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thevirtualcanvas · 4 years

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Red like Roses

Just a little story about my builder showing her affections for Portia's favourite Captain. I gave him roses every day for two weeks solid to get his affections up and thought – yes! That is a sweet story idea. Arlo getting flustered at getting flowers.

So, enjoy!

“Good Morning, Captain.”

Arlo was teased from his reverie, as a delightful smile and soft voice brought him back to reality.

“Ah, Grace, good morning. How are you?”

Pleasantries, but then again the new builder was very pleasant. She was an unexpected addition to his little town, but as time went on, not an unwelcome one. It was a bright and early spring morning, and they were the only souls in Peach Plaza. A soft pink light shone on everything, shone on her.

“Well, thank you. I'm just headed to the Mayor's house to visit Ginger. I have some things that might cheer her up,” Grace gestured to the little wicker basket in her arms; it was full of goodies, like sweet rolls, a thermos of what he presumed was soup, a pie and a bouquet of roses.

“Would you like some company?” He asked her before he even really thought about it. Embarrassed and shocked by his own outburst, Arlo stiffened, lips tightened as he awaited her answer.

“Sure! That would be lovely, just as long as I'm not taking up too much of your valuable time?”

Arlo thought quickly. “It's on my route – and I need to see Gale this morning anyway. Here let me carry this,” he held his arm out for the basket, she didn't really need the help, but he felt it was the right thing to do. It also might help him focus on something else other than his very pink cheeks that were no doubt blending into his hair.

Grace gave him the basket and started walking up the hill around the base of the Church to the Mayor's house. They walked in tandem, talking easily, the world quiet except their own conversation and a few twittering birds. Arlo found himself relaxed in a way few other Portian's made him, it's not that he didn't like the people here, it's just that few saw beyond his authority. He watched her with cool reverence as she spoke about all of the commission's she'd take on. How each one was its own challenge and the relief and joy she felt when they were completed and completed well.

“Don't get me wrong,” she said casting him a soft smile. “I enjoy my official work, but I get more of a buzz on working on the little projects. The ones that actually help people.”

“They all help,” Arlo found himself saying as he shimmied the basket back up his arm. “Each task you complete is all to enrich the lives of each citizen.”

“Yeah, but the little ones are personal. They help me get to know the people asking me for help. It's nice. You must know what that feels like? I've seen you going above and beyond countless. Walking QQ for Gust when the alliance keeps him busy with new plans. Feeding the chickens for Sophie, when Emily cleans the coop. Picking up extra patrols for Sam and Remy so they can have a lie-in on a Sunday. You don't do them just because it's in your job title, Captain,” she nudged his arm as she spoke. She was warm, he could feel the heat through the stiff layers of his uniform. “Helping builders carry their wicker baskets? It's not official but very much appreciated.”

Arlo relented, he wasn't sure if it was because of the words she spoke, or the fact her beaming face was making him feel like a prepubescent boy all over again. “I take your point. I want to make everyone's lives here safer, easier. I do what I can, but as Captain of the Civil Corps, nothing is really beyond my remit.”

The morning light bounced off her face, eyes glimmering as she took her victory, cheeks full and even at this early time had flecks of coal and dust on them. “Speaking of, I'm nearly finished with your new training dummy's. I should have them delivered by next week, so, I hope you can manage without for a little while longer?”

“Yes, of course, thanks. Not to play favourites but the last ones from Higgins only lasted six months. So I appreciate your discretion on the matter. I wouldn't want to upset him.” It's not that he particularly cared for Higgin's emotions – he just became insufferable when anyone questioned his work. It was not a rant Arlo wanted to endure for a second time.

Grace's smile turned a little mischievous. “He obviously didn't take into account our dear Captain's fierce strength,” was – was she flirting with him? “Not to worry, the springs on the dummy's recoil are composed of galvanised steel and the interior from titanium. They'll have give, but shouldn't break, nor hurt you.”

“I – yes, well, thank you. Again.”

The mayoral house came into view and there seemed to be life inside. Arlo was somewhat relieved, his heart was beating so hard in his chest he was certain she could hear it.

“And here we are. Thank you for accompanying me this morning, Captain,” she said as she opened her hands for the basket of goods. Her fingers brushed his; they were warm and calloused but he wanted to hold them anyway. Grace took the basket from him and held it in the crook of her arm. “It was nice to have an escort, you should do it more often.”

She laughed as she saw him fumble over an apt response, reaching for his hand to apologise for her jesting. He cleared his throat, pushing back the slurry of highly inappropriate thoughts that were swimming in his head.

Grace rapt her knuckles against the door and then turned back to Arlo, she reached into the little basket and grasped at one of the roses. She held it out and urged him to take it.

“Please, take it. It's a 'thank you' for walking me here this morning. Ginger won't notice one missing. Besides, the colour matches, you're supposed to have it.”

“I really shouldn't, Civil Corps shouldn't accept gifts...” he recited, more embarrassed by the contents of the gift than the subject of getting one. He didn't think anyone had ever given him flowers.

Grace tilted her head and chuckled. “It's a rose, Captain. Not a bribe. Go ahead, I promise not to tell.”

Tentatively he reached out and took the delicate present in his hands. It was so delicate, rich with colour and he could even feel the bite of the thorns under his gloves. Coming from her this was – perfect.

“I grew them myself,” she added. “You're holding my first horticultural endeavour. Alice helped me set it up but apart from that the hard graft was all me.”

He noticed how proud she seemed, beaming at the delicate little organic thing in his hands. It served no practical use, not like a bridge, or the dee dee transporters. Yet, she seemed more thrilled by the little rose than all of the mechanical marvel she'd produced in the short time here. He was truly astounded by her. Arlo held it delicately, worried it might fall apart in his hands, inwardly giddy and smitten by the small act of kindness from the builder.

“It is beautiful – you should be proud,” he flitted his eyes to her, to find her entirely focused on him. Watching his every movement. Bated and hooked on his response. He felt wobbly all of a sudden, she'd shuffled closer. Hands to her chest, smiling. She smelled like coal, like fresh bread and the soft roses she'd grown with her wonderfully clever hands. He wondered what it would be like to hold those hands, to hold the rest of her. To lean in and taste those lips and feel that body, strong and study and – he needed to go. He was getting ahead of himself. It was just a flower. Arlo straightened, he took a step back and focused. “I should get going. Give Ginger my best.”

Grace looked confused. “Don't you need to speak to Gale?”

She had him there. “I can catch him later, better go and put this in water,” smooth, Arlo.

Russo had come to the door at that point. They greeted the butler and Arlo used it as his means of escape. Turning on heel, he turned from her. Face blushing furiously.

“Captain?” She called for him.

He couldn't refuse her, he looked back hoping she wouldn't comment on his face. “Yes, Grace?”

“Add a little bit of sugar to the water, it'll help keep the rose for longer,” she told him with the genuine intention of helping him, but also as an opportunity to see that strong and blushing face once more before he left.

“Right, good tip. Thanks, have a good day,” he spat almost too quickly, feeling hot and bothered under her soft gaze.

“You too, Captain. Don't work too hard,” it was said with playful teasing and a coy smile as she entered the Mayor's home.

Arlo dashed away, hoping if he dived into his daily routine his head would clear. Her smile and honest excitement swarmed in his mind, on repeat. As if he could work with her taking over his head.

For a few days, it was quiet, Arlo barely saw Grace, she was working on steel frameworks for the new bridge crossing and was mostly holed up in her workshop or overseeing the bridge construction. And he himself; between protecting the border and dealing with the inane requests of the residents, scarcely had time to think, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He was running, as he always did first thing on the morning. Sam and Remy were ahead, trying to competitively catch up with Paulie, the furniture store owner. There was something about working up a sweat that made him feel good. At six foot three running wasn't always the easiest for him, but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the way his feet smacked off the concrete, how his blood raced through his body and the wind rushed past him in resistance. It made him feel like he was truly working, that these little things would help him become a man worthy of the Flying Pigs. He did a couple of laps around the fountain, waving to Nora and Minister Lee as they set up for the day, and set off at pace down the high street. Sonia was sleepily setting up her stand, Django was chatting lightly to her. Issac trundled out of the archway, chessboard in hand and grunted at hello in his direction. Alice was as punctual as ever at her stand, she was chatting away, she caught his eye and noticeably nudged the person she was talking too. He'd recognise that set of overalls anywhere.

“Captain! Good morning! It's a beautiful day, isn't it?” Grace spun around, calling him over, and his long limbs struggled to stop. He ground to a halt at the edge of Alice's flower stall and used the bridge to support himself as his lungs screeched at the sudden stop.

“Morning Grace, Alice,” he greeted them, holding onto his chest as he forced himself to full height. Arlo was suddenly aware, suddenly embarrassed. He was sweating buckets, his hair was windswept and plastered to his head all at once. His long calves were poking out of a pair of old shorts and weathered trainers. He moved his arms behind his back, a bone of contention for him. Littered with thousands of freckles thanks to the weeks of beating Portian sunshine. She was holding arms full of flowers, a litany of roses, lilies, and others he didn't recognise.

“Hey Arlo,” Alice greeted warmly. “It's supposed to get super warm today. I wouldn't run for too much longer if I were you. Do you need some water?”

The sun was beating down on his head, it was early but he was still feeling it's adverse effects. “Yes, thanks, Alice, that would be great.”

The bespectacled woman smiled at him and reached round into a cooler beside a crate. “No worries, I know the heat can be tricky. We, redheads, have to stick together,” he knew she dyed her hair. It was more auburn at the minute, but when he arrived at Portia you could have mistaken them for twins. She wasn't embarrassed by the colour, she reminded him, just interested in what her flowers pigments could do. It was merely for science.

He chugged it back quickly, almost relishing in the cold, his throat was parched. Arlo wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and exhaled in relief, noticing immediately the builder watching his every motion, double guessing the way she licked her bottom lip with the pad of her tongue. Alice took the empty bottle from him and thanked her again, leaning past Grace to do so, catching the powerful smell of flowers and something else.

“How goes the bridge work?” He asked, eager to get into the desert himself and explore the ruins before the research center and church got their claws into each other about it.

Grace smiled, “It's going great. Though I feel a bit at odds being the only woman in the group. Albert can be quite the charmer, at least he thinks he is. So, it's a good thing I have Gale and Mint at my side to keep him in check. I'm just waiting on my steel to heat enough to work with and I'll get back into this afternoon. I just wanted to get away from the workshop a bit, so I thought I'd bring some flowers over to Alice to bundle and bouquet for me.”

He was perturbed at the thought of Albert being sweet on her, granted he was like that with everyone, but still... “If Albert is being a hassle, I could have a word with him? It's not very professional of him to act like that.”

Grace laughed as she handled the flowers over to Alice. Alice rolled her eyes at him as she turned to work. “Thanks, Captain, but I can handle him. He's harmless. I appreciate the gesture though.”

Of course, she could, and now he was embarrassed all over again. “Right – sorry – I didn't mean to insinuate you couldn't. And what of Higgins, is he behaving himself?”

She shrugged, Higgins had despised her since day one. It's not because he knew her, she was just competition and he couldn't get past that. “So – so. He just ignores me, which is probably for the best. I don't want to argue at work – but thank you for asking.”

“And done!” Alice announced, breaking the awkward silence between them. In her hands the florist held a couple of bouquets; one of lilies, one of roses, and one individual rose wrapped in hessian. He didn't really know flowers, but Arlo could appreciate Alice's talents, they were beautifully arranged with pockets of greenery to break up the colour. She handed them back to Grace, while putting the remainders in her own buckets to make arrangements of her own later on. “There you go Grace, I'm sure Gust and Ginger will be happy with these.”

Grace grimaced slightly. “Oh, I hope so. Ginger has been feeling down a little lately – I hope getting out to visit her mum will help.”

“Oh, so the flowers are for her grave?” Arlo asked, humbled by the kind notion of Grace helping Ginger out.

Grace pointed to each individual bouquet. “The irises are for the grave, the roses are for the house and this – ” She paused at the little individual one, twiddling with the little ribbon wrapped around the hessian. “Well, this one is for you, Captain. It's been a little while and I thought the other one has probably wilted by now. I just wanted to replace it – ”

Arlo looked at the little flower, beautifully wrapped, with petals more delicate and rich than the last one he received. He then looked at Grace, who held it out to him with less certainty than last time. No flirtatious behaviour, in company she'd become as meek and shy as he was. Alice stared at him from behind Grace and nodded at him.

Take the flower, Arlo. It seemed to say. So he did, even though his head was running a million miles a second, and his blood was pumping faster than his interrupted morning run. He didn't really know what to say, well anything appropriate of Captain of the Civil Corps. She was hiding behind the other flower, cheeks pinks, and eyes averted.

“Thank you,” he said. “The other one, despite my best efforts gave up. So – um, thank you for the replacement.”

Something smacked him on the back, he jilted forward and turned around to see Sam teasing him about taking a break. His small teammate's interruption couldn't have come at a better time. Holding the flower firmly in his hand Arlo excused himself.

“Sorry, gotta get moving – have a good day, Ladies,” he waved with the rose, and ran towards Sam and Remy, not looking back but hearing the soft whine of Grace, and the supportive words of Alice.

“You did great,” she said to the Builder. “He'll get it someday.”

Roses appeared everywhere he went.

On his desk at the end of the day. Strapped to Spacer's saddle. Tied to a tree on his route around the city limits. On the internal door of the abandoned ruins by the church. Attached to a finished commission report, or in a box with the finished commissioned items. Each one wrapped in hessian with his title etched onto a cream luggage label. He stored them in his room, away from prying eyes and gossip. Each one was precious and a testament to the way he felt about her. Though it had taken him nearly the whole summer to admit that. He thought she was just being nice, she did nice things for everyone. Food for Django, apples for QQ, fish suppers for Pinky, ruin artefacts for Petra and Merlin, helping Emily and Sophie wrangle the chickens. She even gave flowers to Ginger and Alice. She commissioned a new hat for Sam, and boots with arch support for Remy. She played with Carol and Mars' kids, fed Oaks and Papa bear on the outskirts. Arlo didn't think he was special, he thought the way he felt about her was how everyone felt about her. But then, he didn't think everyone fantasized about kissing her, or taking her on dates, making her smile, or coming home to her at the end of a hard day. They definitely didn't fantasize about taking her to bed, peeling off all of her layers and laying his hands over her until she moaned, no, sung his name, and laying with her until the first light poked through the curtains.

Nope, that last part was definitely just him.

The moment of realisation was his birthday. Sam and Remy had taken him for a meal at the Round Table, Django smiled as they entered the premise.

“Ah my favourite officers of the law, please come in – I've been expecting you. Come take your seat, your meal has already been pre-paid for. Happy birthday, Arlo.”

Arlo thanked the restaurant owner and looked to Remy and Sam. The smiled sweetly and shrugged their collective shoulders.

“I've no idea what's going on,” Sam answered. He didn't believe her.

“No clue, man,” Remy answered, cool as a cucumber. He didn't believe him either.

Arlo stepped across to their usual table, the restaurant surprisingly quiet, and there it was – at his seat, a singular, red rose. He sat down cautiously, took the flower from its small vase and looked at the little luggage tag. For the first time ever since receiving the flowers all those months ago, it read his name. Arlo. He gulped, it felt surprisingly intimate. He flipped it and read the other side. Happy birthday! I bribed Sam and Remy to bring you tonight – enjoy your meal on me! Grace x

“You alright, boss?” Sam asked, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at Sam, hand to mouth and chuckled. “Yeah, I'm fine. An idiot – but okay.”

Sam gave him a cheery smile and shook him with friendly gumption. “She's planned it for weeks you know. So, enjoy it.”

Remy looked at his Captain and clapped his hand against the other shoulder. “But maybe, don't forget to say thank you? Maybe tell her how you feel too, I hear roses are a great way to let someone know.”

“Right – yeah. Thanks, guys.”

They enjoyed the food with gusto. All specially prepared favourites, starters, mains, drinks, and deserts for Remy and Sam. The atmosphere was warm, and light-hearted but he couldn't help but feel like something was missing. She was missing. She should have been here enjoying it too. Some of the other Portian's came over and wished him a Happy Birthday, buying him a drink (non – alcoholic, he still had work in the morning), or giving him a present. He thanked his friends for dragging him out, the other Portian's for their well wishes, and Django for a beautifully prepared meal, but he had to go.

“Go get her!” Sam and Remy encouraged in a united chorus.

Arlo darted from the restaurant, darkness already settled on Portia, he made a beeline for Alice's house and knocked hard on her door. Jack answered, and sleepily called for his sister.

“Hey, Alice,” she answered in pajama's, a book under arm and ink on her fingers. His courage seemed to fail him as he spoke to her. “I have a favour to ask...”

The bookish florist shook her head. “It's not a favour, Arlo. Consider this my present to you. Wait there a moment,” she disappeared back into the warmth of her house. Arlo heard tumbles, what he thought was a swear, and minutes later Alice returned, a bouquet of roses in her arm. It was massive, at least three dozen red roses, all trimmed organised and presented in brown paper, red and white ribbons wrapped around the outside, and dusted with glitter. “There you go, that's what you wanted, isn't it?”

He took the flowers from his friend. “I didn't even ask – does everyone know except me?”

Alice shrugged deftly and leaned against the frame. “Pretty much, Captain,” she pushed her glasses up and reached for him. “She's head over heels for you, Arlo. Go and tell her you feel the same.”

His stomach fluttered, hearing those words from Alice didn't make it any easier to process, but at least so many people were on his side. Yet he was concerned, what about his dreams – what about the Flying Pigs? It's all he'd ever focused on but this gnawing feeling wouldn't leave him. No matter how much he trained, focused, or fought. There she was, the first and last thing he would think about each day.

“Alice,” he hung his head. “I – don't know. I've never done this before. What if she rejects me?”

“You fought monsters, protected our town for years, dealt with every petty squabble Portia's had, and now you're afraid? Oh Arlo. This will be the only certainty you'll ever have, so go,” Jack called from behind her. “Sorry, I have to go. It's getting late. Good luck, Arlo.”

She waved goodbye, and then was gone. Arlo stood at the door for a long moment before willing himself to move. Alice was right, clearly. Grace was expecting something from him, some kind of answer. He wasn't going to chicken out. He rubbed at his arms, the chill of the night Autumn night air piercing through his jacket. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck as he walked quickly to Grace's workshop just outside of Peach plaza. The town was quiet, everyone was either merrymaking in the Round Table or retired to bed for the evening. He hoped she hadn't gone to bed, he might not have the courage to do this again. As he left the safety of the city gates, at the edge of the road he saw the lights to her workshop were still on.

Here I go.

He faked it, strode with purpose, opened the gate, reached her door, and – hesitated. Fist millimeters from the heavy oak door. Arlo grumbled to himself, rested his head against the wood and cursed himself. Coward. He should just go. Before he made a fool of himself. The wood creaked and light fell into the darkness, he jumped back. Pretending he didn't just knock on the door with his own thick skull.

“Captain?” It was her. Hair tumbling around her shoulders, in an old t-shirt and joggers that did nothing to hide soft curves and strong arms. She was beautiful. He wanted to hold her. To bury himself in patches of soft skin and hold those calloused hands against himself.

“Grace, good evening. I'm sorry for calling so late.”

“Shouldn't you be at the Round Table?” She queried, a look of concern on her face.

“I was.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, looking at the sea of red petals in his hands. “I suppose it did. Thank you, for a wonderful surprise. I am truly grateful.”

“But?” Grace asked, folding her arms against herself.

“But,” he continued. “It just wasn't the same without you there. You should have been there, Grace.”

She stammered. “I didn't think you'd want me there.”

“Why wouldn't I? I enjoyed my surprise. But I find myself thinking I would have enjoyed your company more,” he held out the bouquet of roses, finding a reserve of courage. “These are for you, a thank you for my meal and to thank you for all of the things you've done for me recently. I'm sorry I've been too stupid to figure it out.”

Her eyes sparkled, she held the flowers as her life depended on them at that very moment. “Arlo...” she whispered his name and he shivered. It sounded right coming from her lips.

He took a step closer, towering over her, dipping his head forward. “I should have accepted it much sooner, I'm sorry I made you wait, Grace,” he ran a hand through the messy mop of red hair, nervous, but steadfast in his confession. “I like you, Grace, a lot. In ways, I'm not poetic or capable enough to describe. You're unlike anyone I've ever met and, I'd like to spend time getting to know you better than anyone else. That is if you'll have me?”

“Arlo...” she whispered his name once more, clinging onto it like it was hers alone.

Time stood still, they looked at one another, truly, and without pause. He couldn't help but admire her, she embodied everything he strove for. Kindness, intelligence, unequivocal morality, and empathy. He wanted to be with her in every way he could, spending as much time in her glow that she could stand of him. Arlo loved her. He wasn't ready to say it, but he felt it, knew it, in the very core of his soul.

Her face shifted as something had just clicked. Time sped up and in a flash her arms were pulling around his neck, bringing his head closer. Her head tilted and lips found his, hot and flush. She moaned and whimpered against him as he tucked a hand around the base of her spine, being mindful of Alice's creation. She tasted of home, warmth, and sweet tea. He wanted to consume and be consumed by it forever. He shivered at the way her hands ran through his hair and along his jaw. How her breath felt along his mouth and against his face. Arlo loved how her study body demanded his touch, locking into place against him.

He pulled back, smirking, feeling elated beyond measure. “So is that a yes?”

Her cheeks were flushed, and lips swollen. Grace ran her hands through her mussed-up hair and laughed. “That's a resounding yes. Happy Birthday, Arlo,” she pulled him into another passionate kiss, yanking him across the threshold and bolting the door shut behind him.

A single rose sat in the trellis near the gatepost of the workshop. It was a late bloomer, it's deep, red petals were hidden behind walls of thick, green leaves. Grace had trouble coaxing it to unfurl during the Summer and had all but given up. The next morning it emerged, full, plush and with the richest red she'd ever seen. The singular flower stood out against the oranges and browns of the rest of her forecourt and she smiled.

“You too, little rose? I suppose the best things do take some time,” she ran her fingers along the velvet petals, content. She called back to the house. “Arlo, you're going to be late.”

The Captain emerged from her house, a soft smile on his face as he righted the blue neckerchief. “Right – right. I'm on my way. See you later, yeah?” He asked, not quite believing his luck.

She planted a kiss on his cheek, rubbing away at the crumbs by his lips from breakfast. “I'll be here.”

“A Captain's work is never done, I'll be back once I finish my paperwork. Then we could go somewhere, maybe?” He looked coy, she thought it was cute.

Paperwork, hmm? She looked at the rose, looked back at him and had a stroke of genius. “Of course, I'd like that.” She waved him off and took a moment to herself before heading to the commerce guild.

“Well little rose, it took some time, but we finally did it.” Grace left home with a spring in her step and love in her heart.

#my time at portia #mtatp #arlo #arlo x builder #fanfiction #soft #romance #roses

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asofterfan · 5 years

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Winter Winds

Chapter 1: Hot Mess

Previous ~ Next

Summary: Six years later...

Warnings: alcoholism, transphobia, enbyphobia, nbphobia, self esteem issues

No matter what ringtone they chose for their alarm, Remy would always hate it within two days.

Blindly reaching out to turn off the tortuous chimes that indicated it was time to wake the fuck up, Remy sighed heavily. Sitting up, they were faced with the familiar pounding in their skull. The glass next to their mattress was empty, so either they’d have to get up to get water, or not get water. They flopped back onto the mattress.

But within a few minutes their second alarm was chiming, drawing out a long groan as they slapped at their phone again. Fine. Time to get up apparently.

Remy sat up and stretched, scratching at the leftover body glitter on their shoulder from the night before. As they stood they gently kicked a few empty bottles out of their way.

The apartment looked different, but in reality it hadn’t changed much in the past six years. The same mattress sat in the same corner, the same old crate as a side table, the same thrift store rug and old loveseat. They never bothered to get a dresser when their suitcase worked just fine, and there were a few boxes that they had never bothered to fully unpack. Their life was layered on top in the form of posters and ticket stubs and Christmas lights and trash shoved into corners. Sketchbooks lay piled in a corner, and dirty clothes were shoved into a laundry bag, ready for whenever they worked up the motivation to go to the laundromat.

Opening a cabinet in the kitchen, Remy grabbed one of three glasses they owned, filling it with tap water and chugging it. Leaning against the kitchen counter, they fiddled with the ends of their hair. It was mid-back, the pink underside slightly faded. They’d have to re-dye it soon. The ends were dry, and split, but Remy was confident they were hot enough that no one paid attention to their neglected hair.

A third alarm started ringing from their phone. What a bitch. Groaning, Remy stalked over to their bed, snatching their phone and silencing the alarm, quickly going through and turning off all the upcoming alarms as well. They awake enough, they didn’t need an alarm every five minutes today.

Quickly swiping through their phone, Remy hit shuffle on itunes, turning the volume all the way up before tossing it on the couch. The mirror above the bathroom sink showed them the smudged remains of their makeup from the night before. Sighing, they got to work washing it off, nodding their head to the beat of the music.

Once that was finished, they halfheartedly brushed their hair before throwing it into a ponytail, and brushed their teeth. Picking up the mouthwash, they found it was empty, groaning in frustration as they remembered using the last of it the morning before. Rubbing at their eyes, still tired, Remy wandered back into the kitchen, only to return to the bathroom a moment later with a bottle of vodka. Same thing, right? Taking a swig straight from the bottle, Remy swished it around in their mouth, grimacing before spitting it into the sink. Good enough.

Remy was pretty sure they didn’t own any clothing that didn’t have holes in it, or was too small, or both, but there were still a few shirts in the ‘clean’ pile so at least they didn’t have to worry about laundry just yet. Cass once told them their style was “homeless punk”, which like…. Rude, but not inaccurate.

Pulling on their tattered boots, held together by duck tape and spite, Remy finally turned off their music. Their leather jacket was hanging next to the door, and as they slipped it on they made sure they had all the essentials- wallet, keys, phone, sunglasses, headphones, and pronoun necklace with the charm flipped to “THEY/THEM”.

Checking the time, they knew they’d have to skip their Starbucks run if they wanted to be on time to work. Luckily, Remy didn’t give a fuck about being on time.

Caffeine before capitalism, bitches.

“What is UP motherfuckers I am so tired.”

“You’re also late,” a tall woman, only slightly shorter than Remy, with light blue hair crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at them.

“Oh come on, Ali,” A petite brunette piped in from where she was disinfecting her station, “You say that like he’s not late everyday!”

“They’re not late everyday, Cass” Remy insisted, tapping at their necklace as they sauntered over to their own station beside the shorter woman’s, “Some days I’m not scheduled,” they winked.

“Sleeeeeeeep,” Ali sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and drawing the artist’s attention again. “I get that being late is like, your trademark, but what kind of boss would I be if I just kept letting you get away with it?”

“A great one,” Remy replied without hesitation. Putting their stuff down, Remy took a long sip of coffee before continuing, “Ali, I know you’ve been stressed since you officially took over for Rachel-”

“Rest in peace,” Cass interrupted solemnly.

“Stop telling people I’m dead!” Huffing indignantly, a heavily pregnant woman appeared in the lobby, carrying a box full of beat up sketchbooks.

“Rache!” Remy exclaimed, “Tell Ali I can do whatever I want!”

“You most certainly can NOT,” Rachel asserted, moving to brace the box on her hip as she stared down her former employees, “Remy, try to bring your asshole level down to maybe 75 percent. Ali, somehow Remy has managed to keep a good string of clientele and positive reviews. Pick your battles. Cass, stop sending my wife ‘your condolences’.”

“Fiiiiiiine.”

“If you say so.”

“Killjoy.”

Rachel shook her head fondly, “Don’t destroy my shop, bitches. I’ll be back eventually.” With that, she headed to her car, leaving the others grumbling behind her. The day continued, each going about their own business, working on designs for upcoming clients, answering emails about appointments. Remy’s phone buzzed beside them, but they ignored it.

About two hours later, a man looking to be in his mid thirties with a few tattoos on his arms already came in without an appointment.

“You guys take walk ins?” He asked gruffly.

“Yeah, what were you looking to get?”

Remy sighed from their station. Brett and Rafa weren’t scheduled to come in for another hour, and Cass was in the middle of a tattoo, which meant the walk in was definitely going to be Remy’s problem.

Sure enough, Ali called them over, “Remy, I got a client for you.”

Plastering on their best customer service smile, Remy sauntered over, “Excellent, what do I have the honor of immortalizing today?”

Dear God, the man was unironically getting a Fight Club quote tattooed on his forearm. Remy almost quit then and there. Ali glared, shaking her head minutely from behind the man, her eyes promising pain if Remy was anything less than cordial. Killjoy.

Gritting their teeth, Remy smiled, “Alright, come take a look at some fonts and I’ll get you set up.”

Remy wasn’t sure if the barely legible cursive font the man chose made the quote better or worse. They decided not to dwell on it. It didn’t take long to print the transfer and get their station set up, adjusting the seat in the center for a right forearm tattoo session. The client was mostly silent as Remy lightly shaved his forearm and wiped the disinfectant over it. Once the transfer the placed, the man nodded, offering a gruff “looks good”.

“Sweet, just hold tight for one more sec, hon.”

Swiveling their stool to face the steel table beside them, Remy got to work setting up their ink, along with paper towels and bottles of water and disinfectant; gauze set to the side for when they were finished.

As they worked, the man looked Remy up and down, “So, what are you?” he asked bluntly.

It hadn’t been loud before, but an uncomfortable silence seemed to settle on the whole shop, Ali glancing over from the front desk in disbelief. But Remy was unfazed. They looked up from their equipment and raised an eyebrow, “I'm a tattoo artist, duh.”

The man rolled his eyes condescendingly, “I mean, are you a man or a woman?”

Clenching their teeth, Remy took a deep breath, “Depends on the day, but today the answer is no,” they tapped on their necklace, the purple charm with a clear “THEY/THEM” on it.

“But what are you really?”

There was a pause, the tension thick as even Cass paused her work to look over incredulously. Remy wasn’t known for their patience though. They sent the man a cold smile, leaning forward to get just a little too close, “I'm the person who's about to spend the next hour injecting ink under your skin. Really.”

Stuttering, the man’s face turned a shade of red, from anger or embarrassment Remy couldn't tell, “Are you threatening me??”

“Of course not,” Remy purred, “That would be unprofessional. But maybe you should be quiet now. So I don't… lose focus.” They buzzed the tattoo gun on and off menacingly. Some of the blood drained from the man’s face. He still looked angry, like he had a lot he wanted to say very loudly right now. But he bit the words back and nodded shortly, Remy grinning wider.

“Good boy,” the man flinched as Remy placed a hand gently on his arm, situating themselves to begin working, “Now, let’s get this party started, shall we?” There is no response. Just the buzz of the tattoo gun as Remy did their job, even when they didn’t want to.

“Well,” Cass drawled as the door closed behind Remy’s client, “he’s not gonna be leaving any shining reviews.”

“Worth it~,” Remy sang cheerily. Hey, they did the tattoo and they did it well. It was the man’s own fault he got a side of attitude and malice with his tattoo.

Cass rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the design she was working on in her sketchbook. But Ali frowned, coming to stand by the opening to Remy’s cubical. She spoke softly, her words just for Remy, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he’d be a dick.”

“That’s life, hon,” Remy smirked. Ali didn’t know anyone else who could sound so cheery and so cold at the same time, “Assholes look like everyone else. They don’t wear signs. That’s why it’s best to just assume everyone is terrible until proven otherwise.”

“Well that’s a depressing way to live.”

Remy shrugged, “It’s worked well enough for me.”

Ali isn’t sure she actually believes that, but Remy turns their back to her, continuing to break down their station, everything about them communicating that the conversation was over.

There was a buzz from Remy’s phone. They ignored it.

“Remy, tell Logan he’s overreacting!”

“FALSEHOOD!”

“You’re not helping your case there, sexy specs.”

Remy turned away from their computer, resting their chin on their hand as they took in the two bickering teenagers who had just arrived.

Virgil cut off Logan’s argument, still glaring at him even as he spoke to Remy, “Look, let me explain, Logan’s all in a huff just cause-”

“Nope,” Remy interrupted, holding a hand up with an expressionless gaze, “Don’t wanna hear it. I do not need unnecessary details in order to know with absolute certainty that you,” he pointed at Logan, “are overreacting-”

“HAH!”

“-and you,” Virgil’s victory was short lived as Remy’s finger shifted to point at him, “are underreacting.”

Virgil gasped indignantly as Logan started an angry “how DARE you-” rant. Remy sipped their tea and slowly swiveled their chair around until the teens were left arguing with their back. After a few minutes, Ali finally intervened and at least got them to argue more quietly until they finally let whateverthefuck they were going on about go and finally turned their attention back to Remy.

“Any new projects?” Virgil questioned as Logan draped himself across the tattoo chair in the center of Remy’s cubicle.

Remy hummed, “Not really. But I have a few consultations coming up, so maybe soon,” they tapped away at their computer, answering emails to confirm appointments and give price estimates.

Groaning, Virgil pouted, “So nothing for me?”

“Not today, gurl.”

“Uuuuuuuuugh…” he flopped dramatically on top of Logan, “now what?”

“I dunno,” Remy turned to raise an eyebrow at the pile of punks on his chair, “you’re teenage troublemakers. Go make trouble. Somewhere. Else.”

“Meh,” Logan replied, “We’ll just do homework here. We haven’t seen you in like a week.”

“Lucky you,” Remy replied without missing a beat.

“Remy nooooo,” Brett glanced up from the front desk, wide puppy eyes staring at the taller artist.

Cass’ voice was heard from the other side of the divider, “Aw great, now you’ve gone and summoned one of Brett’s positivity rants!”

“Why does no one follow the shop guidelines?” Brett asked, lip trembling as he held up the framed sign that lived on the front desk and pointed to item number four: “No Self Deprecation Allowed”

“It’s cute you think I follow rules.”

Remy continued going through their email, occasionally making notes in their calendar or sketchbook, ignoring Brett’s lecture or the giggling high schoolers behind them.

Things quieted down eventually, with the punks doing some homework assignments while the artists did their work. Remy waved casually when Logan and Virgil finally departed. Rafa emerged from the staff break room, sipping a soda and smiling as the door shut behind the high schoolers.

“Damn. Those kids really like you, Rems,” he commented fondly.

But Remy only shrugged, sipping their tea nonchalantly, “I was in the right place at the right time and they imprinted on me like baby ducklings.”

“Punklings,” Cass’ giggled from her station.

Remy snorted, but turned back to Rafa, “If you had been working that day then they’d be your ‘best friends’.”

Rafa exchanged a look with Brett before shaking his head sadly, “Eh. Agree to disagree.”

Despite Remy constantly being late, they also had a tendency of staying late as well. Once they got caught up in a project they were loath to leave until it was finished. Plus, if they stayed late enough they could go straight from work to one of their favorite clubs.

As the artists finished closing up the shop, Remy sighed as their phone buzzed again. Reluctantly, they pulled the device from their pocket to glance at the messages. There were two missed calls and a text.

PopPicani: Hey kiddo! Sorry I keep missing you. You want to come over for dinner tomorrow? It’s been way too long! <3

“We’re grabbing some drinks from The Dubliner, you wanna come?”

Remy blinked in surprise as they were pulled from their thoughts. They weren’t sure why the group still asked. Every time their coworkers went out they invited Remy, and every time Remy answered the same way.

“Nah, I’m doing my own thing,” They adjusted their bag on their shoulder as they exited the building, raising a hand in farewell, “See you tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget, you have a consultation appointment in the morning!” Ali called after them, “10:30am! Don’t make them wait!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remy responded nonchalantly, tapping away at their phone.

Sleepyhead: Sorry, been super busy lately. Maybe another time though. :)

Pocketing the device, Remy pulled their sunglasses over their eyes, making their way into the nightlife. Alone as usual.

Just the way they liked it.

#punk au #my writing #winter winds #punk sleep #transphobia tw #transphobia #enbyphobia #nbphobia #exorsexism

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pilot-boi · 3 months

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Jaune taught sun how to juggle and nobody knows how Jaune learned the skill. When asked he just says “oh you know, it was a phase” and that’s it

You said this and all I heard was “Draw Jaune juggling”

#rwby #jaune arc #mine #asks #remy steel official #my art

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remy-steel-official · 2 months

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Bro remember in that one Batman comic where Batman told Alfred he got a victory royale in Fortnite? If you said yes then congrats, you got lied to.

#remy steel official

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duganator01 · 1 year

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Cringe take:

Snakes are cooler than spiders. 0 legs Vs 8 legs. Easy winner in a fight

I do appreciate that snakes can blep

It pleases me

#mine #asks #remy steel official

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sidespromptblog · 6 years

Text

Suffering

Summary: When Thomas suffers a heartbreak, it is almost certain that Patton, Virgil, and Roman feels it. However, they soon all discover that this is not the case, when it comes to lashing out.

“When will you get it?!” Virgil snapped back at Logan, his fists clenched and shaking with the raw anguish and rage that flowed through his veins like a gushing river on a stormy day. His gaze was narrowed sharply at the logical side, as the equally sharp and poisoned words flew from his lips right towards Logan’s heart, like a deadly arrow going in for the kill. “We can’t be an emotionless machine like you! We’re hurting over this whether you like it or not, and if you can’t contribute something to actually make us feel better. Then. Why. Are. You. Here?!” He practically snarled.

Something flickered across Logan’s expression, something that Virgil realized a little too late as Logan readjusted his tie. Looking over at Patton who was still weeping into his hands and Roman who was holding the moral side close, he got only blank stares in return. They weren’t going to help him, and they weren’t going to stick up for him either. No surprise there, nobody was ever on his side.

“Tell me, Virgil,” Logan placed the emotions that were writhing inside of his chest like a can of unopened worms on lockdown, his eyes were blank, almost glazed in a way as he looked back at the anxious side. Folding his hands behind his back, Logan did all that he could to remain standing up straight. He was serious, he had to remain serious right now. “What makes you think that you’re the only one suffering right here and now? What gave you that idea?” Logan coldly spat the words out, before stepping back away from the other.

Behind his back, Logan’s hands were trembling. His fingernails sinking into the skin of his hand leaving behind little crescent shapes. The pain of it helped, it helped focus him and it helped to keep the tears at bay. Not that he was about to cry or anything, even now he still had functioning tear glands, that elicited a response whenever he was under too much stress.

“Do you assume that because you believe that I cannot feel? Do you believe that I don’t care that Thomas’ heart was broken? Do you think…” Logan’s breathing hitched for a moment before he closed his eyes taking just a split second to calm himself before opening them again. His stern gaze remained there, even when tears started to well up in his eyes clinging to his lashes like individual snowflakes. “Do you think because I don’t understand emotion...that it gives you the right to constantly put me down? That..that I’m lesser because of it? That…”

Logan went silent, and he wasn’t the only one either as Virgil stared back at him in abject horror dawning on his face. The logical side’s shoulders trembled, and it seemed that even the pain of his nails digging into his flesh did little to help this time too.

Swallowing the lump in his throat Logan made a bigger effort to stand taller now, his pride was pretty much in tatters but he could still attempt to hold himself together a little while longer.

“I thought that you of all people were better than that...Anxiety.”

A great pit of dread and regret opened up inside of Virgil, as he stood there frozen to the spot. The words that he had so carelessly said, that had left him before he’d even had a chance to think about it had...hurt Logan. He’d hurt someone in the exact same way that he’d been hurt in the past, and he had done it all towards someone who was...who meant more to him than he’d ever thought about before. The taste of shame and guilt was sour on Virgil’s tongue, as Logan turned away from him pressing his hand over his face in an attempt to mask the emotions that were spilling out like an erupting volcano. The sound of Virgil’s old title sounded wrong on Logan’s lips, worse than that...it sounded like a nightmare.

His worst nightmare, come to life.

“Lo…” He began as he reached out, his hand was shaking as his eyes glanced along the back of the logical side’s hands. Marks, deep jutting marks from where Logan’s had bitten his tongue time and time again, was this the first time that Logan had actually snapped back at them for something like this? It must have been. “Lo I’m sor-”

A harsh bark of laughter abruptly cut Virgil off, as Logan threw his head back. The cold detached laughter that rang from Logan’s lips sent a chill down Virgil’s spine. It didn’t sound like the nerd at all.

“You’re what? You’re sorry Anxiety? Sorry for all of the times you insulted me, thinking that ‘Oh Logan doesn’t have feelings’ and ‘Oh if he doesn’t have feelings then I can say whatever I want to him!’ or was it ‘My words can’t have lasting consequences because Logan won’t care about what I say and do to him!’ Is that it? Is that it Anxiety?!” Logan mockingly mimed Virgil’s voice, and the anxious side felt himself getting smaller as he hunched his shoulders. The gleam in Logan’s eyes now were more than just tears, as the logical side breathed heavily, his chest heaving as a stream of saltwater dripped down his face. “Well I have news for you,” Logan whispered, his expression crumpling. “I do feel, and it does hurt Anxiety.”

A dead silence hung in the air before Roman started to march forward, Patton no longer clinging to him as the princely side moved forward.

“Now Specs, I think that this is enough, he clearly got the message. So calm down.” Roman attempted for his words to sound soothing, but to Logan, it just felt like sandpaper in his ears. Of course Roman took Virgil’s side, everyone was on each other's side except for his. He was alone, he was all alone.

Squadless geek! You’re alone. Alone. Alone. Alone!

A shuddering sob escaped Logan, and before he knew it he had clasped his hand over his mouth, his hair hanging in front of his eyes as his entire body started to shake. He gasped, even if there was air all around him it still didn’t feel like enough. Why couldn’t he breathe? What was wrong with him? Was he this broken? A dry rasp left his lips as he struggled to breathe inwards, his throat felt raw and swollen. His chest ached, like someone had placed a set of steel bars around his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe?

In the background of his thoughts, he heard them, three separate voices screaming out to him. Screaming his name, but it was muffled. Like someone had placed a layer of cotton over his ears preventing him from hearing the smallest things.

Lo...gan…! Log..a..n! Bre..athe! Logan!

“Logan!” Warmth graced Logan’s face as a pair of hands cupped his cheeks, “Logan listen to me, you need to breathe..just breathe.” Fingers curled around his wrist, pulling his hands from where they had been tugging at his own hair, his palm rested on the warmth of another’s chest the firm thudding of a heard underneath. “Focus on my heartbeat, you feel it? Just focus on that and breathe with me.”

A tendril of tension eased out of the logical side’s lungs, the burning, the pain, the emptiness of his own mind eased with it.

“That’s it, just breathe. Focus on me, I’ve got you..” The soothing voice whispered, and the thudding of the heart under his hand remained there, tethering Logan to the present, helping the tightness in his chest slowly ebb and flow away from him. It felt like an eternity to him, as he exhaled and inhaled letting his palm linger over the beating of the heart.

When he could see again, when his tears cleared up, and the tightness of his throat went away. The first thing that registered with him was the color purple.

“You’re doing great.” Virgil smiled tears in his own eyes, as Patton and Roman nervously hovered around them. Logan couldn’t see it yet, but terror and dread was the emotion that was carved deep into the eyes of the moral and creative side. As they witnessed the very pillar of stoicism and coolheadedness completely breaking down in front of them.

Roman hadn’t any idea on what he was supposed to do when the first rasp had left Logan, and even more so when it had become apparent that the logical side hadn’t been able to breathe. Patton was even worse though, as the moral side had completely started to freak out until Virgil had taken ahold of the situation.

“Good..good.” Virgil murmured again, his fingertips gingerly tracing the veins of Logan’s

Wrist, “I’m going to lead you over to the couch now Lo, you’re going to be a little weak at the knees for a while. Having an anxiety attack is the equivalent of running in a relay.” He calmly told the other, steadily working his way back over to the couch as Logan stumbled after him. The faint sniffle he heard from the logical side, completely broke his heart. “I… We’re going to take care of you, and once you’re better. We’ll all talk alright, for now, take it easy. I won’t let you go.”

Logan’s grip tightened on him as the sensation of a blanket being laid over his shoulders greeted him, his dead tired gaze locked onto Virgil’s. And without even thinking about it, Logan leaned in, resting his forehead against the anxious side’s shoulder, keeping his palm firmly pressed against the fluttering heartbeat of the other.

“I’m scared,” Logan whispered, and for a second, just a split second Virgil grimaced as he ran his fingers through Logan’s messed up hair.

“I know Lo, but you don’t have to suffer that alone anymore. I’m here, we’re all here now.”

Tagged:

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@moonstone-fox

@letrashalmighty

#logan sanders #angst #hurt/comfort #anxiety attack #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #angst with a hopeful ending #platonic analogical #analogical #platonic lamp #lamp

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