyway… back to the topic at hand, yeah? I was… infatuated, for a lack of a better word, with this guy. His name was David. I thought I was in love with him, but it turned out I idolized him to a point where he became my favorite person, and that was an incredibly toxic experience. He was like… like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted. But dialed up to eleven. He was a fucking asshole and I haven't seen him in years… he was transferred to another place after an incident that involved one of my friends, she ended up almost killing herself because of this guy. And my anxiety over being perfect for him, over making him like me and making sure that he keeps liking me, made me extremely unhealthy in the long run."

There was a pause, possibly for Emile to process. Most likely. This wasn't fair… this was totally not fair! Why did good people have to go through shitty things?

"My next favorite person after him was a girl I dated for a couple months before India." Jenna sounded kind of breathless at that, as if she was crying herself. "And… she made me talk to her. She asked me questions for clarification all the time and helped me with my anxiety, especially when I felt like this. I was tiring, but… it's the effort she put into this that counted. Emile… you gotta talk to Remy."

"But… but I can't…"

"Who said? Communication is key. I know it might be really hard, especially for you, but… call him. It's his birthday soon, right? In July?"

"Yeah…"

"Call him. Write down everything you want to tell him and tell him then. I promise it'll make your anxiety a lot easier to manage."

————

"Remy," Linda called from the living room as he was heading to bed. This was becoming ridiculous…

"I told you, I'm not talking to you for the rest of this—"

"I can't read a single word in this cursed book of yours."

"...what book?"

"This DSM thing. Remy, darling, why do you need this book? It's so difficult to understand, couldn't they have written better books about this?"

He ended up not going to bed after all, instead resorting to making himself tea and going to sit on the couch next to her.

"Mom, that's… that's the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, mom. It's existed since the fifties. This is the revised version. They can't make it simpler to understand, I don't think."

"Well, your grandma's always said that if a child can't understand what's written, it's because the writer is bad at what they're doing."

"And so have a lot of my professors, but sadly this is what we have to work with. What's so confusing anyway?"

"I was trying to read about your… your thing, the gender identity disorder thing…" she turned the book to him. The passages in this section have been highlighted the day he bought the book and he knew them by heart. Well, for the most part. "I'm sorry, but the words are just… long and confusing."

"...that's fine… it's totally fine, I can… I can simplify it for you…"

"I don't need you to simplify it for me, I know English. I just… I can't read this! Big and confusing academic paper words."

Oh fuck…

"I'm a painter, not an academic, Remy. I can't read. You know this. You've known this forever."

"I forgot you're dyslexic…"

"And what does forgetting that help you?"

"Nothing… let's… let's go over this together, okay? The sections that apply to me." He waited for Linda to nod, rather reluctantly, before putting on his own pair of reading glasses.

"So, to diagnose someone with gender identity disorder there are two criteria, identifying with the opposite gender and feeling dysphoria. In order to meet those criteria, you gotta not be intersex, which I think is pretty stupid, and also it has to affect your daily life."

"Yeah, I know that. Your shrink told us that when you were fourteen. Let's move on, okay?"

"...okay. In boys, aka trans girls, this doesn't apply to me… okay. Girls with GID, aka trans boys, display a intense negative reactions to parental expectations, blah blah blah, you never had any expectations of me so this doesn't apply…"

"No no no no no, you will read this out. No skipping."

"Okay, fine! Girls with GID display intense negative reactions to parental expectations or attempts to have them wear dresses or other feminine attire. Some may refuse to attend school or social events where such clothes may be required... They prefer boy's clothing and short hair, are often misidentified by strangers as boys, and may ask to be called a boy's name. Reminds you of something?"

"...go on."

"Their fantasy heroes, yeah no, I never had fantasy heroes…"

"You had She-Ra."

"Yeah, but she made me gay, not trans, mom. Prefer boys as playmates, contact sports… yeah, none of that either…"

"You used to play soccer as a kid. Your dad has a lot of pictures of that, you know."

"I… didn't actually know that… huh."

"You didn't learn to kick a ball from your father, though. I'll tell you that."

It took a bit of time for Remy to stop himself from giggling, deciding to sip his tea instead. It didn't work very well.

"Yeah… well… moving on, ‘they show little interest in dolls or any form of feminine dress up or role-play activity. A girl with this disorder may occasionally refuse to urinate in a sitting position. She may claim that she has or will grow a penis and may not want to grow breasts or menstruate. She may assert that she will grow up to be a man. Such girls typically reveal marked cross-gender identification in role-play, dreams and fantasies.' Does any of this sound familiar, mom? Because I don't… I don't actually know."

"Until now… yeah. All of that sounds incredibly familiar. Look, I…"

"I know what's you're gonna say, and please don't. It's fine. I know you panicked, I know you said things you didn't mean to, but… can we leave that for now? That's a bridge we're gonna deal with later. Now, adults with GID…"

They ended up staying up for far longer than either of them wanted to, but it was alright. Linda wanted to learn. Remy was willing to teach her.

They only barely made it to bed at three in the morning, the page bookmarked for tomorrow, when they'll continue reading.

#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: mental health discussion #tw: invalid/defunct definition of transgender #tw: discussion of abortion #tw: mentions of self-harm #tw: personality disorders #tw: hospitalization #tw: panic attacks #tw: rejection sensitive dysphoria #wow this is a long one

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

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Sleep teaser!

Because I can’t post the chapter yet. I swear I’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment from tumblr.

Sleep tag list (sorta): @whatwashernameagain , @broadwaytheanimatedseries , @asleepybisexual , @winglessnymph , @anony-phangirl , @ilovemygaydad , @bunny222 , @ab-artist , @sweet-and-sour-shadowling , @your-username-is-unavailable , @virgilcrofters , @violetblossem , @maybe-i-like-the-misery , @book-of-charlie , @thatsanswitch , @thatrandomautist , @thebiggestgaypirate , @marshmallow-the-panda

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #remy/sleep #sleep teasers #because i can #tw: period appropriate transphobia

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 15

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Chapter 10, Last Chapter

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

Notes (I guess): Two months. It took me two months to write this chapter. I... I’m honestly kinda surprised at myself...

Umm... I didn’t intend on writing this chapter so early, it was meant to be dragged on for a while more and has kind of a big time jump in it (for plot reasons, trust me), but I mean... the fuck with it. The world deserves some BAMF Emile, we need some cuddles, and the subject of the first... three fourths of this chapter is one that I went to friends from a discord server with and told them I’m trying to make it really subtle and one of them just went, “This isn’t subtle at all, this shit is jumping off the walls and doing somersaults in front of me.”

So I mean... let’s get this over with! Let’s let the cat halfway out of the bag and have the first Emile-centered chapter of many, many others planned.

Thanks as always go to @whatwashernameagain for KHS and for not geting super extra frustrated with all my weird questions, to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for being my guinea pig most of the time and for the original idea, and to @winglessnymph and @asleepybisexual and @anony-phangirl for sticking with me and my insane ideas from the beginning (and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you shit about this chapter, but y’all knew it was coming).

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @ilovemygaydad, @violetblossem, @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch, @thatrandomautist

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). Not as much in here, actually in this chapter it’s pretty non-existent, but this trigger warning goes in every chapter. This chapter also includes Holocaust mentions, discussion of mental health, and that’s honestly about it I think but please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

—————

Wednesday, March 19th, 2003

"Do you understand why I asked you to come here today?" Gilliam asked, clicking a pen.

Emile was frozen in his seat.

"Umm…" Emile's leg started shaking. "Is it about my last project…? I swear I really did read everything I said I—"

"Look…" Gilliam sighed. "You're a fantastic student. Really, Emile. You are one of my best students. But… I gotta say, you remind me of myself, and not in a good way."

"What do you mean…?"

"Do you mind if we went over your last test?" Emile nodded, feeling the heavy sensation in his stomach get even stronger.

"The last test I took was the implicit…"

"Your last written test," Gilliam clarified. "The one in December." He pulled out a folder labeled and decorated with a mint green marker.

‘Emile Picani - 2002/3'

"Your answers were great," Gilliam said with a sad smile as he pulled out the last test from the back of the folder. "They just didn't fit the questions. Look here, define four of the following five Gestalt Laws of Organization."

"I defined four of the following five Gestalt Laws—"

"You explained them, Emile. Define and explain are two very different instructions. I've been there too, kid. I know it's confusing." Emile wanted to vanish right then and there. It wasn't… he was trying his best! "Also, question eight, part c, why do we dream?" The doctor started underlining the question with his pen, thankfully closed. "Take one of the proposed theories and provide one way in which this may be supported."

"But… but I did—"

"Part d, take the same theory from part c and provide a way in which it might be refuted."

Well… they were going to kick him out, weren't they.

"You're a very smart kid, Emile Picani. I'll bet you so many people told you you have such potential and all that… I know it's very frustrating." Gilliam pushed Emile's glasses up, wiping his eyes from unshed tears in the process. It was… somewhat calming. "Did anyone ever suggest that you might have ADHD?"

Emile shook his head. That possibility… well, he didn't want it to be a possibility! Sure, it wasn't the end of the world if he did, but… his parents didn't have to pay for more adderall than necessary, their neighbors didn't need any more reasons to call his mom a drug addict! And… the counselor at his high school had to be right. He was stupid… wasn't he? Learning disabilities just made you stupid…

He was useless. Regardless of what his professor thought.

"Getting into university at seventeen years old is no easy fit," Gilliam kept rambling. "I remember Walter reading your essay to me—"

"Walter?"

"...oh, right! Professor Freeman." Emile's eyes darkened a bit, as if he already knew what was about to be said. Gilliam just laughed. "Yeah, he immigrated from Germany in the late forties I think… poor guy. Changed his last name and everything! Yeah… so anyway, he read your essay to me. We fought a lot of people to have you accepted! I just… I have to ask you. Have you ever had issues like that in school?"

Emile nodded.

"And not in school?"

"I… I guess, yeah… why?"

Gilliam just pulled a light purple post-it note, scribbled something on it, scribbled the same thing again after opening his pen, and handed it to the very confused Emile.

"I said it before, but this time I mean it even more than last time. Go to the psych clinic. I'll write you a referral if you find it hard to talk to them, just let me know, but in my opinion you really should get evaluated for ADHD."

As Emile got up to leave, he fiddled with the note in his hands. It was… he was…

Was he really going to do that…?

"Austria," he mumbled as he reached the door.

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Freeman is Austrian, not German. It can be confusing, I know. His family immigrated in 1947. And his last name is Landau. He never changed it, he just goes by Freeman for teaching because nobody liked the ‘Germans' post-Holocaust."

"Did he tell you that…?"

"You said he read you my essay, I thought you guessed already."

He was sure he left Gilliam baffled. But it didn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach any.

————

"I can't have it," Emile mumbled against Remy's chest, the note semi-safely in his pocket. "I don't want to!"

"Emmy, gurl, you realize you're making a huge deal out of nothing, right?" Remy laughed. "It's ADHD. It's not terminal cancer."

That made Emile cry even harder.

"No, no… Emile, it's gonna be alright. I promise. Okay? You trust me?"

"My uncle would be so disappointed," Emile whispered. "He's the reason I'm here! And… and I'm disappointing him so much!"

"You're a legacy, sweets?"

"Kinda… I guess." He sniffled. Remy felt his heart break even more, and for what? A mental disorder, a learning disability, a small neurological difference that only made him (in Remy's opinion) even more awesome? "I don't want him to… to lose his status... especially not because of me! He worked so hard to get a teaching position and I don't want to be his downfall!"

"Who's this uncle, sweetie? If you having ADHD will be his downfall he's probably not such a good—"

"Doctor Landau— Umm, Doctor Freeman. He's my mom's uncle."

Remy was… needless to say he was speechless.

"Which Freeman are we talking about, love?"

"Head of psychology, Doctor Walter Freeman."

...his name is LANDAU?!

"...so after about six months of knowing you, you finally decide to tell me that you're the great-nephew of the head of department?!" Emile giggled against Remy's chest. He couldn't believe it! "Scandalous! Preposterous! Un-be-fucking-lievable! Emile!"

"I swear that's not how I got in," Emile muttered happily. "I wrote an essay, I swear I did!"

"Okay, but still, gurl, that's not a secret! It's too big to be called a secret."

"There's no such a thing as too big a secret," Emile said in a near-perfect imitation of Freeman's accent, and then giggled again. "And besides, it wasn't a secret. You never asked!"

"My love, when I die, I want you to tell my dad that I loved him," Remy said in an overly dramatic tone, pretending to faint right there on the couch. "Give all my possessions to Leah—"

"Stop it, you drama queen!"

"Oh, I'm a queen, alright."

The conversation was interrupted by Katherine doing as Katherine does - which today meant running from her room to the kitchen, grabbing an orange and running right back, as if not to be seen - but as soon as she disappeared, Emile broke into an even bigger giggle fit.

"My aunt would be so disappointed if she knew I was crying over this," he said at last, calming down from his laughing fit. "Caroline is the harsher one of them, and… and she used to visit Evanston every couple months when my mom was in university to help her get through her degree and raise my sister. My mom had my sister really young, you know? She and my dad were nineteen, and… okay, sorry, I'm getting sidetracked…"

"Please keep talking, love," Remy told him gently, with a soft smile and a pat on the head. "I can go make you some more tea if you'd like before we continue?"

"No, that's alright! Maybe later!" The blond almost threw himself off the couch in excitement. "I actually think… I think I should talk to them about this… I mean, Caroline would almost certainly get mad at me for thinking it'll ruin his career, and Walter would help me through the whole diagnosis thing… he did the same with Julie before we knew what she had is narcolepsy, you know? So…"

"So is there really anything to be scared of?"

Emile shook his head. Remy wiped his tear-streaked cheeks with gentle fingers, fixing his glasses right after that.

"I… I'm gonna do it. Okay? I'm gonna do it."

He was so proud of himself. It was so cute.

—————

Friday, March 21st, 2003; 15:43 p.m.

"Doctor," the resident student-psychiatrist (Thelma Grinberg, an overly boring MS student Emile already knew) called as she stretched her hand to shake his uncle's hand. "That's a surprise."

"Since Emile is still a minor, I had to accompany him," he explained sharply. "Neither of his parents could come here today."

"Caroline could've come too," Emile mumbled.

"Your aunt has a busy schedule today, Emile."

"You do too…"

Thelma seemed incredibly confused, but kept going anyway. And it took her longer than was probably necessary to get through all the questions.

Emile hated people like that. (And so did his uncle.)

He was dropped off at his dorm before his uncle had to leave, and that probably spooked Remy more than it should have. The kind "Mr. Harris, nice to see you" didn't help any.

"How did it go?" Remy asked, looking almost straight at Emile.

"Quite well, I would say." The smile looked incredibly weird on the older man's face. "Call your mother for me. Tell her everything that happened today, ja?" Emile nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Emile."

"I didn't ask—"

And with a strict "I expect to see you at my office on Monday, Mr. Harris", the professor left the dorm building, leaving behind a happy blond and his flustered best friend.

"...what was that?!"

"I have to go there again a couple days before spring break for another test, and then after Passover for a TOVA," Emile explained, rather excitedly. "You know what a TOVA is, don't y—"

"It's that test where you click a button according to instructions, I know. Mueller explained it to everyone three days ago, Emmy."

"Oh right! And… and I guess that after those tests I'll know if I have anything!"

After a long moment of awkward silence, Emile tapped Remy's shoulder again. "Care to come over for the holidays? You didn't for Hanukkah and now my parents really want you to! I mean… I do too, but my parents haven't really met you yet and they think you're pretty cool and—"

"Sure, I'll come."

Emile had to do a bit of a double take. "Seriously? Remy, I don't think you understand what you're signing up for here, it's all my cousins from three different countries, most of them don't speak English, my grandparents, uncle Walter and aunt Caroline, maybe even mom's cousins if they'd be so grateful as to—"

"No, I get it, sweetie. I have, like, twenty cousins on Linda's side alone, more or less. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Remy may have known before that he'll do anything to see Emile smile, but… he's never realized it until now. Probably? Maybe? But as Emile started bouncing happily and jumped in to hug him, Remy finally accepted the reality.

Coming over to Emile's during spring break was no trouble, but… in the long run, he would do anything to see him smile.

—————

Wednesday, April 16th, 2003

This was… definitely not spring break anymore. Remy was pretty sure that the higher ups in administration would rip him a new nonexistent one when they found out why he took a week's vacation in the middle of the spring semester…

Then again, so did a lot of the other students, and some of the staff. So maybe he was exaggerating…?

Eh. Finals start the week after that and end in May. He can allow himself a week off.

And yet he still had no idea how he ended up like this, watching Prince of Egypt with his best friend and said friend's three-year old niece at nine in the morning, as said friend's mom was overworking herself in the kitchen trying to make space and food for over thirty people…

Oh, and there was a dog too. She was currently playing with a squeaky toy, but she was there.

He only processed that this is the situation he's in once Emile started trying to get his niece singing. He had no idea what was going on on screen, but… something was.

"Mom, where's everyone?" Emile called to the kitchen after failing - for the hundredth time - to engage Analiese.

"Where could everyone possibly be, Emile?"

"Walter and Caroline are in town for the things you forgot to buy, grandma and grandpa are probably at their connection…" he started mumbling, counting on his fingers in an odd fashion. "I don't know!"

"You just said so yourself," Remy laughed quietly, grabbing Emile's hands gently. "Let's go over this again. Walter and Caroline are in town, your grandparents are at their connection…"

"Yeah, I know that," he groaned, slightly frustrated. "I just… everyone… here. That's what… that's what I'm confused about. Where's everyone here."

"...where everyone is seated?" Emile nodded. "Oh gurl… do you wanna make place holders, organize the seating, do you want to…"

"I just want to make sure nobody wants to sit on both my sides. One is okay, but you have to sit on my other side and I'm worried about that."

Oh…

"Well, we're gonna make sure that nobody takes my seat, okay?" Remy asked, kissing Emile's cheek afterwards.

"I sit with Emile!" Analiese declared, her attention now directed at the boys. Emile started laughing and leaned over to pinch her chubby cheek.

"We will read together, and sing together, and if mom complains we're gonna tell her off, right Ana?"

The toddler nodded, extremely determined, and Remy felt his heart melt all over again.

This was too good to be true, and not even seeing his most feared professor walk through the door and sit down next to them in the living room could shake this feeling. For once, Remy wasn't scared of this man. Through some odd change of fate, or something like that.

"So this is your first time doing such a thing?" Doctor La— Doctor Freeman asked, smiling gently as Analiese bounced in his lap and rambled about everything she's done this week. "Participating in Passover?"

"Yes, sir."

"He's my uncle now, not our professor," Emile laughed, squeezing Remy's hand. "You don't have to be so scared of him."

It didn't work as instantly as he wanted it to, but as the night went on, Remy actually… found that he wasn't that scared of him anymore.

As he said, this was too good to be true. And nothing could ever seem to be able to shake this good feeling.

#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: holocaust mention #tw: mental health discussion

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

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Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 12

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

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

Notes (I guess): Thanks a lot to @ilovemygaydad for updating y’all about my wifi situation, the wifi works semi-well now, and... well...

WRITING THIS CHAPTER WAS HELL AND A HALF AND IM SO GLAD ITS FINALLY FINISHED.

Ahem. Excuse me. I have a couple of very important things to say, though.

If any of you haven't read the latest chapter of Keep Him Safe, which is right here, please go do so. I read it the moment it was posted and... I was at dinner with my family, so I had to hold in my squealing... to be perfectly honest with y'all, I already knew what was going to happen in that chapter since I started writing chapter three, I think...? So I have known about this for a very long time, but it still made me super happy to see it actually happen in writing. So... go read KHS, y'all. You really should. It's awesome.

(Quick update: I checked my screenshots and... yeah, I've known about that since July, which is when I started writing this fic. Again, I've known about what happened in sleep for six months, and surprisingly didn't spoil almost any of it to anyone around me. I deserve a fucking prize.)

To anyone who just came over from Eva's shameless plugging of me - hello, nice to have you here. In this fucked up piece of angst we discuss queer history as well as Remy's personal history, or - as I said to myself while reading and re-reading what Eva has to say about this fic - "well, this story is as much about queer history as it is about Remy, where he came from, where he's going, where he came from cotton eye joey'n". And to anyone who's a regular reader, I'm so glad you're sticking around to read this... this thing. It's become a monster in my head, I can promise you that much.

As always, thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original idea, to @whatwashernameagain for the original fic (can you believe it’s been six months since we came up with chapter 23?), to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph for the help wherever needed, and a special one to Morgan - again - for helping me get the word out. All of those people are my shining stars and I love them so much.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemygaydad (thanks again, kiddo!), @violetblossem. @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch

(Wanna be tagged? Just lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter discusses rape again, this time in a bit more detail (nothing graphic, it’ll never be graphic, I promise), and includes a... panic attack of sorts. Be warned.

—————

January 24th, 2003

Emile's smile faltered.

"...so what if I got raped?" He muttered, putting down the stack of chairs he was holding. "What's done is done. They had their fun—"

"They…?" India tilted her head. Oh shoot… "There was more than one person?"

"More like three… what? Why are you looking at me like—"

The stack India was holding fell to the floor.

"Did you tell anyone?" Emile stared at the floor. Maybe she'll go away if he doesn't cooperate. "Emile! Did you tell anyone?"

"I told the doctors…" Emile's voice faltered. "What's going on?"

"I'm surprised you're even alive right now!" India's pacing was… terrifying. For some reason… she suddenly just… turned so scary. "Mixing date rape drugs with alcohol, which is what I'm assuming happened to you, is so dangerous! And I'm only assuming that's what happened because I heard from Remy that they found GHB traces—"

"I'm not proud," Emile managed to stutter. "Of… all this. I just… I can drink, okay? I made some mistakes in the past—"

"You're seventeen!"

"I made some mistakes in the past, and… this one makes me feel like all those mistakes have been trying to tell me that I shouldn't exist…"

"No… no, peach, please." He already started crying by the time she stepped in to hug him. "I get that. I really do. Sometimes I think about how much better my life might've been if I pretended like I'm 'cured' of being transgender after conversion. My cousin wouldn't have done what she did, that's the biggest plus. But… I wouldn't have come here. I wouldn't have started on my way to become a statistics analyst. I wouldn't have met Jenna. I would probably be living a sad, closeted life back home, and that isn't such a nice thing."

"You were too…?"

"I was too, yeah… as victims, we gotta stick to each other."

The wet spots on India's sweater were getting larger by the second. But she didn't mind it.

"Like I was told when I was sixteen," she said, much quieter than before. "Nobody is going to believe a man who says he was raped. We gotta stick together, whether we like it or not."

——

"Hey, isn't that that friend of yours?" Remy heard behind him about two minutes before the meeting started.

Oh, good.

"Hey, didn't you deliberately choose to forget that I live in the other side of the US from you because you wanted to be a little fuck?" Remy asked back, looking at Chris turn redder than a tomato.

"I swear to god, I had no idea!"

"Suck it and your excuses, Mendez."

"Hey, hey… come on, Remy. Won't you at least let me make it up to you?"

Remy couldn't stay angry… well, he could. But not as angry. It was a stupid reason, too…

"I will." Chris beamed at him. "But it'll take a very long time."

"...you have a week."

"I won't let you down," Chris said with the same wide, obnoxious grin, quickly kissing Remy's cheek and taking a seat.

Fuck him and his obnoxious self.

On the third of January, Remy and Emile sat down on the hotel bed in what was probably the fanciest hotel Remy's ever been to (though he never really visited any hotels in his life, no time or money for that). They were listening to Gustav Holst's The Planets as Emile performed a one-man dramatic reading of No Exit, and Remy couldn't feel more at peace.

This situation right here - all the people, all the tension, Chris right there a few steps away from him - was the exact opposite.

"Do you want me to leave?" A quiet voice said and Remy felt himself being squeezed so tight, he was sure his ribs would crack. Emile. "I can leave if you—"

"Come on, sit next to me," Remy said as quietly and took a rather far seat from Chris. Serves him right.

"Happy Friday, everyone," India opened the meeting. "I see that we got some new people after the break, so we're going to do another name round. Who wants to start?"

Emile raised his hand almost immediately.

"I'm Emile, I'm— do we mention our major?"

"If you want to."

"I'm Emile, I'm a psychology major, and I'm probably gay. Or asexual. I just… don't really know if I'm more gay or asexual yet."

——

Monday, January 27th

"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect," Emile hummed to himself as he skipped behind Remy back to their building after a particularly entertaining sols 20 class. "Because I'm used to relying on intellect, but I try to open up to what I don't know, because reason says I should've died three years ago…"

"Em, stop it," Remy half-laughed. "I get it, you're still thinking about Rent."

"It was such a good show!" Emile whined - well, sort of. "Jai Rodriguez was really good!"

"I met Idina Menzel through this," Remy said with another chuckle. "She's nice… kind of a diva, if you ask me."

"So… like you?"

"What do you mean, like me?"

"Nice, but kind of a diva." Emile nudged him. "I'll bet you she's totally selfless and sweet but acts like she doesn't care about anything in the world—"

"No, actually… she isn't." Remy sighed. The memories were foggy - it was over eight years ago - but… "Dad is working on some project with her again. Her and Kristin Chenoweth…"

"Kristin?" Emile shrieked. "Good golly, I love her! She's so sweet and talented!"

"I'm really not supposed to tell you anything," Remy laughed, and then stopped.

A figure made him freeze at his doorstep. A small, shaking figure, with braided brown hair and an ill-fitting, black, puffy coat.

Leah was rapidly knocking on Remy's suite door.

——

"Why did you think it was a good idea to come here?" Remy asked, careful not to scream. Leah sat in the living room, her hair dripping wet from the shower he made her take, wrapped up in the clothes she brought with her in her lime green schoolbag. She was waiting on her hot chocolate.

"I wanted to."

"How did you even get a bus ticket? You're seven!"

"I took money from mom and went to the bus station!" Leah huffed. "I know where the buses are, and I know how to—"

"I didn't say you don't know, Leah Mae," Remy chastised, putting the cup of hot chocolate on the table quite forcefully. "But you're seven years old! This was incredibly dangerous of you—"

"I don't wanna live at home anymore!" Leah screamed. "Mom was mean all of Christmas, and Lizzie wasn't being nice when we went back to school, she didn't want me to be her friend anymore, and Rachel was annoying—"

"Sweetie, they're going to think I kidnapped you!" Leah was taken aback. Remy was worried to the point of terrifying. "They're going to think I kidnapped you, Leah. It won't end well!"

"I didn't think…" the tears started coming out. Oh shit… "I didn't mean it! I just… I don't like being home! Don't be mad at me!"

"Oh, baby, no, I'm not mad at you!" Remy was quick to take her in for a hug. His poor baby sister… "I'm just worried, Leah. Extremely worried. Never do such a thing ever again, okay?" She nodded in his arms. "There's nothing we can do about this now, but—"

The door opened with a bang, and "I brought the bunnies!"

Leah immediately perked up. Mycroft tried to hop straight into her lap the moment he was close enough, since he already knew her and was very worried for the tiny human, but Lestrade took his time getting to know her. She was new, and he didn't know her yet, and what if she wasn't going to be nice?

"Leah, this is Lestrade," Emile said with a huge smile, closing the door and coming to cuddle them all - Remy included. "He's Mycroft's brother, and I adopted him after Christmas!"

"But you don't celebrate Christmas."

"No I don't, but you do." He booped her nose, making her giggle. "Lestrade is a nice boy. Give him a bit, he'll jump into your lap in no time."

As Leah entertained herself, playing with the bunnies and telling them stories, Remy pulled Emile to the side.

"She ran away from home!"

"I heard that when you asked me to go get the bunnies, Remy."

"She's seven years old! What do I do with a seven-year old runaway? Is it even a thing? A seven-year old runaway?"

Emile kisses Remy's cheek quicker than he could process it happening. "It's going to be fine. Call Linda, let her know that Leah is here—"

"Leah asked me not to tell anyone she's here," Remy sighed, rubbing his face in frustration.

"I understand, but… Linda is still your mom. Leah is still seven years old. She needs to go home, whether you like it or not." When Remy still seemed like he's having trouble processing it, Emile pulled him into a hug. "Do you want me to talk to her about it for you?"

Remy could only say a very weak "yes please" before Emile went back to the couch, to talk to Leah.

He was jittering. He was angry, and scared, and disappointed, and proud, and he felt everything so intensely and was so shocked and confused that he couldn't name it. He barely turned eighteen last July, he didn't even know how to drive yet, and he was absolutely, most definitely, going to be in trouble for this seven-year old child showing up at his door after running away from home.

He wasn't going to call Linda. But he couldn't keep Leah over. And he didn't know shit about raising children, for the period of time he was going to have Leah over, until he figures out what to do. Remy wanted to scream, how much he wanted to. But he couldn't.

So he did the next best thing he could do. He dropped to the floor and started crying.

He was too tired, physically and emotionally, to pick himself back up at that particular moment.

#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: rape mention #tw: rape discussion #tw: panic attack #tw: emotional overwhelm

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - prologue

Also known as: the Remy-centric KHS prequel

(Trigger warning: this fic will include quite a bit of transphobia. Transgender rights in the US were quite... interesting, to say the least, until 2010.)

—

The University of Michigan was the most boring place Rebecca ever went to. Then again, it wasn’t like it was her fault. She didn’t want to be here. It wasn’t her idea at all. That program she was in in Columbia basically just signed her up to this stupid summer camp thingy after talking to her parents, without asking her anything about it. And how fair is that, huh, Columbia?

Not. Fun. (Also not funny, for that matter.)

It wasn’t even a camp. It was like summer school for geniuses. And there was a reason geniuses did not need summer school.

That. Was. Preposterous. There was no point in motherfucking hell in sending him to summer school, in Michigan of all places, when he was already—

Yeah, okay. Maybe he overreacted just a tad bit.

However, there were some positives. Michigan wasn’t that bad (surprisingly), the girls she was rooming with were hilarious (especially that Sammy girl who carried her ukulele around), the classes were kinda sorta interesting… sorta...

The highlight of camp, though, was this one boy. His name was Logan. He was a teensy bit older, slightly taller, wore glasses and was a massive frigging nerd.

And she liked him. (A bushel and a peck.)

On the first day of camp “activities”, which basically just meant going to class without actually being at school (complete nonsense, in her opinion), they were asked to say their name, their age, and what they want to do when they grow up.

“I’m Sammy, I’m thirteen and I want to be a writer.”

“I’m Evan, I’m twelve and I want to be a doctor.”

It just went on like that for a bit. When it was her turn, she suddenly felt sick. It wasn’t a new feeling, this… sickness. It’s been there forever.

And he had no idea why.

“I’m Becca, y’all, I’m twelve and a half, and I wanna be a psychiatrist.”

Rebecca hated introducing herself to people.

“I’m Logan,” said the kid next to her. “I’m thirteen, and I want to be a cop.”

——

“Logan!” It was the fifth time that day that Rebecca looked for her only friend at “camp”.

“I was trying to read.”

“I don’t care, lovely, we gonna talk and you’re gonna participate. Ain’t no time for your book, darling.”

Once the book was closed and put down, once Logan fixed his glasses, it was time to embarrass herself in front of the person she considered to be her only friend here.

“Lolo, my sweetheart, my lovely, my precious little angel, i have something very important to tell you. I’m gay.”

He did not look shocked in the least.

“You gon’ say anything, sweetie?”

“...you’re gay. Like… like Ellen?”

“Oh, no! I like boys way too much, darling.”

That was when he got shocked. “But… aren’t you gay?”

“Yes, Logan. I’m gay.”

“...okay, I guess.”

——

There was no point to making “friendship bracelets” or any of that. Once the program was over, it was over. Rebecca turned thirteen and went back to school, but other than that, nothing really changed. Her mother still watched Friends like her life depended on it, her dad was still trying to learn to cook more than scrambled eggs. The program in Columbia still focused more on utter nonsense than on actual psychology. Nothing changed.

Not even the sick feeling she felt every time she introduced herself.

Only ‘herself’ didn’t feel right anymore. It never did, not really. It’s what made him sick. So why did she— he? Why did he keep doing this?

“Mom, I need to talk to you…”

Her - his? - mom was watching Friends when she (he? Maybe he should try he instead of she) got home from school. She always did, ever since that show first aired. It was a disaster.

His mom was a disaster.

“What’s going on, sweetie?”

“I’m gay.”

Why did she look so concerned? It wasn’t like he didn’t make it clear. Obviously he liked boys. It wasn’t like it wasn’t the most obvious fucking thing ever.

Right?

“Becca, are you okay?”

“Well, yeah…”

“But… you know what? We’ll talk about this with your dad later.”

And then they did. His dad was… to say the least, probably even more confused than his mom.

“But you don’t like girls, Rebecca! At least not… that way!”

“Well, maybe I’m not a girl! Ever thought that was an option?” He let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “This is ridiculous! My own parents refuse to believe me! What have I done to deserve this?”

And then - and then - everything turned silent. His mother looked at him like a deer in headlights, and his father… he almost cried.

Maybe… maybe it was a tad bit too soon.

And then his mom spoke.

“Go to your room, Rebecca.”

“But—“

“Go to your room!”

Regardless, he listened. He could always hear it when his parents were screaming. There was no pretending otherwise. And they screamed a lot.

“What are we doing wrong with her? What did we do wrong with her? Are we being too harsh? Are we—“

“She needs our help! He needs our help! We need to be there and—“

“I did not give birth to a—“

Among all the shouting, though, he heard something rather nice.

“She needs to see a psychiatrist, Linda! He needs to see a psychiatrist!”

——

Rebecca Harris was born four years after the term “gender identity disorder” became the official classification for trans people by the APA.

It took about fourteen years for him to change his name to Remy.

And four years after that for his life to fully change as well.

——

September 2002

“Why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves?”

Just like summer school.

“I’m Kelsey and I’m bisexual.”

“I’m Tessa and I’m a lesbian.”

It went on like that for a bit. Some elaborated beyond that, some didn’t really give that much of a fuck. And then it got to him.

He no longer felt sick introducing himself.

“I’m Remy, I’m gay as fuck, and my doctor won’t let me start transitioning to male until I’m twenty-five.”

—————

(Credit to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for hearing about my insane hc and going “YOU SHOULD WRITE A KHS PREQUEL ABOUT REMY IN COLLEGE”, and thanks to @whatwashernameagain for letting me write this and being adorable in general!)

This story should be... interesting. To say the least. (The 00s were an interesting time to be trans.)

@royallyanxious @em-be-lievable @madly-handsome @hanramz-the-fander @poisonedapples @the-incedible-sulk @virge-of-a-breakdown @anony-phangirl @supremestoverlord @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @adoratato

(If any of you could tag the rest of the fanclub it would be amazing! I love y’all so much!!)

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #im gonna have fun with this #tw: period appropriate transphobia

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 10

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

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

Notes (I guess): It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for! Well... I hope so...

Yeah, it took me a month to get this chapter on the road, but... I can’t really be blamed. Well, I can, but let’s be fair, I’m in India right now, I have almost no wifi and I’m mostly relying on data (I ran out of data while writing this and now have to wait forty minutes to get data again... oops...), I managed to get The Schmuel Song from The Last Five Years stuck in my head out of boredom, and really I planned to update much earlier but sometimes... chapters get stuck.

I’m sorry I’m updating this late... I hope the fact that this is the longest chapter yet A N D that something y’all have been waiting for is going to happen will make it up!

As always, all the thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original idea, to @whatwashernameagain for her original story and for being such a sweetheart, and to @winglessnymph, @asleepybisexual and @anony-phangirl for all their help, even if it’s just listening to my ideas and giving feedback (you’re all wonderful and I love you so much!)

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemyspoopydad, @violetblossem, @maybe-i-like-the-misery

(Wanna be tagged? Just lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter is a bit lighter, but keep this in mind.

—————

Saturday, December 21st, 2002

Christmas at the Harris shoebox was never that festive to begin with.

There was always some sort of rush hour-type boost in sales on and off-Broadway, or at least that's how David explained it to Remy when he was younger, so he would only really be home if he only had matinees or if, God forbid, Christmas (either eve or day) fell on a Monday. And Remy was always busy with school, at first with his program in Columbia and then his project at Bronx Science and now…

Well, now was no different. Christmas Eve was going to be on a Tuesday, next Tuesday to be exact, and Remy was too busy reading ahead in his psychology books.

India dropped him off in Manhattan on her way to Johns Hopkins. They got out a day early to go from Boston to Manhattan - Remy didn't have exams that day anyway - and stayed over at Remy's overnight before the second half of the ride. "They", of course, also included India's girlfriend Jenna, who was the one driving. She was a wonderful human being and Remy honestly couldn't believe he never met her before. It felt like they knew each other for ages! (David wasn't happy when two twenty-something year olds crashed on his couch that Sunday night, without warning, but Remy told him they're leaving first thing in the morning. He still wasn't very happy at that, but maybe going with it was the best option here.)

"You know who I ran into on my lunch break today?" Remy raised his head and took off his reading glasses (he was starting to need glasses for more than reading…) to look at his father, who - at eleven forty-five at night - finally got home from tonight's show. "Come on, ask."

"Who did you run into on your lunch break, dad?"

"Do you remember Michelle Tan?"

Of course Remy remembered Michelle Tan. She took chemistry and engineering and always looked down on him as if learning psychology made him less than her. Not to mention that when he showed up to graduation with short hair - his first step towards socially transitioning, really - she kept saying the nastiest things to him about how inappropriate it was.

"What about her?"

"Nothing, she just asked how you're doing." David threw himself on the couch next to Remy, taking off his shoes and opening his shirt in the process. "I said that you're doing alright and that your degree was going okay."

"Oh. Okay."

"...that's all you're going to say? Oh okay?" Remy pulled his shoulders. What else was there to say, really? "Thought you'd be a bit happier that—"

"Dad, Michelle Tan is the one who came to me after graduation and told me that short hair is undignified and that just because I think it makes me more of a boy doesn't mean that I am. Do you really think I'd be that excited about you running into her on your lunch?"

"I didn't know. I had no idea."

"It's okay."

David was working on a new show by Tony Kushner. He promised Remy that he's not going to spoil anything to anyone this time (though let's be honest, he said that about Dancing At Lughnasa in 1991, and Rent in 1996, and…). He stayed out late for the workshop, and barely had any time to care for himself. He never did whenever a new show started.

Remy could forgive him for forgetting stuff.

However, this neglect was absolutely and utterly unacceptable.

"Can you take a day off tomorrow? I mean, it's just the workshop, I doubt Eliza would mind it if you didn't come." David hummed in agreement. "So it's decided. Tell Eliza you're not coming tomorrow. We're gonna, like… do absolutely nothing tomorrow. We'll go somewhere fancy, like that diner on—"

"Since when are pancakes fancy to you, Remy?"

"Since I don't get to eat them anymore because I don't have time and I'm not using boxed mixes, thank you very much!"

"We can go to Hard Rock Cafe."

"Dad, Hard Rock isn't fancy. Sorry to disappoint. I just want to go to Times Square, to be honest…"

And then he turned on the TV and put a recorded episode of South Park. And Remy gave up. He went back to his book, to remember the teacher who made them read Oedipus Rex in English class, to get pissed at Freud who said that all men secretly want to fuck their mothers and called it the Oedipus complex without even knowing (probably) that Oedipus didn't want to fuck his mother but the moment he found that out he stabbed his own eyes out and exiled himself, accompanied by his children, which prompted the start of Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone.

Remy always felt bad for Antigone. But that was a personal issue.

——

"Remy? Remy! Hey, Remy, I'm here, and you're here, and—"

These sort of calls have been going on since about five minutes after David paid for their lunch and he and Remy started making their way to the subway back home. They started right around the… Martin Beck theatre? Yeah, around there. Remy was kind of scared to turn around and look who that is, until his dad told him to, so he did.

Emile was dragging his older sister and her dog behind him and he was getting really close.

"I didn't know you'll be here right now!" Emile's face was flushed, hidden under the hood of his fluffy mustard yellow coat. His glasses were covered in raindrops and all fogged up.

He looked absolutely adorable.

"Sweetie, what are you doing here?" At the hurt face, Remy quickly added "I'm just curious, that's all. Did you bring Mycroft too?"

"Well… no, I didn't. Mycroft stayed home. I can't bring him on holiday vacations. Our neighbors are looking after him, though! They're very nice and they're technically his grandparents! Well, kinda. I got him from a litter their bunnies had. It's a long story. And we were at the Man of La Mancha matinee just now! Julie and I have tickets to The Lion King at seven, and my parents are going to The Full Monty. It's a holiday tradition!"

Well then… hmm…

"Oh, you haven't met my dad yet!" Emile almost started jumping. "You have to—"

Someone tapped on Remy's shoulder. "I thought we're going home, not talking to cute boys on the street?" David asked jokingly.

"Hello, sir! I'm—"

"That's Emile, Dad. He's a friend. I told you about him. And his sister Juliana."

"But she's buying books so we're going to wait for her!" The tiny blond said oh so excitedly. He could never not get excited, it seemed. Remy loved that about him.

"What did you say her name was?" At David's raised eyebrow, Emile started jumping even more.

"Juliana! Yoo-li-a-na. It's Dutch, not English. She's named after our great-grandmother who died in Auschwitz. It's a really sad story, if I do say so myself—"

"Munchkin, we gotta go." The aforementioned woman who just got out of the bookstore grabbed Emile's hand and gave it a short squeeze. Her accent was even harsher than Emile's, but… Remy couldn't complain. He heard her speak before. He met her before. "Remmington, nice to see you again."

"You too, Julie. And Ladybug." At the sound of her name, the dog started wagging her tail quite happily. Remy never got to see her off-duty, but he assumed that this was the closest he'll ever get to.

"Mom and Dad are waiting. You coming or what?"

As the three went away, Emile waving goodbye quite enthusiastically and lending his sister a shoulder to lean on (Remy only recently found out why he did), Remy struggled to find the words to explain to his dad what just happened.

Thankfully, he didn't ask. Instead, David said "so that's your boyfriend, huh?", took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the subway. They still had to get home today.

——

Monday, December 23rd

"So we're staying here until… I think the fifth," Emile rambled on the phone. Sure, it was eleven thirty already, but… free minutes were more important than proper sleep schedules. Not that either of them had any of those. "After that were going to Missouri, my dad is taking me to Glore, you know—"

"I have no idea what Glore is.”

"It's a psychiatric museum. And after that we're going to California! To Disneyland, and then the murder museum."

Emile kept rambling about his plans, and he was so loud, Remy could hear his dad tell him to quiet down a couple of times. He was just so excited, and it was always so endearing…

"So what I'm trying to say is," Emile rambled away. "Would you like to hang out sometime? We could go see a musical! Like, umm… Rent! We can go see Rent! I haven't seen the new cast yet… I heard that Jai Rodriguez is awesome though!"

"I don't know… I can't really afford that—"

"Nonsense! What do you have me for if not for this sort of thing?"

"Remy, either you hang up now and go to sleep so you can deal with your grandparents tomorrow," David grunted from the couch, where he tried to sleep, "or I do it for you."

"Alright, boo, how about the twenty-seventh?"

"Sounds good to me!"

"Okay. Good night, Em."

"Good night!"

Remy didn't tell Emile that he actually saw Rent off-Broadway before. And… didn't exactly like it. Maureen, the only bisexual, was presented as promiscuous and very selfish (though that might've just been her personality, he had no idea, Jonathan Larson died before he could ask him) and Angel, the only character he ever truly identified with - a gay, genderqueer drummer who is HIV+ - is really the only main character to die, leaving the most wonderful and wholesome relationship in the show broken and sad and with a bad ending, while the horribly dysfunctional Roger and Mimi - both also HIV+ - got to have a happy ending.

And really, what type of bullshit was that? Gays have already been so villainized in the media, Remy did not need another one.

But he'd go. Just to be with his best friend. He really wanted to.

"Are you ready for the ride to Jersey?" David asked jokingly. Neither of them was ever truly ready for the six-hour (at best) long ride on the interstate to Red Bank. David's parents were, to say the least, terribly nosy and had no tact. Adding to that the fact that his cousin Gilbert (his aunt and her husband had a terrible taste in names, Remy decided rather early in life) wasn't going to come home for Christmas from his boarding school in Nova Scotia, also known as the only sensible member of the family with whom Remy could actually hold a conversation would not be home for Christmas…

This holiday was going to be a disaster.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

——

Tuesday, December 31st, 2002; 9:54 p.m.

Christmas was horrible. But Emile made it better.

This was how Remy described the holiday on his call to India on the thirty-first.

"What I mean is… you know the feeling when your family is just so bigoted and— yeah, okay, I'm sure you know that feeling." India laughed on the other side of the phone. It made him feel… strangely better. "So, like… my family are horrible, okay. My grandparents are, like, the worst. My grandma can't stop sticking her nose in everyone's business, and like, usually it's fine, it's not that bad, but last week my cousin wasn't home so she had more criticism to give to everyone else so she chose to pick on my sexuality, and like—"

"Pick on your sexuality?"

"She literally said ‘why can't you just be who you were when you were sixteen, you may not carry the family name but you will continue the bloodline'—"

"What twisted mind would say something like that?"

"My grandma, sweetie. This is my grandma."

India actually laughed at that. Remy could hear confused sounds from the other side, which he assumed belonged to that Jackson kid she talked about a couple weeks ago.

"Is she also the type of person who would say that Jenna is a nursing student because she's black and a woman?"

"I wouldn't put it past her to act like Professor McKenna. But anyway. So that's my grandma, and my grandpa is… he's deaf and senile. You can imagine what that's like."

India hummed. "Sounds like a fun holiday."

"Well, after coming back Emile and I went to see Rent. I still hate that musical but it was fun to watch it with him. And my boyfriend only called once like, three days ago. And I mean, rude much?"

"I'll bet. I got to talk to my psychiatrist, and… guess what."

"I'm scared of guessing."

"I'm gonna get my first doses of blockers and estrogen real soon, if everything goes right." Remy tried to avoid the tightness in his chest. "I know, I know… you've been waiting for this too."

"Is it weird that I can't wait to get mine but I'm still scared of when you'll get yours?"

"No, absolutely not. I totally understand. We all have a fear of change, peach. Some of us more than others. But it's going to be such gradual change that you won't even think of it, okay? It's exactly how I explained it to Jackson. Even when I get top surgery, which will probably be the most dramatic change, it's not going to be such a big shock. I promise."

India had to end the call rather quick after that. Apparently some doctor needed to talk to her about some stuff, and he could hear her grit her teeth before saying her goodbyes - the doctor called her "Mr. McGinty" - so it must not have been good.

He had a… sort of date, with Emile, at Times Square later. His sister was going to this bar in Greenwich right after the ball drop, so until then, she said she'd chaperone - as if they needed one. But Nathalie had some rules and stuff so they had to have her around, or else.

Whatever that else would be.

"Dad, I'm going out!" A hum of agreement came from his dad's room. Okay then…

Remy got his bag and his phone, sent a quick text to Chris wishing him a happy new year - he probably wasn't going to see it until Remy pointed it out to him when they got back to Boston - and left.

(He probably should check on his dad, but he was going to be alright. Two and a half years sober now, and he had his cartoons. He was going to be okay.)

——

11:57:11 12 13 14... p.m.

"I'm cold!"

"You're from Minnesota, Emile."

"I don't see your point."

Emile was wrapped in his own yellow coat and Remy's black coat (well, one of his three black coats; this particular one he got on a trip to Disneyland when his dad worked on the national tour of some musical, he already forgot) and was still freezing. How in the…

"Do you want to go to Starbucks and get a hot chocolate?"

"Is Starbucks even open at this hour?"

"There's one on fifteen hundred. It's open twenty-four hours."

"...okay, fine." Remy offered his hand and Emile quickly wrapped his arm around Remy's, allowing him to lead the way.

1500 Broadway wasn't the closest to the ball, but Remy was sure that they could make it there and back.

Maybe it was a bit of wishful thinking, but he was going to be an optimist this time.

11:58:28 29 30 31… p.m.

"We never told Juliana that we're going," Emile muttered through chittering teeth. "My mom is going to be so mad—"

"Emile, babe, calm down. We're almost there."

The huge building was already in their line of sight, and Remy couldn't feel happier. He could totally use a latte right about now, and Emile obviously needed a hot chocolate and a cookie. The poor thing was seconds away from becoming a human icicle.

He didn't want to be responsible for his best friend suffering from hypothermia, after all.

"You see that huge building over there?" Remy couldn't make out if Emile was nodding under all his layers or what.

"What about it?"

"We're gonna go to Starbucks in there, okay?"

"You're an addict, you know that?"

Remy didn't listen. So he liked his Starbucks, so what.

He dragged Emile behind him.

11:59:38 39 40 41… p.m.

The line was moving awfully slow for some reason. Remy had no fucking idea why so many people were at Starbucks so close to the ball drop…

Well, he was being a bit of a hypocrite.

"Can we get something to eat too?" Emile whispered to him, standing on his toes. The black coat from Disneyland was back in Remy's possession. The building was warm enough.

"Sure, why not?"

"Thanks, sweetie!"

Sweetie. Holy shit

"Schmuel would work till half past ten at his tailor shop in Klimovich," Emile sang to himself. Remy remembered that song very well. Norbert Leo Butz had a very… interesting way of singing it.

Then again, he never heard anyone else sing it.

He would ask Emile where he heard that song later.

"Forty-one years had come and gone at his tailor shop in Klimovich—"

"Ten, nine, eight…" oh crap.

Remy grabbed Emile's shoulder, shutting him up momentarily. It took just a couple of moments for either of them to fully realize what was going on before—

They kissed.

If there were fireworks they were blinded by the fluorescent lights and deafened by the loud cheers all around them, but they still kissed.

Kissing his blond was very different from kissing his boyfriend. Not that it felt wrong or anything, just... different. Nothing forced, nothing too overpowering. It was lovely, and sweet, and Emile was as soft as always. Nothing felt wrong there.

Not even the little voice that said that Chris won't like it. He wasn't there. He didn't need to know.

And so, they kissed.

——

Wednesday, January 1st, 2003

00:17 a.m.

"You saw The Last Five Years?" Remy asked, a cup of latte warming his rather freezing hands as he walked Emile back to his hotel (Juliana left them to go to a party in Greenwich Village).

"I didn't go to school for anything but my exams from mid-April. I saw that musical so many times, I kinda lost count."

"Oh, okay. Cool."

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #remile...? remile #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #tw: period appropriate transphobia

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 6

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Last Chapter

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

Notes (I guess): I started writing this chapter while writing chapter five and I was expecting to have fun with it, and I did, and it has a new OC in it. One that I’ve been talking about through this entire fic basically. One I’m terribly in love with and would start a fire for. So... I’m sorry if it seems like you have to keep up with all those OCs, but it really isn’t. It’s mostly just India, and this gal in this here chapter.

I apologize in advance. (Also Remy’s dad’s phone number starts with 212, which if anyone didn’t know is the Manhattan area code. Just pointing that out.)

As usual, thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original thirty second long recording of them rambling about this idea, to @whatwashernameagain for Keep Him Safe and just for being pure and sweet as she is, and for @anony-phangirl , @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph for dealing with my insanity and random bouts of ideas.

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

(If you want to be tagged or removed, please let me know! Preferably via notes/reblogs, I have bad memory, but… you do you.)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter also discusses forms of child abuse and drug use.

—————

Emile was sent to the hospital the moment they explained the situation to the doctor on campus and was released from the ER a couple of days later. It was the very day Remy made the worst decision of his life. He missed some classes, Remy was glad to fill him up on those, and his mother had to fly in from Minnesota to look after him for the time he was there.

(Nathalie Picani was an incredibly nice woman, Remy decided within five seconds of meeting her. And he was yet to be proven wrong.)

But on the day Emile was released, Remy finally did it. He did the one thing he said he'd never do.

On that one fateful night in early November, Remy Harris agreed to babysit for Linda and Stephen Hollander. The victim? Remy. And also Leah.

"Would you please tell me who Leah is?" India asked him after a group meeting.

"Linda's daughter." Remy couldn't stop shaking. "She's six. Almost seven. And I don't want to babysit her."

"You're making a much bigger deal out of this than it really is and it's driving you crazy. It's a six year old. What's the worst that could possibly happen?"

But then, a couple hours later, Linda dropped the demon child off at Weld Hall - Remy wasn't a fan of her knowing where he stayed, thank you very much - and left. Well, then.

"You don't look like a Rebecca," the demon child muttered when she first saw Remy. And he was thankful. Both for the child having the sense to not imagine him as a Rebecca, and for the fact that it was nearing winter and he could start wearing baggier clothes, meaning he didn't have to bind.

(His back and boobs were going to thank him for it for the next six months, give or take.)

"Because it's not my name. My name is Remy, and Linda is just a bitch."

"A bitch is like my auntie when she doesn't listen to Mom, right…?"

What?!

"Auntie Steph wants to take me to see Lion King in New York on Christmas and Mom thinks that she shouldn't because I don't deserve to so she called her a bitch. Is that what you mean?" Less than a second later, "I dreamed last night that I was in a bouncy castle, and there was a clown, and I really don't like clowns, I think they're scary…"

She avoided eye contact. Much like two other figures in Remy's life. He didn't want to make wrong assumptions, but the thought was there.

"I saw a movie about real-real lions and you know that Simba is Nala's brother? Boy lions are really lazy, they don't hunt for themselves, the girl lions do it for them. Did you know that hyenas don't like boys? Like, at all? They have a really weird—"

"Look, kid, I'm sure all that is very interesting, but why do you know all this shit about hyenas?"

"My name is Leah Mae Hollander and I'm not a kid, I'm seven!"

"You'll be seven in two weeks."

"Girl hyenas have pen—"

"Yeah, I'm not gonna let you finish that! Let's do something other than talking."

He failed to notice her expression change when he said that.

——

Remy didn't have the heart to tell Leah that he already knew who George Michael is and that Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go was the song his dad used to wake him up all the time, which is why he doesn't like it, when a tiny gray bunny followed Katherine into the suite.

She swore she didn't steal him. And for once, he actually believed her.

"But it's a song about oh oh oh Remy that's a bunny I wanna cuddle the bunny can I please please cuddle the bunny?" He couldn't even answer before she dashed from the couch and grabbed the bunny a little too harshly. "Fluffy bunbun! You're so cute, little bunny!"

"Leah, someone needs this bunny right now. Would you mind putting him down so we could take him back?"

The look she gave him could kill a man.

"I found him. He's mine now."

"No, his name is Mycroft and he belongs to a very good friend of mine who is sick and needs him back." She tried using puppy eyes. Well… "You can come with me. But I'm taking the bunny back."

"Okay!"

Leah bounced all the way down the hall, and insisted on knocking on the door herself. It took several tries before Emile opened the door, still looking incredibly pale.

"I'm actually surprised you're doing this well," the nurse said while changing Emile's IV. "The lab suspected GHB, and—"

"Let's celebrate the small miracles instead of constantly pointing out facts that my son would rather forget."

"I can't hang out right now," Emile sighed. He sounded incredibly tired, almost… as if he's been crying. "I need to study for—"

"You, my good bitch, need to study for nothing. Get back in bed and I'll make you more tea."

"I'm not actually sick…"

"No, but it will help calm you down. And your mom would hate me if I didn't."

"Hello, I'm Leah!" Oh yeah. The demon child was here too. Emile looked down at her, forcing a smile. "I'm seven."

"You're not seven."

"Not yet but almost."

"Remy, please, she's clearly seven!" Leah's smile grew at that. "I'm Emile, I'm sixteen. Thank you so much for returning my bunny, Leah!"

"He's my bunny now."

For a second, Remy thought Emile was trying to imitate him. He never saw his adorable blond friend be evil... "How about he'll be ours, together?"

"...fine."

Leah bolted into the suite after the bunny, who was placed on the ground and started hopping towards his food. She was an interesting kid. A demon child, but still interesting.

Remy didn't know if he liked her or not.

"Thanks for coming to check on me, but I'm okay. You don't have to do anything. I'll be fine." Emile kissed Remy's cheek as he entered after Leah… and then didn't immediately leave. There was no way he was going to. "Remy, please!"

"No! You were—"

"I know what I was. I kept being reminded of what I was when I was in the hospital. Please stop reminding me."

"I was in the hospital two months ago," Leah started rambling again and broke whatever tension was between the boys. "Mom took Rachel to the park and I wanted to go too, because the park has the slides and the swings and there's a red slide that has rollers on it and it's funner because of the rollers and I really like it but every time I go there someone is already on it and nobody lets me slide on it so I really wanted to, so I took my rollerblades and I was on my way and then I tripped and it was very close to my home and it all hurt so our neighbor Matilda called Dad and when we went to the hospital he told me that I'm stupid and shouldn't do that ever again and when I tried to tell him that it was because I wanted to slide he called me stupid again and said the fuck word."

"And what happened then?" Emile asked softly, finally going to sit down and allowing Remy to make him tea. Well, sorta.

"I broke my arm. And it was very cool! I had a cast and everything, and nobody signed it, not even Mom or Dad, so I signed it for myself. And I did whatever I wanted!"

"What did you sign then?"

"It was a story about a group of princesses who went to fight a knight who was trying to kill their dragon friend."

Something didn't seem right to Remy. Other than absolutely not understanding a single word she said (that was a bit of an exaggeration, yes), something about the story didn't… make sense. And earlier when he cut her off, she looked incredibly offended.

Yeah… nothing matched up.

"Wait… Leah, let's work it through, okay?" She hummed in agreement. Remy was looking for mugs in the suite kitchenette. "You broke your arm rollerblading?"

"Yeah, I said that—"

"And Stephen called you stupid for breaking your arm rollerblading?"

"Yeah! I told you that!"

"And what did Linda say?"

"She said that I'm a stupid child for thinking I can rollerblade. But I can! I learned how to last year, and I'm practicing, and the park isn't that far, so I can!"

"Are you trying to analyze your sister?" Emile looked overly worried. "The tea bags are in that wooden box on the toaster oven."

"I'm not trying to analyze anything, but… something is weird." There were about ten different types of tea in there. Oh dear. Chamomile…? Emile likes chamomile, right?

"I saw Monsters, Inc. last week," Leah said out of the blue. "I saw it on my birthday and I stayed until the very-very end, and Mike Wazowski actually did a musical called put that thing back where it came from or so help me! And there's a song that's like, there's a child there's a child there's a human child, running ‘round the restaurant, this is really wild, what in heaven's name will become of us, we who are living in Monstropolis?"

"You saw that last week?" Emile sounded happy. "Remy, please no chamomile. It makes my stomach feel worse. Peppermint, please?"

"Alright."

"You saw Monsters, Inc.?"

"Yeah! I like Mike. He's fun."

Linda said that Leah was disruptive, annoying, a monster of a child. So far she… certainly talked a lot, but she wasn't disruptive, or annoying (well, maybe a little), and she didn't seem stupid at all. On their way over here she kept pointing at the suite numbers (not that many, but apparently she loved it) and asking Remy to read them to her, after which she'd declare whether or not they were multiples of three. And she couldn't stop talking about animals, some of which Remy didn't even know existed - she kept talking about betta fish for some reason, whatever those fish were, and how people killed their fish by putting more than one in the fish tank or putting cold water instead of warm (he was starting to think she just really liked betta fish). And those things meant she was… the opposite of stupid. No?

He was being redundant in his own head, it wasn't nice.

"Leah, I don't think you're stupid." Leah made a squeaky noise in response. "Linda and Stephen make no sense."

"But I can't do anything right…"

"Says who?"

"Remy Harris, you came here to make yourself useful, now where's my tea?" Emile laughed.

Once the tea was made, they sat down and watched Monsters, Inc. as per Leah's request.

Things were going to be okay today.

——

"How was babysitting the little rascal?"

"Dad… don't call her that."

"Changed your mind?"

"I don't know… I don't remember Linda berating me as much as she does Leah, and it sucks. I almost want to call social services and I only met that girl today!"

"Remy, kiddo, calm down. You'll get to see her again for thanksgiving and get a better picture of what's going on—"

"But I don't want to see them for thanksgiving and I'm worried for Leah! She's learning to play the piano, she can calculate stuff really quickly for a six year old, she remembers things with scary accuracy, it's almost inhuman… and she was called names by Linda and her husband for breaking her arm rollerblading. That's not—"

"How's Emile? Last time I called you said he was in the hospital."

"Yeah… he had a blood test. They found traces of GHB. He doesn't want to talk about it though."

"I know you probably don't want to hear this—"

"Don't tell me if I don't want to know about this…"

"When you were three, your mom used to go out a lot. She loved clubbing."

"She went out a lot my whole childhood, Dad. It's not news. She never really grew up since the eighties."

"She was seventeen when she had you, you can be a little bit—"

"Which means she's thirty-five, in a good enough position to raise children, and she chooses to call her daughter names for not fulfilling her expectations. Huh, kind of like how she treats me, isn't it?"

"...you'll be the death of me, child."

"I know. I'm already working on it. You can't see me but I'm winking at you."

"Remy, please don't make this harder than it is. Do you think I want her to want contact with you?"

"No, I don't. I don't want her to either. But it's not like I have any choice. You're making me do this!"

"You're being a brat."

"Thank you so much, I totally needed to hear that."

Remy hung up. Something was… not quite right. He just had to—

Incoming Call: 212-729-5555

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

"You said you didn't want to babysit Linda's kids, and now you're protecting her child like your life depends on it. Do you want to listen to what I have to say or not?"

"...sure. Whatever."

"When you were six, I had to leave you with your grandparents one night because your mom didn't come home from one of her parties. She almost died that night."

"And that has to do with what exactly?"

"That has to do with you being super worried about Emile. He's alive, isn't he? And he's doing alright. All you can do now is be there to support him."

"Well… yeah, you're right. I hate it when you're right."

"Now, about Leah. I know you don't trust your mom, I know you can't stand her, but it's no reason to call social services."

"Okay, I call her Linda to distance myself from her. She's not my mom. And the way Leah says she treats her is horrendous, and I would say it's abusive but I don't know the severity of it yet. So will you please just…"

"I think you need to take a day off, think about it, and we'll talk tomorrow."

"...fine. Good night, Dad. I'm going to go to sleep."

"Good. Good night, son. Sleep tight."

#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 child abuse #tw: mentions of drug use

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 2

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1

Notes (I guess): I am equally in love and in deep hate with some (a lot) of what’s going on in here, and I am terribly, terribly sorry. And also there are some characters I wanted to explore a bit further than what had been in this part, but... I’m working on it. Give it a bit and I’ll get there. Again, credit to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for screaming at me to write this, and to @whatwashernameagain for Keep Him Safe, and also a tiny tiny lil bit to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual for their general support and for being such great sports about me annoying them with my ideas... (oops).

(I’m trying to find a way to write my notes, so bear with me until I find a way to… it might take a hot minute.)

(KHS) Tag List (sort of): @em-be-lievable, @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2, @adoratato, @supremestoverlord, @royallyanxious, @madly-handsome, @hanramz-the-fander, @the-incedible-sulk, @poisonedapples, @virge-of-a-breakdown, @winglessnymph, @princeanxious, @smokeyrutilequartz, @im-bad-at-life (if any of you could tag the rest, please do! I’m improving my memory from day to day, but… yeah…)

Tag list: @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter in particular includes some very heavy misgendering and deadnaming (if you get what I’m saying). Please be careful.

—————

Science of Living Systems 20 actually wasn't as bad as Remy thought it would be. It was rather cool, actually.

Well, at least he hoped it was.

The head of the department was… an interesting individual. Remy met with him during the application process. The man insisted on calling him "Miss Harris" and speaking to and about him in girl pronouns, and Remy understood why.

For some reason, though, Remy expected all the professors to be like that. And not such was the case.

"Rebecca Harris, I want to see you later in my office."

Doctor Gilliam was in his late thirties, called everyone by their first and last names, thought that being single was hilarious, made really bad puns in his lectures (though Remy heard, not as much outside of them), and tried his best to be "hip with the kids". It was worrying, to say the least. And… yeah, Remy was slightly terrified.

"I'm kind of worried, kid," Gilliam said the moment Remy walked in. "You don't look too-"

"Excuse me, Doctor, but I don't know what this is about."

"Have you heard about shadows and personae, Rebecca Harris?" Remy shook his head, terrified to say a word. "Well, it's quite an interesting concept. According to Carl Jung, you'll learn about him later, the persona is the mask you wear in the world. It's what you want others to see. The shadow is your innermost self, the parts of your identity that you wish to hide from others."

"Okay, and?"

"I think your persona might be cracking."

What… was going on?

"I'm not making sense, am I? I'm sorry. There's a lot that goes into that theory and I shouldn't confuse you this much, at least not until we get to it."

Yeah… it was weird.

"So, my point is… you can talk to me if anything is making you uncomfortable, okay?"

"Okay… I guess."

"Well, that is all," Doctor Gilliam said, fixing his glasses.

That… was weird. But okay. If that's how he wants to do things. Remy wasn't going to complain.

He was definitely better than the head of department.

—

There was a knock at the door.

Abby, their RA, was over earlier. Apparently Katherine had a bit of a scene right after class. So naturally, Remy assumed it would be Abby. No one else could be knowing on their door at ten thirty pm-

"We don't have your bunny this time. You can go."

Oh.

"Oh, no, I just…" Remy could hear that… kid? Whatever his name was, from the door. "I just need… I need someone to help me with something. And…"

"Oh. Remy can help."

"No I can't," Remy replied. "I need sleep and so do you!"

"It won't take long, I promise!"

"...fine." Remy got off the couch - the nice, comfy couch, where there was a blanket and his sols20 book - to the door. Where that kid (Emile? Emile) was looking at him with those big blue eyes and…

Yeah, Remy regretted unbinding. (Well, no. He did not. But also kind of did.)

"Hey… Rebecca, right—"

"His name is Remy."

Emile seemed shocked for a moment. Oh shit. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I just… I see you in most of my classes, so… never mind. So… how are you with baking?"

—

"So my sister Julie is LaVeyan—"

"Aren't we supposed to be baking cookies, babe?"

"Yeah, but… the stuff's all in the cabinets and I'm looking!"

Emile was a disaster child, Remy decided after only five minutes alone together. He brought a violin and his bunny to the kitchen in the pursuit of baking cookies - like, what even? - and he just seemed so… energetic? Happy? Whatever the word was. A couple minutes ago he was talking about the cookies, sure, but then he switched it to the importance of guided imagery, and then why Li Shang from Mulan is bisexual, and now… what was he even talking about?

"So my sister is a LaVeyan Satanist," Emile repeated himself, almost climbing on the counter to reach a cabinet. "It's kinda funny, actually. My dad's side of the family are all Catholic, and— can you put the sugar on the countertop, please? Thank you!"

"Sweetie, for the eleventh time this past ten minutes, I understand nothing you're saying."

"Am I speaking another language or something? Because if so I'm sorry!"

"No, it's just…" How does he not hurt his feelings? "It's just… you talk fast and about a lot of subjects at the same time."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

Maybe he thought Remy couldn't hear, but there was definitely a "this is just one of the things that are wrong about me" thrown in the air.

Emile didn't speak to him for the rest of the process. Maybe once or twice he pointed out a step or an ingredient, but overall he did not speak. At all. And then the cookies were in the oven…

And then he pulled out his violin.

"Is this really necessary?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"Emile, is it because of something I said?" Emile, still pouting (as he had been for a good hour and some now), nodded. "Well, I'm sorry. Please don't silent treatment me."

"I talk too fast and too much."

"Not what I said. I just said I can't follow you. I didn't say it's your fault. Please don't—"

Emile pretty much just ignored Remy (uhh, rude!) and positioned his violin, and started to play something… quite angrily.

After a minute and a half Remy recognized it as Once Upon a Dream from Sleeping Beauty.

After another three minutes, he dared open his mouth again. "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to. Do you accept my apology?"

"...fine."

It was not fine. Absolutely not.

"Thanks for the help with the cookies," he said as they separated at the top of the stairs, all one-hundred-and-ninety cookies (Emile insisted on quadrupling the recipe) safely packed in plastic boxes and hidden away. "I… I'm gonna go now."

"Emile, please." He turned around, still looking quite pissed. (It was probably the hour, Remy tried telling himself. It's already past one am. This is not good.) "Are you mad that I said I'm confused?"

"To be honest with you, yes! Yes, I'm mad. I know it wasn't your intention but I heard you say shut the fuck up when you said that. And it hurt. Very badly."

...oh.

"I'm going to forgive you, but it's going to take me a bit, so please don't be mad at me, okay?" Emile honestly looked close to tears. "Good night, Remy. I'll see you in living systems tomorrow."

And then he went to his suite, violin and bunny with him.

Remy just got himself into a huge mess.

—

It was a beautiful afternoon in Boston when Remy found himself at the rather posh Italian place his mom wanted to meet at.

Before their divorce in late 1999, just after Remy turned fifteen, his father started contacting a charity organization dedicated to help transgender youth. He educated himself. Tried to educate his wife as well. But… apparently it was the last straw for Linda. The very night he tried to even just explain that it's not her fault, that it's how he was born, she packed up her things and left.

The divorce papers came in less than two months later. The divorce was finalized in November 1999. Remy did not see her since.

(Yeah… that was a lie. He actually hasn't seen her since Christmas 2001. But that was still a very long time. Almost a year is a long time.)

"Well, at least the weather's nice." And there she was with her new boy toy. Glamorous as ever, with her stupidly huge sunglasses and her bright red (disgustingly fake, makes India's hair seem real) curly bob, looking exactly the same as she did that day Remy came out to her.

A few hours later, though. When she thought he was asleep and left the house to go to some party.

"Well, at least you're still not very nice, Linda," he said with a smirk as he sat down next to her boy toy (he actually looks kinda nice, for a forty-something year old). "But much unlike the weather, I don't think this is a thing that can change so easily."

"Where are your manners, Rebecca?"

"The same place those diamond earrings you forgot when you left us are. At home with Dad, probably watching South Park."

"Well, at least we left the girls at home." Linda took off her sunglasses and replaced them with a normal, frameless pair of glasses. "I don't believe you met Stephen before, Rebecca."

"I don't believe I've met a Rebecca before, Linda."

"Are you ready to order?"

It took about two minutes for all the orders to place (of course Stephen had to order something overly fancy, because why the fuck not) before she started yapping again.

"Rebecca, I didn't ask to see you for you to be so rude to me."

"I didn't ask to see you, period."

"What would you like to be called, then?" Stephen asked. Well…

"Remy. My name is Remy."

"Your name is—"

"My name is not Rebecca! I haven't gone by that name since I was fourteen. Dad never called me that since the day I asked him to call me Remy. You're the only one who ever insisted, how do you think it made me feel?"

"How do you think it made me feel, Rebecca?" Remy hoped no one was looking. "My own daughter. I jeopardized my own high school graduation to have you because your father was dumb enough to forget the condoms. I gave up life-long dreams just to raise you, because that retard of a father you have couldn't. Is this how you repay me?"

There was a very awkward silence, that was broken by an unfamiliar voice - deep, with a southern drawl - and a confused "Rebecca?"

India. Without her makeup, her hair pulled back.

Looking almost perfectly manly.

"Excuse me?" Linda straightened her glasses, glaring at India. Oh, how Remy did not want this to happen… "And you are?"

"Ian McGinty, ma'am. I'm her boyfriend."

Oh.

"Your father didn't tell me you have a boyfriend," Linda spoke slowly.

"Because he doesn't know everything. And my name is still Remy."

"Ethan and I are gonna go now," India said, her voice still lower, still more southern than normal. "Text me when you're done, we'll go get ice cream?"

"...sure."

And then she leaned down and said, in the voice Remy grew to know and absolutely adore, "we're going to talk about this. Don't worry, I got your back."

And then she was gone.

"So a boyfriend, huh?"

"...so how many men have you fucked before meeting Stephen, Linda?"

—

"I'm so sorry about your mom, baby."

India's brother, Ethan, looked nothing like her. Well, he looked like a more manly, less boyish version of ‘manly' India, but also nothing alike. He also didn't talk much. So that was fun.

India took them to get ice cream indeed. (And much like her music taste, her favorite ice cream flavors - burnt caramel and earl grey - were rather… interesting. But she did swear that Toscanini's was probably the best ice cream in Cambridge, and who was Remy to argue with her?)

"It's alright. She's always been like this."

"Doesn't make it alright." Ethan grunted in agreement. "Take it from me, Remy. It's never alright."

"Does he have an Esther?"

India's eyes rolled so far back. "Do you think that every trans person have to have an Esther, Ethan? Do you truly think it's how we realize our identity?"

"It's how you did yours."

"I knew I'm a girl since the moment I understood who I am. Any related accidents after that are purely incidental."

"India, I think I fucked up." She looked up at him from her half-melted ice cream cup. "I told you about Emile, right?"

"You're still stuck on that?" Remy nodded. "Look… that kid told you he forgives you. You saw him in class since then, he didn't say anything to you… you're doing fine, sweetie."

"Is that his real boyfriend?"

"Ethan, shut the fuck up or I'll call mom. Remy…" India turned to play with his hair.

Yeah, it was very calming.

"He sounds like a very sweet kid. Trust me, there's no way you fucked anything up. You'll be okay. You'll get to hang out with him again, and it will be okay. Now eat your ice cream, you have the best ice cream, and then we're going back to your dorm and we're going to watch Priscilla. Or Hedwig. Whatever suits your fancy, okay?"

"...okay."

"Now, let's talk more about your mom and why it isn't okay that she treats you like that."

And for a bit, everything just seemed alright. Well, almost.

#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: panic attack

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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 5

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked

Notes (I guess): Welcome to ‘I’m bad at describing stuff’, part 1. This chapter was planned out way in advance, before I wrote the prologue even, and yet it gave me a lot of trouble because I had no idea how to wrap it up. So I hope that, for what it’s worth, this is a good one.

As always, thanks @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original suggestion, to @whatwashernameagain for her fantastic creation on which this fic is based, and to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph (hey Nymph look you’re on this list now!) for dealing with my crazy ideas. And a particularly special thanks to Miranda, again, for her poetic additions. She is the absolute best.

A quick note to any of you who are underage or have never been in such a situation (aka a massive fucking party) before - do not do anything that happens in this chapter. Please, drink responsibly, or don’t drink at all if you don’t want to. I made my mistakes so that you won’t have to. Do not do anything that happens in this chapter, watch your drinks, you know the drill. I can’t stress this enough.

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

(If you want to be tagged or removed, please let me know! Preferably via notes/reblogs, I have bad memory, but… you do you.)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter doesn’t have as much. Also mentions and slight talk of dysphoria, drinking, drug use, mentions of blood (aka periods, don’t worry, it’s periods)... yeah, that’s all I remember for now...

—————

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

——

22:38, Thursday, October 31st, 2002

"I really would've rather gone trick or treating."

"I know, boo, but you look great and my friend is gonna love you. I promise."

There were several wrong things about tonight where it came to Emile, and Remy knew all of them. One, he was sensitive to extreme temperature changes, as he told him over hot chocolate just the other day. But as things were, his costume exposed his midriff and he was snuggling up to Remy before they even left the building. Two, too many people made him incredibly uncomfortable. Strangers only intensified that feeling. And three… he couldn't bring his bunny with him to help with problems one and two.

This was building up to be a disaster.

"Well, isn't this party just so fun," India stated the moment she found Remy. "I'm surprised nobody is a Playboy bunny this year. Well… here's to hoping things will get more interesting later."

"It's totally fine, sweetie—"

"She said it's boring, can we go now?"

"Yeah, you two are better off coming back in about an hour, but you're already here. It'll be a waste of time. You're Emile, right?"

"Yeah, hello!"

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm India." Her smile was as bright as the lights reflecting off her Wonder Woman costume. "So how was Murder week? Did anyone strip?"

"No, not at Weld. What about you?"

"I'm not allowed to strip for immunity anymore, not after what happened two years ago, but… we had a couple of people walking around in towels."

Chris was there, piling red solo cups into pyramids. India and Emile kept talking about Murder and strategies for later years, and Chris was there.

He was… so beautiful. His skin reminded him of the sand on a beach. Warm and inviting beckoning him in. Caramel never looked so good on anyone else. The black hair a stark contrast. Dangerous but looked soft. Like if you touched it it would feel like cotton candy. What he wouldn't give to bury his hands into it—

Yeah... was there any way for someone to get drunk without actually drinking...?

"You're staring for far too long without actually doing anything," Remy heard someone whisper in his ear - Emile? - "go talk to him!"

"Are you trying to play fairy godparent with me?"

"No, but you're worrying me. And it's always best to talk to someone you like. How would they know you like them if you don't tell them?" Emile looked incredibly uncomfortable, even more so than before. "It's too cold…"

"Sorry, angel, don't got a sweatshirt for you." Emile huffed. "Why aren't you with India?"

"She's bringing me Fanta. Did I tell you that my sister is coming over from Evanston next—"

Definitely Emile.

"Yes, you told me. Five times already."

"Oh. Oops. But… really. He would never know you like him unless you tell him, and now is as good a time to tell him as any. And if it fails, I'm here and you can always come back here and we'll go back to your suite and order pizza!"

"I am so not into discussing Fahrenheit 451 with those assholes over there," India declared as she joined them. "What… are we waiting for?"

"Remy wants to talk to his crush but he's not doing anything about it."

"Stop saying that…"

Remy went anyway.

——

"And that's why I think that…"

Remy spaced in and out of the conversation with Chris. It was just… boring. He was talking about Blade Runner for twenty-five minutes out of the forty-five they've been talking, it was almost ridiculous. But he stayed, because… maybe he could… change the topic? Maybe? There was a certain number of times one could say radical or awesome before it turns into a chore, after all.

If only he'd shut up about his fucking crush on Harrison Ford…

"Have you ever seen Pulp Fiction?" Chris choked on his soda. "What?"

"You saw Pulp Fiction? I'd never think someone like you would—"

"Someone like me? And that's what, baby?"

"Just… you seem like the type of person who watches Beverly Hills 90210 or Gilmore Girls."

"And what stops me from liking both 90210 and Pulp Fiction?"

The conversation was incredibly boring, and Remy couldn't help it. He didn't even like 90210. Chris was… well, he was boring, and that wasn't part of the plan at all.

But… he didn't want to fuck this up at all. So… he'd put up with the boring. Okay. He can do it.

And he zoned out on him again…

"...me for a second." And then Chris was gone. What did Remy just get himself into… it wasn't what he imagined it would be like.

Huh. Maybe that's why you should never meet your heroes. Or… something like that.

And then someone jumped on his back.

"Did you tell him yet?" Emile didn't seem quite alright. "India let me out of her sight ‘cause I wanted to ask you, and—"

"Did you drink, sweetheart?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Emile didn't look him in the eyes. Nothing new, really. But Remy was still worried. "Well…"

"Emile, you're sixteen."

"Remy, you're eighteen. Stating obvious facts can be a two-player game, you know!" He sighed and hugged Remy again, only… not quite. "You wanna dance with me? Please?"

His big blue eyes were open so wide and he pouted. He actually pouted.

Remy wanted to kiss him.

No, wait, what?!

"Cutie, we can't dance right now. You look sick."

"I'm totally not sick! It's prolly just the makeup!"

"...no, you definitely look—"

"Sorry about that." Oh, great. Chris was back. "Hey, I'm Chris."

"I'm Emile, it's very nice to meet you, is this Fanta?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good, thanks."

Remy was convinced he was going to regret that night. His crush was one of the most boring people he knew (he might not be, but at least right now he was, and they did talk for almost an hour and that definitely means something), he couldn't find India anywhere, and Emile—

"That Fanta tastes funny… is that vodka?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"What did you put in that cup?" Remy whispered angrily at the upperclassman.

"Vodka. I swear it was only vodka."

——

00:17, Friday, November 1st

No, it wasn't only vodka. But Remy couldn't care at this point.

Yeah… that sounds awful. Of course he cared, but… yeah, he had a bit to drink. And he was making out with Chris in the corner, so it wasn't exactly his biggest concern at the moment.

"Your makeup's coming off," Chris laughed between kisses.

There was a slight issue with this situation. Chris kept trying to… touch. Which was usually a problem, thanks to his body being… well, his body, but today was even worse. For today was day two of shark week. And, like, it wasn't enough that he was trying to get to Remy's not yet existing dick, which even under sober circumstances Remy probably wouldn't have let him, but it was happening during the worst possible time to do that.

There was no better time in history for Remy to feel the dysphoria kicking in, and kicking in hard. Yeah. Look at how much fun he was having.

"Okay, lover boy, time to fuck out of here," someone screamed in his ear a couple minutes later. And forcefully pulled him away from Chris.

India.

"What do you want?"

"I get that you don't have much experience with booze, Skellington, but your friend is missing and I'm not going to look for him alone. And I can see you're enjoying yourself very much."

"Fine… oh. Oh shit."

"Yeah, oh shit. Now you gotta get fixing to get going, anything we gotta do before we leave?"

"...stop at the bathroom."

It was just changing a pad. He could manage going to the girls' room just for that. He could manage that—

"Make it quick, though. Any second we don't look for him is a second gone to waste."

"Alright. Just don't scream at me."

"I ain't screaming!"

It was just changing a pad. It couldn't take longer than two minutes. Just go in there, change it, get out, and—

Yeah… this was going to be tough.

——

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was still nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

India only called it a night because she had early classes that day, and Remy tried to reach Emile's cell for a while before giving up and falling asleep around three.

It didn't feel right. He could be dead… Remy should've done more…

And then his phone started ringing. At around nine, his phone started ringing.

"Yes, hello, what—"

"Remy… everything hurts…" Emile was crying. Shit. No, no, that was—

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I don't know… but everything hurts. And…"

"Are you still on campus, sweetie?"

"I… I hope so."

"Can you tell me where you are, what's around you? I'm coming to get you."

Remy started looking for a jacket, still half asleep, as Emile kept talking. He described something that sounded a lot like Harvard Law to Remy. (Well, actually, more like what he imagined Harvard Law looked like after watching Legally Blonde fifteen times).

"Do you mind if I sing?" Emile was calming down. Great. He was still—

"No, not at all. But… one song, alright? I still need you to tell me where you are."

"Alright."

As Remy ran outside, still putting his shoes on, phone glued to his shoulder and ear, he heard a thing he never thought was possible —

"Whatever happened to Saturday night? When you dressed up sharp and you felt alright?"

"...are you crying while singing Hot Patootie?"

"It was the first song I could think of!"

Remy found Emile sitting on a bench (like when Elle met Emmett in Legally Blonde, his little voice told him), his costume still intact but incredibly messed up, the wig thrown to the side. He looked… sick.

There was no real way to describe what he looked like other than sick. And Remy felt guilty.

"Hey, hot patootie, where's your glasses?" Emile shivered, pulling his shoulders.

"I left them in my room... I had… I had lenses on last night… and then I lost them. I can't see much…"

"Do you remember anything?" Remy sat down next to Emile, holding him tight. He was freezing. It was…

Remy felt like he failed. It was the worst feeling. He failed his best friend.

"No. I know I drank… I know this… this guy, he was really nice, he asked me if I wanted to eat something… I don't remember more than that…"

"Sweetie… it'll be alright. I promise." He couldn't exactly promise. Not at this state, anyway. "Let's take you to the clinic, okay?"

Remy had to help Emile walk. Support him on the way, sometimes carry him bridal style, all for about two minutes of walking. But… he was clearly not okay. Remy wasn't going to just… not help him, this was his best friend on campus...

It was only when they made it to the incredibly familiar (at least to Remy) clinical wing that Remy realized he didn't even wear a bra. And only because Emile told him "if any of the people in the clinic call you miss, because your boobs are out, I'm gonna punch them."

He was not going to let Emile punch anyone, but that was not his main concern at the moment.

#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 blood (aka periods)#tw: alcohol and drug use #slight angst in this one chapter #well kinda #tw: implied rape

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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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fluidityandgiggles · 6 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 3

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Last Chapter

Notes (I guess): This chapter was a nightmare to write but I’m just so happy I finished it. It also touches some subjects that will come up again in the future, for the sake of letting everyone process the events. I’ve experienced grief and it’s going to take a long time before this particular subject could be discussed again. See yourselves warned.

Again, credit to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for screaming at me to write this, and to @whatwashernameagain for Keep Him Safe, and also a tiny tiny lil bit to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual for their general support and for being such great sports about me annoying them with my ideas… (oops).

(I’m trying to find a way to write my notes, so bear with me until I find a way that will stick. This will do for now.)

Tag list: @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter also includes discussion of two rather tragic (in my opinion) real-life events, and very few mentions of food.

—————

"Today, we're going to do things a bit differently."

Saturday, October 12th, 2002

"Raise your hand if the idea of coming out, even if you're already out, terrifies the living hell out of you."

Almost all hands flew up.

"Raise your hand if you understand the dangers of staying closeted too."

Pretty much everyone took their hands down. Only very few stayed.

"Last week," India said after a long breath, "we lost… the community lost one of our own. We… we lost someone to hate crime." She lowered her hand. Remy was almost in pain, seeing her try to talk about it. She called him last night, asking him if it's not going to be too much for him (and if so, she has another thing planned). "Gwen Araujo was seventeen when she died because she was outed as transgender in a party."

"Wasn't this released, like, two days ago?"

"Yes, and that's why I want to talk to you about this. Just… excuse me. I wrote it all down… it’s kind of a tough subject..."

It took India a minute to settle her voice, and another couple seconds to fumble with some papers. "I'll bet you all remember where you were when the World Trade Center fell in September eleventh last year." The room fell into silence. "I'll also bet none of you remember where you were on new year's eve in 1993."

Remy knew exactly where this was going.

"It could be because you were nine years old, which is the case for some of us, or you were already in bed by ten. I know my parents insisted that I'd go to bed by ten that night for a couple reasons. But on December thirty-first, 1993, we lost another member of the community. His story was turned into an Oscar-winning movie, but l can assure you none of you remember where you were when Brandon Teena was murdered for being born a girl."

The chatter was back. Remy could isolate some of the comments. Not most, just some. And it hurt. The ones he managed to isolate were not good, but one was much louder than the other.

"Can you really compare the murder of thousands to the death of just one person?"

"No I can't. But what you fail to realize here is that I'm not comparing anything here. I'm just trying to bring up a subject—"

"And you're using the tragedy of others to—"

"I lost family in September eleventh. I'm well aware of the tragedy. I'm also aware of the fact that transgender people are killed at ridiculous rates and this is something we should discuss!"

The silence after that was incredibly unbearable. India was close to tears, and Remy… as much as he wanted to go hug her, he couldn't.

It was that painful.

"Today's topic was supposed to be discrimination and hate," Remy heard someone shouting into the air - one of the juniors probably. "We do this conversation every year. Please listen to what the poor girl has to say. She's only volunteering to do this, on top of—"

"That's okay, Chris. I don't need an advocate."

It was going to be a long meeting, and Remy was not looking forward to it.

—

"I'm sorry I didn't speak today."

"You did alright. Sometimes doing nothing is a good thing."

India was incredibly frustrated when they finally got to Kirkland House. Remy insisted on going with her, to make sure that nothing else happened. She called him a gentleman for doing that.

It was sweet of her.

She ranted a bit about a guy who lived on the same floor as her (Jared Kushner or something) who was a dick to her and tried flirting with her girlfriend all the time, she told him that she applied to get a master's degree in forensics at Georgetown after graduation, and then they reached Kirkland House.

"You can get back to Harvard Yard from here, right?"

"Of course. Who do you think I am?"

India kissed his cheek and waved goodbye, and went into Kirkland House. And then Remy was alone. Well, not entirely, he still had to go back to Weld Hall and call his dad, but…

He was alone.

The yard wasn't as crowded as it was earlier and the weather was cooling down considerably, the leaves were changing… Harvard Yard was a beautiful place in the fall, Remy learned quickly enough.

He had very little time to process his thoughts when he was almost tackled to the ground by a tiny blonde kid almost running in the direction of the exit. Aka, the main road.

"How is it that when we're outside of class we keep running into each other in the weirdest ways?"

"That's less weird than how my grandparents met," Emile said, breathless.

"Not what I said, babe."

"No, really! My grandpa was coming back to Amsterdam from London just as my grandma was on her way to London straight out of Auschwitz, and—"

"Can we keep this story for another time?"

"...sure." Emile gave Remy a half-smile. "So… I kinda have to go to Party City. I need to stock up for Halloween."

"Didn't you go there two weeks ago?"

"Yes, but they didn't have this one thing I really needed, and I kinda forgot a couple other things, so they told me they'd call when they got that thing they didn't have, so I'm going to pick it up!" He was… incredibly jumpy today. It was rather endearing. "You wanna come? We can go get pizza."

"What thing are you missing, exactly?"

"A wig! I'm gonna be Kim Possible."

He was so excited… Remy started feeling bad for being this confused.

"...what?"

"Kim Possible! Don't you— you know what, it's okay if you don't know. It only came out in June anyway." The half-smile turned into a full, bright one. He was adorable. "So, you wanna come with me?"

...well, he had nothing better to do for now.

"Sure, sunshine. But I need to get my wallet and phone first."

"Yay! Anyway, so Kim Possible is this show, it's on the Disney Channel but trust me it's not that bad… "

—

Emile was growing on Remy more and more each day. And… he may have started getting interested in Kim Possible after going out for pizza with him. The never ending energy was growing on him in a way. It was impossible not to like his enthusiasm, and…

Yeah, he was starting to grow on Remy.

"So, now, lucky that I'm vegetarian, right?" Emile said as he took his third slice of pizza. "So at least I have some sort of excuse, at least according to my aunt, but we just keep having to explain to them what kosher means and—"

"Are we still talking about your sister, Emile?"

"What?"

"We were talking about your sister and then you started talking about… well…"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry!"

"Please stop apologizing. You're not doing anything wrong."

"Right. Umm… so… Doctor Gilliam suggested I might want to get evaluated at the psych clinic sometime soon," Emile mumbled, straightening his glasses. Slightly more closed off. Making Remy feel real guilty. "I don't… I don't know why, but he said I might want to."

"And you're just gonna take him up on that?"

"Yeah? No? I don't know. I'm only sixteen, honestly, I'm gonna have to talk to my parents about this."

Sixteen?!

"Yeah, I thought I told you!"

...shit. He spoke out loud. Shit.

"I'll be seventeen in December. But… never mind. Do you think I should listen to him? About the evaluation?"

"I have, like… no idea."

The way back to Cambridge was full of even more chatter about everything and nothing, and Remy couldn't put in a word. Not that it mattered anyway. Emile was interesting.

Remy gave his input whenever he could, but he would much rather listen to Emile talk. He had an adorable voice

—

"You didn't call me last week, kiddo. Found yourself a guy?"

"Dad, please…"

"Do you think you're going to take her up on that offer?"

"Dad, daddy, papa, David, any normal person when answering the phone would ask how are you doing. Not if you hooked up with a guy or if you're going to babysit your sisters who you've never met just because your bitch of a woman who birthed you asked you to."

"When have we ever done anything normal, Remy?"

"Well… true. But no, I'm not going to take her up on that offer. I don't really care, to be honest."

"They're your sisters."

"And so is India but you don't see me trying to—"

"You haven't told me much about her, kid."

"Well… she's not doing okay lately. Did you see the news? About that girl in California?"

"Edward Araujo?"

"Gwen."

"Right. Sorry. It's just… the news."

"It's okay. But… India is losing it over this case. And honestly… I get her. It's terrifying to see someone of your kin just…"

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But really, did you hook up with anyone?"

"Nah. Dad, I'm eighteen. I'm not you."

"Hey, your mom got pregnant with you because of this one time when we were seniors when she had an empty house this one week in December and threw away my condoms when I tried to—"

"Dad, that's disgusting and please don't bring this up ever again."

"Got it. But anyway?"

"...there's a guy in my major, his name is Emile—"

"You gonna ask him out?"

"Dad, no! He's sixteen."

"And he's a psychology major?!"

"I asked myself the same question. But yes. He is."

"Well, I mean… he's within the appropriate age range for you. I guess."

"...what is it about I don't want a relationship at this stage of my life didn't you hear?"

"You're eighteen, Remy! One day you're gonna find someone and—"

"That's the thing. I'm eighteen. I have many more years ahead of me."

"Okay. Whatever you say. Any other boys I should know about? Girls, too, if you're into them now?"

"Just… this one guy. His name is Chris, he's a bit older… I don't know. Should I really be talking to you about this? You're my dad!"

"Am I not allowed to be interested in my son's love life anymore?"

"You weren't this interested in it when I was in high school."

A long sigh. "Remy…"

"I know you're worried, Dad. Believe me, I do. But I'm doing just fine! Rashida has dance parties every Wednesday for some reason so we bond over that, Lucy is basically just my map to going everywhere, we haven't hung out that much, Sammy is being a cutie all the time and Katherine is obsessed with everything. She really likes Emile's bunny for some reason and keeps talking about how her niece and nephew would absolutely love it. Her niece is two years old! I just…"

"Sounds to me like you're making friends."

"Well… yesterday I went with Emile to Party City. I don't know what I'm doing for Halloween this year, but…"

"What was that you just said?"

"If all goes right, I'll be Jack Skellington. But I don't have a backup."

"What would you need a backup for? You'll do great!"

"So, how's your girlfriend?"

"Eh, I don't know. Elaine isn't… that… you know."

"I'm sure she's absolutely lovely."

"Yeah, so was I. Can't wait for you to meet her."

"Can't wait either."

"...are you sure you don't want to babysit Linda's girls?"

"Dad!"

"Just asking!"

#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: food mention #tw: mentions of (real life) murder

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