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miracle-sham · 3 years

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Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytales} |

| The folk tales always speak of those destined for greatness. Heroes alongside their faithful dragons, fighting the ever turning tides against evil. But they're just that, folk tales. After all, what are the chances a border-town apprentice seamstress like Marinette, would ever be offered a different vocation by the recruitment guild. |

| Word Count: 3,428. |

| Warnings/Tags: Kingdom/Fantasy/No Miraculous/Dragon Riders Au, Minor Lila & Adrien salt, Canon Typical lies and manipulation from Lila, Explicit Language/Swearing, and Some Fluff. |

———

| A/N: First things first, the word 'Dragoon' will be used multiple times in this piece and it is spelled that way on purpose (see end notes for further explanation). Secondly, yep! It's a dragon riding/academy au. This is the first piece of the series, which I'm really excited for because I've spent ages worldbuilding for! And for anyone worried about salt mention, it is addressed in this piece but the tag is there because of canon-typical Lila manipulation and lies, plus no Miraculous means no reason for Adrien with his sheltered upbringing to realise she's lying. |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's been a few days of tense stagecoach travel. And to be fair to Marinette, even she hadn't expected to be declared in the middle of the town square as showing aptitude for a position within the Justice League's armée volante—specifically the dragoon squadrons—thanks to the recruitment guild no less.

Unfortunately, Adrien and Lila had also shown an aptitude. Which, seeing as they all come from the same border-town of Paris, meant they were all trapped inside the same cramped coach space for the excruciating four days journey to reach Gotham Town; the place where they are being sent to attend the dragoon academy, which is technically outside the bounds of the town proper. Seeing as the Gotham Dragoon Academy and Somerset Dragon Range are on the opposite shores of the Gotham river to the town itself.

There's only another half-day until they reach the Mooney bridge and then the Somerset

Dragon Ranges. And luckily, Adrien and Lila have taken to sitting on the same bench, the one facing forwards. Leaving the opposite bench all for Marinette.

Not that having a whole bench to myself for this time will help with whether I can continue to survive as a captive audience for Lila. Marinette thinks to herself, rather disgruntled about this whole situation she's unwillingly ended up in. She was perfectly happily remaining an apprentice seamstress, sewing commissions for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the rest of her famous or otherwise clientele, not that fate seemed to care though. Of course, a part of her stipulation she fought the recruiters for, is that along with her studies she can continue her commissions for current and prior clientele alone. Which is to say, better than being completely unable to continue her main hobby and form of stress relief.

The recruiters had also said that baking and cooking would be no problem to practice, as apparently there'll be free reign to "student kitchens" alongside cooking classes so any use of either skill will be "undoubtedly encouraged". Dangerous words, Marinette muses to herself once more, because if I get claimed by a dragon the first thing I'm doing is baking all the dragon dietary-safe treats I can!

“Marinette! What do you think?” Lila asks, voice as cloying as ever.

Marinette startles and half-heartedly smiles awkwardly across at her, “ah, I'm really sorry Lila! I got distracted wondering what kind all of our dragons might end up being and how they might look!” Not, I'm going to love mine regardless of appearance unlike you.

Smiling faux-sweetly, Lila shakes her head. “Don't worry Marinette, I was only saying how we're just like those local fairytales of your town! Three close-knit friends who become powerful and famous dragoon guardians and save the world from the evil destruction of Hawkmoth and his army of shadow dragons! Out of the three of us, I would be our leader, obviously. Since I'm the only one here descended from a dragoon guardian! My grandmother even gave me a token that once belonged to my dragoon guardian ancestor!”

“Wow, you've said it before but I still can't believe how incredible you are Lila! It's going to be amazing training besides you at the academy!” Adrien gushes, gazing at Lila with adoration.

Lila preens at his words. “Thank you, Adrien! But Marinette, since you mentioned what our dragons will be, did you know my ancestor's dragon was said to be the most beautiful of all the dragons in the Justice League squadrons! My ancestor's dragon had orange scales that glimmered red and yellow like flames, and pearlescent white scales along the underbelly. Oh, and the horns were pearlescent white too! Obviously, the dragon I'll get is sure to be a descendant of that dragon and just as beautiful.”

“Wow, no wonder your ancestor's dragon was the most beautiful, they sound absolutely gorgeous! What kind of dragon do you think I'll get, Lila?” Adrien asks, eyes shining with awe and curiosity.

She puts on a show of holding her chin and humming. “Hmm, probably a golden dragon, with shiny scales as bright as the sun!”

“I hope you're right!” Adrien chuckles, “the fairy tales really would be coming true if we both get the dragons you think we will! One with scales of fire, another with scales of gold!”

“It really would.” Marinette echoes weakly, not really believing in her own words.

Lila laughs, “awww don't sound so worried Marinette, your dragon will probably be a plain and drab dragon with some sort of shade of brown, or maybe even grey. But at least it won't be attention-grabbing. So you won't need to worry about people staring and judging or dragons-forbid trying to hurt you for having a prettier dragon than any nobles!”

Marinette smiles, though it turns out far more grimace-like than intended, whoops. “Yeah… that'd be awful. Haha, I'd be really lucky to get a dragon like you described for me, Lila.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you understand, Marinette! Then again, all three of us are besties so of course you'd understand!” Lila titters, crossing her fingers, “we're just like this!”

Screaming internally, Marinette nods and keeps smiling. Dragons-almighty, I'm at the end of my thread here. Hopefully, I'll be able to leave Lila's "friendship" behind at the academy without fear of mine and my parent's reputations being ruined by Lila's mother.

Her attention is briefly taken by the rolling view outside the stagecoach, unable to help herself she mumbles to herself, “the landscape here is so pretty.”

“It is pretty I guess, but not as pretty as my home country!” Lila pipes up, jumping on the new conversation—like a shadow dragon on a sheep.

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second and breathes deeply, chanting internally. The academy will be my fresh start.

———

The academy is not in fact Marinette's fresh start.

It is well past evenfall by the time their stagecoach passes through the gates of the imposing academy. It rounds a large fountain in the centre of the courtyard with a statue of a person encircled by a large dragon. However, due to the darkness and the movements of the stagecoach, any attempts at recognising whom the statue was dedicated after are thoroughly hampered. They roll to a stop before the great stone staircase—where a figure with a smaller giant rat-like creature beside them, is waiting at the top—which clearly leads to the grand front doors of the academy.

Even with the darkness obscuring the view, it's obvious that the academy is a repurposed castle. High stone walls with crenellations and littered towers, a main keep with a multitude of buildings surrounding the inner courtyard. And the most eye-catching of all, the shadowy draconic gargoyles that seem to cling and lurk upon every building.

It's impressive to say the least, certainly the most well-fortified building Marinette has ever stepped foot in her life. Impressive enough that it has her practically clawing to pull out a sketching journal and start creating. However, she's not stupid enough to do that within Lila's presence. No, that'd undoubtedly lead to honey-coated lies and being forced to listen to her prattle on about her wondrous skills and connections to the most prestigious fashion guild in the country.

Marinette startles as the stagecoach door is opened by a footman. She doesn't fuss as Lila exits first, followed by Adrien. As she steps outside last, she nods and smiles at the footman. Whispering as audibly as she can without the other two hearing, she adds, “thank you, sir.”

The footman simply glances at her attire and nods back stiffly.

In the time it's taken to all leave the stagecoach, the figure from the stairs has walked over—a woman with long blonde hair dressed in a casual black leather riding coat, and a not-dog following behind loyally. “Good evening, you must be the potential students from the town of Paris?”

Marinette hesitates for a second before nodding along with Adrien and Lila.

Lila takes a step forwards, towards the woman. “Yes, we are! I'm Lila Rossi.”

The woman nods slowly, “and the other two must be Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That's correct!” Adrien responds with a bright smile.

Marinette nods and makes an affirmative squeak instead.

“Great.” The woman says, clapping her hands. “I'm Dinah Lance and I'll be one of your instructors during your attendance here. And this,” She pauses to point to the weird giant not-rat with its yellow flecked greyish-brown fur, “is Drake, he's my Ichneumon. You'll learn all about Ichneumon and why they're used within the dragoon squadron during your time here, so don't worry if you've never heard or seen of them before.”

Drake makes a high pitched trill and takes a few steps forward, sniffing the air in front of the three of them. Before scampering in a circle around Dinah Lance.

She smiles fondly at Drake before continuing. “Unfortunately it's a little late to give you the tour of the grounds now, so we'll cover that tomorrow. Tonight we'll guide you to the dining hall for a late night's meal since it's been a long journey for you three or so I've heard, and you must be starving. Then we'll discuss the main details of your attendance, and afterwards, we will show you to the temporary rooms you will be staying in, to begin with. Any questions?”

Lila rocks on the heels of her boots before shaking her head, “no, we've got no questions!”

Adrien copies with a shake of his head too.

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, were you waiting out in the cold for us long? Will the tour teach us about the different places within the academy? Will it take long? What do you mean by the main details? Why are we staying in temporary rooms to begin with? When do our lessons start? Do we need to purchase any uniforms or schooling supplies? When will we meet our dragons? Questions bubbling in her mind like a kettle over the fire, but closes her mouth just as quickly, as she catches a glare from Lila out of the corner of her eye. With that, she also briefly and nervously shakes her head. “N–no, no questions here either, Mlle Lance.”

Internally, Marinette hopes that display is enough to tide over Lila's irritation for now.

Mlle Lance glances over the three of them, seeming to stare at Marinette a little longer than the other two. “Well then, since there are no questions, let us head to the dining hall. And don't worry about your belongings, the footman will bring them to your lodgings.”

“Oh, Mlle Lance, I'd–uh… I'd rather not hassle the staff here, I can manage bringing my belongings up on my own.” Marinette admits, wringing her hands slightly.

Mlle Lance shakes her head, “that's very polite of you but I'm afraid, as you'll be having dinner and we'll be discussing details, it'll be a little while before you head to your temporary rooms. So it'll be far easier on both you and the staff here, if you allow them to do their job.”

“Okay…” Marinette relents easily, trying to ignore Lila rolling her eyes at her.

“If there are no more further questions, then follow after me please, the academy can be rather labyrinthine for those unfamiliar with its halls.” Mlle Lance instructs, already turning around and walking back towards the great stone staircase, Drake on her heels.

———

The journey through the hallways and various anterooms of the academy takes far longer than Marinette could have anticipated. On more than one occasion, she ends up falling behind due to getting distracted by the sheer amount of luxury, art, and finery everywhere. Forcing her to frantically scurry after Mlle Lance, Lila, and Adrien—all three who seem completely at home and unperturbed or uninterested by the décor, unlike her.

By the time they reach the large and ornately carved wooden doors leading to the dining hall, Marinette is flushed bright red from the embarrassment of having fallen behind so many times.

The heavy doors creak loudly as they slowly swing open at Mlle Lance's push, revealing a large dining hall—far larger than any Marinette has seen—with seemingly hundreds of wooden tables and benches. Startlingly enough, there's a boy already seated at one of the nearer benches—eating away at a trencher of hunter's stew.

No Ichneumon in sight, Marinette notes, a fellow student perhaps?

“Good evening, Jason, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here at the moment.” Mlle Lance greeted, nodding her head to him.

Jason squints at Mlle Lance and hunches his shoulders defensively. “B said I could grab food from here whenever I wanted.”

Mlle Lance smiles, “and that's perfectly fine. These are new arrivals, so I was just hoping to let them have some dinner without the usual chaos before going over the main details they'll need to know about attending here.” She paused for a moment. “You don't have to stay and listen if you don't want to, since you've heard this spiel many times now. But equally, feel free to stay, I'm sure it'd be nice for you and the new arrivals to get to know each other before meeting the rest of the class tomorrow.”

Jason slowly eyes Lila, Adrien, and Marinette. He places an arm in front of his trencher. “Might as well stay then I guess.”

Mlle Lance nods at him again before guiding the three of them over to the back of the dining hall where the kitchen was connected to. A few cooks were tending to various meals and pots of hunter's stew, as well as prepping trenchers or cleaning wooden bowls, and wood or horn spoons.

Marinette is still half processing everything so receiving a trencher full of hunter's stew from the cooks barely registers in her mind. And next thing she knows, she is seated next to Lila on the end of the bench and table next to Jason, with Mlle Lance sitting opposite her, Lila, and Adrien. The other two have already started tucking into the food, so cautiously Marinette takes a few sips of the stew broth with a horn spoon.

Mlle Lance clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. “Let's start with what you three already know regarding the dragoon squadrons and this academy.”

Pausing in his eating, Adrien grins. “This is the longest standing dragoon academy, and we'll be taught everything from dragon history, to the language of the dragons, to what is known of Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army!”

“And,” Lila pipes up, “we'll pick our dragons that we'll train alongside and eventually become fully-fledged Dragoon Guardians with.”

Jason snorts, “sorry to break it you two but this isn't some fucking fairytale.”

Before Lila or Adrien could respond, Mlle Lance cleared her throat. “Right well firstly, Dragoon Guardians is somewhat of an archaic term I'm afraid. But you're not too far off with what you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason pretends to be suddenly interested in his trencher of stew.

Though, Marinette does catch him briefly glancing up at her with a curious but also disbelieving look in his eyes. She can't help but instinctively curl her shoulders in and make herself as small as possible.

“And Marinette, what do you know about the academy?” Mlle Lance adds.

Marinette hesitates, trembling slightly and licks her lips. “Uh, well I know roughly the same as Lila and Adrien, so nothing that hasn't been said already…”

She catches Jason squinting at her, and she curls up even more.

Mlle Lance nods thoughtfully, “to start with, Adrien, you are correct in that this is the longest standing dragoon academy. You're also correct that we teach our students dragon history—including the history of the dragoons—as well as teaching the language of the dragon. We also do teach regarding Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army. However, that will be taught across multiple different subjects as it isn't quite as simple as it may currently seem to you.”

Adrien beams at having been mostly correct. “My father hoped I would be chosen to attend a dragoon academy so he made sure I was taught a general overview.”

“And that's more than most know to begin with, so well done.” Mlle Lance praises, before continuing. “However, Lila, here students do not pick their dragons. The process of meeting the dragon who will be raised and trained beside you, is not what most people think of when they first hear about dragoon human and dragon pairs meeting.”

Lila's lips twitch downwards in dissatisfaction and narrows her eyes slightly at Mlle Lance.

Before anything else can be said, Mlle Lance furrows her brows, “one moment students, a matter has just arisen that I need to quickly take care of.”

With that, she rises from the bench and strides out of the dining hall, shutting the door behind her as she exits.

As soon as the door shuts, Jason, with a concerned look on his face, gets up as well and walks the few steps over to Marinette's bench. Quietly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Marinette swallows a breath of air thickly, and still visibly trembling, laughs nervously. “W-well I'm a little over-overwhelmed, I suppose… What with every—”

Only to slam her mouth shut as Lila wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to her side.

“She's fine thank you,” Lila coos, “just not used to all the displays of wealth in the castle, here, isn't that right, Marinette.”

Marinette pales, eyes widening with panic and frantically nods her head. “Y-yep!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at Lila, unable to keep the slight sneer off his face as he turns ever so slightly to stare at her, “and you are?”

Lila perks up at his attention, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. “Didn't you hear Mlle Lance there, I'm Lila.” She smiles cloyingly at him and flutters her eyelashes. “I'm the daughter of a very important diplomat and one of my ancestors was an incredibly powerful Dragoon Guardian.”

Jason snorts, and rolls his eyes once more. “Right. Whatever.” He turns his attention back to Marinette and gives her a sharp nod. “What shit has the rich brat got hanging over your head?”

It clearly takes all of Lila's self-control to not immediately switch from her faux sweetness to fury. Her smile turns wooden and her gaze sharpens at Jason. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused,” Jason responds smugly.

“W-what do you mean?” Marinette asks, struggling to process the conversation after the slight cannonball that Jason just casually asked her.

He tilts his head at her, not unlike a bird. “She looks, sounds, and acts exactly like the kinda rich bastards that hold shit above kids who aren't rich, and you're clearly fucking petrified of her. So is she blackmailing you or something?”

Marinette mouths yes at him whilst shaking her head.

Jason raises an eyebrow at her for a second before shrugging with one shoulder, “alright.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his table and bench where his trencher of stew is waiting.

Lila gapes at him.

Adrien rises from his seat and stares at Jason, flabbergasted. “Aren't you going to apologise to Lila, now? You were wrong.”

Lifting his chin, Jason gives Adrien an unimpressed look then flips the bird at him. A few seconds pass before he shrugs and makes a non-committal noise of disinterest, then he starts spooning stew into his mouth.

Lila huffs and scowls at Jason. She turns to glare at Marinette, faux concern practically dripping from her words despite the evident fury on her face. “You should avoid him from now on, wouldn't want the teachers to think you're a delinquent and get kicked out before you even get to meet your dragon.”

Marinette nods slowly and keeps her attention very carefully on her food.

Her patience is rewarded as a few dozen seconds later, Lila loses interest in her and starts eating her trencher of stew whilst starting a new conversation with just Adrien.

Taking her chances, Marinette sneaks a glance up at Jason with a small smile on her lips.

To her surprise, he also happens to be looking over at her. He flashes her a cheeky grin, winks, before going back to eating.

Maybe, she muses to herself as her grin turns giddy, I was wrong about the academy not being my fresh start. Because this definitely feels like a fresh start now, it almost feels like I'm in a fairytale.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| The dragon riders are called Dragoons in reference to the mounted cavalry called Dragoons who used guns/firearms known as Dragons hence the name. And so I decided it only makes sense for these dragon riders to also be called Dragoons. Armée volante means flying army and was what the historical dragoons were sometimes known as, because of how mobile they were. |

| Ichneumon, also known as Echinemon in Medieval Zoology are enemies of dragons (and snakes and crocodiles in some accounts) and defeated them by covering themselves in armour made from mud before attacking. They are also one the only creatures (the other being weasels) that are immune to the Cockatrices' petrifying sight. |

| Fun fact: Trenchers are flat round (often stale) bread "plates" used during the medieval era. They are cut in half and sometimes the fluffy bread innards are scooped out (like pumpkins) so that the loaf's crust forms a bowl instead. Usually the bowls are used to hold stews or soups, though they were also used for non-liquid based food (which is why they later evolved into our modern day plates and cheese boards). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Week 1 #Jasonette July Day 5 #Jasonette July Fairytales #Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar #SYRWaHtS #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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sidespromptblog · 4 years

Text

Difficult to Love

Summary: Everything was running smoothly.

There was no stalling in Thomas’ own creative thoughts, no hesitations when it came to the knowledge that he needed to absorb for his newer video that he was working on, his anxiety was at a manageable level, and… he for all intents and purposes… he seemed happy.

Considering all of that, nothing seemed to be wrong. Everything was running smoothly, and there was no reason whatsoever to panic or kick up a fuss about anything.

And yet...

Word Count: 3700

AO3 LINK

The mindspace was oddly quiet as Remus made his way through the lighter spaces, it was warmer that was for sure but there was a silence that clung to the place like a funeral shroud to a freshly dead body ready to be burned. He wished that he could say that it was a surprise to see it that way, to not hear the chattering downstairs as the other light sides talk amongst themselves and the breakfast that they’ve made. Breakfast that he and Deceit were never once privy to, not that he could blame them, what with Deceit’s eating habits and his own attitude towards the most important meal of the day. Nevertheless, it didn’t change the fact that everything was completely and utterly silent.

And yet…

Everything was running smoothly.

Considering all of that, nothing seemed to be wrong. Everything was running smoothly, and there was no reason whatsoever to panic or kick up a fuss about anything.

And ordinarily, Remus would have cared less about any of that. Content to sow endless chaos wherever he could until either Deceit or his brother told him to knock it off, at least until he went at them with one of his beloved creations. So… he shouldn’t have cared, he shouldn’t be worried, and he shouldn’t even be here in the light space that both he and Deceit had been banned from for years. Yet here he was, his boots trekking thick globs of mud up the stairs leaving a visible trail for just about anyone to find. Not that it bothered him any, right now… nobody would stop him, not today.

Because…

Because they all knew that he had heard, just as well as Deceit had yeard.

He had heard the yelling of their argument that rang all throughout the mindspace, infiltrating even the darkest reaches of Thomas’ mind so that every side known and unknown could hear it. He had heard the shouting until the other side’s voice had gone hoarse and cracked, it had rattled Remus’ bones for the first time in… well, a very very long time. And finally… he had heard the door slam as the argument had eventually ended, shaking the picture frames on the walls and even rocking the very walls themselves.

He had heard it all, and he had heard the door remain shut still not opening weeks later.

At first, he had been fine with the silence, but now...

“So,” Remus cheerily flopped onto the floor next to the door, eagerly leaning his entire body weight back against the door as he crossed his mud-caked feet. “You’ve been in there for a while,” He began as he rattled his knuckles against the painted door, “Which I entirely get! No judgment coming from me, here! Talking to the others is more boring than vanilla sex, I’d rather pluck my eyeballs out and use them as nunchucks.” The creative side hastily amended, holding his hands up in the universal sign of peace… not that the other side would even see it though. “But…”

Here a moment of silence stretched between him and the side hidden behind the door, who still hadn’t said a single word to interrupt him from his inane ramblings.

He wasn’t worried though, not a single bit.

“Feel free to pipe up any time though, I might talk so much that I accidentally bite through my tongue and bleed out!” He giggled, waiting for something… anything really from the other side of the door.

Some shuffling, a snore, even the sound of the other snacking… anything would have been preferable rather than just having to hear his own voice like nails on a chalkboard over and over again. But there was nothing, a void where noise should have been, a void that ate everything up and spit out only the grey bones of what once was and what should have been. Not only was it boring but… it was unnerving even for Remus to have to sift through. It only served to make him that much more aware of the shrieking and repetitive thoughts inside his own head, there should be noise… there should be lots of rambling noise coming from behind the door… coming from downstairs in the kitchen where he and Deceit had never been.

But there wasn’t.

Remus’ foot bounced against the carpet, spreading even more of the dried up mud all over the place the longer that he sat there. Even with that same repetitive task, it felt like he had sat there in silence for what must have been hours, even if it was only for at most just a minute or two.

“Do you wanna play a game?” He suddenly asked, desperate for anything to break the silence at this point. “It’s a real easy one I promise. I’m not too good at those smarty pants games like chess, but this one…” Within seconds a roll of parchment had appeared in Remus’ hands along with a pen small enough and thin enough to slip under the doorway. “The theme is a feeling, hard I know. But I know you can get it.”

Drawing a messy sketch of the gallows, Remus rolled onto his stomach pressing his cheek flat against the now filthy carpet before carelessly shoving the parchment and pen under the gap in the door. Had he been a dog, particularly, a pit bull his entire body would have been wagging eagerly waiting for some kind of response from the person on the other side of the door.

This must’ve been what having a pen pal must’ve felt like, as he waited his stormy eyes still peering under the doorway eager to catch a glimpse of some kind of movement that would tell him he wasn’t just wasting his breath talking to nobody.

And for a moment.. for a split second, there was a blur in the darkness, a movement.

And Remus’ heartfelt as if it would explode right out of his chest, until-

The scroll of paper shot back out from under the door, smacking the creative side rather harshly, right on the nose.

“Hey!” Remus yelped, scuttling back as he clasped a hand over his nose. It didn’t do anything more than sting for just a second, but even so, it was the action that spoke more than anything. “That wasn’t nice you know!” He scolded, feeling heat tickling the tops of his ears as a blush easily swept over his features coloring his face in a deep red hue that Remus would have killed someone over for inflicting onto him. Or would have, had it not been this kind of situation. “I was just trying to-”

Remus stopped dead, or as dead as a living creative side could get in this case.

This beating lump of flesh shuddered in his chest, and the warmth that had descended over his face that had previously been unwanted felt like a warm summer morning as he stared down at the parchment that now had a single letter scribbled onto the corner. He was absolutely certain that in his entirety of an existence, that nothing… nothing had ever allowed him to feel like this before. It was like his entire body was a well full of adrenaline, that instead of making him simply feel buzzed and energized… made him feel dizzy and breathless.

He didn’t know if there was a word for something like this, but even if there was...

He didn’t care.

Remus shimmied closer to the door, so that his back was practically flush against the wood. “Oooh,” He eagerly crooned as he scribbled a plain circle onto the gallows, excitement squirming inside of him like worms coming up after a heavy rainfall to breathe. This.. this felt like the first time he had truly breathed in such a long time. “Close, but now you’ve got head!”

And so their game continued, their stacks of paper growing with each game until hours had passed.

With each day that passed, Remus could honestly say that their games… it was the thing that he looked forward to most with the rise of each morning. It certainly wasn’t what ordinary people would call fun, given that he just chattered to a door without having a single word to answer him back, but he knew that the other side was there, he knew that he was at least listening and paying attention to the things that he wrote on their game papers. He knew based on the doodles that he’d find messily scribbled next to his own gorey ones, he knew based on the little gradings that he’d find that would never be too harsh, and he knew because… he just did.

“I hope you’re eating.” He said one morning as the smell of waffles wafted up from the kitchen downstairs, he had felt no need to join the others even after coming to the light space every day for a week now. He knew that he wouldn’t be welcome there anyway, “I know we technically don’t need to eat, I mean look at me, I eat deodorant to piss the others off. But… you’re important you know.. You need to eat and keep your strength up.” Again silence, although it wasn’t like he was expecting anything else. “I’d care if you keeled over and died from starvation.”

Talking to someone who would never answer back wasn’t exactly the way that he thought he’d spend hours of his days, but… oddly enough he wasn’t complaining.

“Everything is so boring,” He complained one evening.

The amber glow of the fake setting sun in the window cast a warm glow down the hallway, the exact shade of fallen leaves and nostalgic times for Remus. The glow of that golden crested glow that made Remus’ scrunched up body form a long ominous shadow down what remained of the hallway.

“Ever since you ducked out… there’s no spice. You get what I’m saying?” He rambled, thunking his head back against the door as if to reaffirm that someone was still listening. “Like… I’m not into humiliation, it’s nowhere on my kink list but… the others just ignore me without you. You.. you at least knew how to take me on, and take me down a peg or two. You…” Remus’ lips tugged downward in an almost sad smile that filled him with an almost suffocating sense of melancholy that even his fake and authentic cheer couldn’t chase away this time. “You make me feel like I’m really here…”

There wasn’t an answer.

But then again Remus didn’t really expect one.

So with a heavy sigh, he picked himself back up, cracking his sore stiff bones from the position he had been sitting in for hours.

He didn’t want to leave, and yet…

“Goodnight,” He gently murmured to the door, his forehead softly bumping against the wood, letting the other side know exactly what he was doing. “You’ll have sweet dreams tonight… I promise.”

And just like that he left, his boots thunking heavily down the steps as the papers of their previous game remained clutched tightly in his hands.

He didn’t hear it… but the moment Remus was out of earshot, the harsh muffled sound of tears echoed solemnly behind the door.

But even so, their daily games continued.

They both seemingly looked forward to the hours in which Remus would eagerly climb the stairs, stomping up and soiling Patton’s carpet with whatever fluids he happened to be trekking in that day. Sometimes it was mud, sometimes red, sometimes yellow, and sometimes it was green. But no matter the color, it all stained the carpet the very same way that it always did, and with it came Patton’s annoying lecture about taking his boots off. A lecture that was always answered with Remus’ shit-eating grin, and the shifting of floorboards on the other side of that door telling the creative side that his playmate was ready.

“Okay!” He excitedly wiggled setting down a heavy book and a stack of papers, “I know I said that I wasn’t all that good at all these smarter games, but I DO know for a fact that you like chess. And there’s only so many times we can play hangman and connect the dots before it gets suuuper boring. So I found this book, yeah? It says that its chess for dummies, and I figured that it’s perfect for me.” Remus eagerly chattered, “We’ll use a pencil today instead of a pen so we can erase and move the pieces around without having an actual chess board or pieces! Cool right?”

Having gotten used to not receiving an answer, Remus scribbled his name where the black pieces would be before sliding the paper under the door. And... for the first time in the weeks since they had started their games, the paper didn’t move. Remus could see the cover of the page still sticking out, not moving from where he had initially slid it to the other side for his turn to begin.

There was nothing.

Until…

“Thank you.”

The two words were no more than a whisper to Remus, the first words that the creative side had heard from him in the months since he had ducked out and refused to come out of his room. How long had he been there? Waiting for the other light sides to finish with their guilty pleading so that he could play his games never expecting to hear a peep from the other side of the door? How long had he given up hearing anything, content to just have fun and never press matters beyond that one day?

He honestly didn’t know.

“You’re welcome,” Remus whispered back just as softly, as if raising his voice above a mere whisper would shatter reality before his eyes. “It honestly wasn’t that hard at all, I just had to find the book.. reading was a bit more difficult, but… but it was worth it. I know that you enjoy this kind of thing, so.. so it was well worth whatever effort it took to get me here. I…” Remus swallowed leaning gingerly close to the door, as if the other side was just a hair’s breadth away from him. “I promise.”

Another sound.. another noise crept past the wood of the door.

This time though it took Remus a little bit longer to actually realize just what it was, and when he did… something in his chest split open and shattered all at once. He had never actually heard it before, at least coming from this side. Deceit had done it plenty of times, when it was just the two of them and nobody else. But for him…

To cry?

Panic almost immediately seized ahold of Remus’ throat in a vice-like grip refusing to let him breathe through its suffocating grasp, “I’m sorry!” He quickly blurted out, his palms spreading against the door as he pressed himself as close as he possibly could against the door, like a pathetic dog trying so very hard to get to its wounded master. He wanted to headbutt the door, to rip and tear it down, to scratch at it with his fingernails until he could see the other side. But.. but he couldn’t, even he knew that. “I.. I truly honestly didn’t mean to! I.. I-”

A muffled sob, like the sound of someone pressing their palm against their mouth, echoed from the other side.

The sound tore at Remus’ heart and lungs, practically liquefying them in the process.

It hurt, god did it hurt to hear such a sound coming from the side that had somehow wormed their way into his brain, that had slithered past all of his gorey defenses, and had still even without saying a word rendered him completely helpless right here and now. Why on earth did it have to hurt so much? Roman was the one that always said that things like love always felt so nice, that it was always worth singing about.

Did this mean that this feeling wasn’t love? If it wasn’t love then what was it? Did that mean he could carve it out of his chest so that he wouldn’t even feel this pain again? Was that even possible?

“No.. no!” The sniffling from the other side dragged Remus right on back to what was happening. “I just…” There was a shuffling sound, like the person on the other side was just as close to the door as Remus was. “They.. I was told that my interests… my ideas are too difficult. I… was used to it.. to that. I’m… a difficult person, even you must know that.”

The other’s voice sounded even closer than ever before, and it broke with every syllable.

Remus listened like a dying man in a desert who had finally found water.

“You… Your presence here… has been greatly appreciated, but you don’t have to do this. It’s better if I stay here… not talking. Not being… difficult for those around me. It’s… the least I can do.”

Something inside of Remus snapped, like a violin string that had been tightened and tightened to the point where the stress of the whole thing had been way too much.

“You…” Remus softly began trying not to sound as angry as he felt, this time with a lot more care than he was ever used to actually giving to another being that was still alive before his words abruptly failed him.

He was used to saying a lot of things in various different ways and styles, but nothing this soft and nothing ever this heartfelt for another person.

He swallowed thickly, “Are a gentle, loving person.” He quickly carried on before the other side could stop him. “Who has been told by too many people that you, that you are too difficult to love… and that..” A snarl tinged Remus’ words as his nails dug into the painted wood of the other’s door, “That is a fucking lie, Logan. You aren’t difficult to love, loving you..it takes effort. But so does loving anything in this hellscape of our life, you’re an effort that’s well worth it. That’s it.” Irritation ate at Remus’ insides, like a blazing wildfire that consumed everything in its path. “You’re worth knowing,” He snarled again like a furious hound tugging on the end of its collar, bumping his head even harder against the door, “And you’re worth loving. And nobody… none of them know that better than me!”

It took Remus a full few seconds to realize just what he had said, and in turn just what he had admitted to the logical side on the other side of the door. But even so, there was no taking it back now, Logan knew and just about everyone that there was to hear his angry rant knew it now too as well.

All that was left now was the rejection.

“I…” Logan paused for a long moment, that felt as if it stretched from the dawn of today to the very end of time as the logical side swallowed thickly. “I…”

Remus’ head thumped lifelessly against the door, as he prepared to get off of his aching knees and leave with his tail tucked between his legs. To never ever bother Logan again, and to leave him to his self imposed isolation. To perhaps go into his own isolation, and never ever leave for fear of continuing to bother the logical side even more of where he did not belong.

“I have a chessboard in my room,” Came the uncertain whisper from inside, “If you’d like to bring your book… we can play a game. If you’d really like to.”

And just like that, the icy numbness of terror thawed, replaced by hope as the gentle sounds of the lock clicking open finally registered to Remus’ ears. As quickly as he could, he stumbled back up to his feet as he seized the book that had been laying on the floor. In an instant, relief swept through the creative side’s body like a torrent of wind, rain, and hail as the door slowly swung open allowing him to see the other side’s face for the first time in months.

He saw it all.

The exhausted lines on the other’s face from the near-constant work he was having to do in order to keep Thomas going. The dark circles that spoke of many sleepless nights. The fresh tear tracks that were entirely Remus’ doing, although not from any amount of cruelty… but instead pure kindness and worry. And his tussled hair that rose and fell in chaotic messy waves due to the lack of gell keeping them back in place.

Remus wanted to kiss him, he wanted to kiss every single freckle that stood out on Logan’s pale face.

Instead, the book slid from his hands as he lunged forward. Seizing Logan in a bone-crushing hug as he held the other close to his chest, gingerly rocking him back and forth. He buried his face into the other’s neck, breathing heavily as his own set of tears spilled down his cheeks.

“I was so worried!” He openly gushed, uncaring about the tears that ruined his makeup. “I was so worried about you,” Remus repeated, stroking Logan’s back until he felt the other sinking back into the hug the logical side’s body shaking with his own tears. “I was so scared.”

A watery chuckle fell from Logan’s lips, “Are you sure that I’m worth it then?”

“Always,” There wasn’t a hint of doubt to Remus’ words. “You’re always worth the effort. I promise.”

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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6: A Room with a View

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,359

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, death mention, crying

Author’s Note: So, I already answered this, but just in case anyone missed it: I update this series weekly and I am still editing the vast majority of chapters! Sorry if it’s coming out slower than expected!

Tags: @divinity-deos @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @thecaptainsgingersnap @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @voidnarnia @anonymousonion23

Steve had no idea what he’d done wrong. Not a clue. But you were ignoring him. You sat farther away from him in English the past two days, and you’d been blowing off plans with him. You’d say that you had other plans, but he’d see you sat on the bleachers after school, watching the girls soccer practise or drawing in that book again. He still didn’t know what you were doing in that book and he was irritated by the fact that he could see you sat in your room some days, caught in a lie without knowing it, your nose caught in the pages in front of you, pencil in between your teeth, focused but unaware of an audience. Steve could see right into your room from his when your curtains were open and you often sat at your desk, working in your pads.

On the day that Mr. Lawrence announced the start for the final essay, Steve had had enough. It had been a week of this behaviour and he felt as though he deserved an answer. And he was sick of watching through the window. Tommy and Carol were busy every damn day chasing Billy Hargrove, Vicki had gone back after him too after their awful date, and Tina wasn’t his friend. Sure, he could bug Dustin, but that made him feel like such a loser. His only friends were a rag tag group of preteens and a weird girl who wouldn’t even talk to him! This was getting pathetic.

The bell rang before Steve could make his move and you were out the door before he could even open his mouth. Tina rolled her eyes as she passed him by, grabbing Tina’s arm to whisper loudly “God, how tragic.” making Vicki cackle loudly.

Steve booked it out the door, scanning the halls for you, but you’d already disappeared from sight. He spotted Samantha, but she was on the retreat. He chose not to chase her down, they’d never even had a conversation before and using her to try to get her to spill on her friend felt a bit shitty. So he decided to just take a walk, no harm in a walk, it was a nice day anyway, out by the field. He wandered out the gym doors by the car park. He shoved his hands into his blue workman’s jacket. The weather was still a bit too chilly to go without a coat, but the sunshine made it easier.

He spotted you and Samantha at the top of the bleachers. You had your hair up that day and your lavender bomber jacket draped around your shoulders. Carol had something similar, or maybe it was Tina, he couldn’t remember which one the pair blurred into one being in his mind.

Samantha caught Steve’s eye before you did. She leaned over to you with a smirk “Lover boy’s watching.” She whispered cheekily, pointing slyly at him.

You turned immediately. Steve was standing in the car park, a few smattering of folks on car hoods, eating packed lunches and watching the scene go down. He waved, taking a step towards you. You turned your attention away.

Samantha was baffled. A week ago, you were telling her all about the weird fun you were having with him, all smiles and laughter, and now you wouldn’t even look at him for more than a second. You wouldn’t admit it, but Samantha knew that he was something more than a friend to you. Nobody was this upset when someone cancelled plans.

Steve turned away without a word. He wanted to scream at you, his mind demanding to know what he had done wrong. He made a plan that afternoon, one he was certain might ruin everything for him.

As soon as the three o’clock bell rang, Steve made a mad dash for his car. He didn’t leave immediately; instead he waited to see an expected sight. Once he saw you huddled and headed for the bleachers, he was sure that the girl’s team was practising. Then he drove off towards home, parking in his own driveway. His mother was home, a shock to him, but he still headed upstairs. The next part was tricky. He’d time out that practise ended at four thirty, but that you usually left at four since the walk was so long. At four twenty, he headed across the street. As always, the yellow Volkswagen sat in the driveway. He’d rarely ever seen it leave the driveway, but it gave him hope that someone was inside the house. You couldn’t be living alone as a senior. He bounded up the front steps, knocking on the door twice. He was nervous, switching his weight from his toes to his heels in a rocking motion forward and back, forward and back.

An older man opened the door. He had to be in his eighties, with age spots speckling him around his eyes like a second pair of wide frames behind his tortoise shell glasses. He seemed suspicious of Steve, although that was probably because he was staring.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand for the man to shake “I’m Steve Harrington, I’m a friend of Y/N.” the man didn’t take his hand, staying silent as he looked him over.

Steve pressed on “I was wondering if she was home, we were supposed to study together today and she said that she’d call when she got home but I haven’t heard from her.” He chuckled awkwardly.

From behind the old man, a woman’s voice called “Harold, who’s there?”

“One of Y/N’s friends, she home yet?” he called back, opening the door wider. Steve could see the pale yellow walls, sun stained from the large three panel window at the front of their house.

Steve watched as an older woman hobbled into the scene, back hunched and skin thin. She looked frail, her hair dyed to what Steve assumed was its original shade, her grey roots visible from the top of her head. She greeted Steve with a warm smile. Steve was quick to offer his hand to shake, which she took carefully. “Hi, Steve Harrington, it’s nice to meet you both.” He said quickly, smiling brightly at the pair.

“Well hello there, I’m Maude and this is Y/N’s grandfather Harold, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said sweetly. “Why don’t you come inside, Y/N should be home any minute.”

Maude hit Harold’s arm roughly and he let go of the door, letting Steve into the house. He quickly kicked off his shoes, noting the pair’s socked feet. He looked around the house. Every house on the street was one of three standard box deals, with specified details. His parents hadn’t paid for the window seat like your family had, but you didn’t have the open kitchen that his did; an extra yellow wall separated the space. He looked to the fireplace, an exact copy of his family’s before their renovation last august. He missed the grey brick they used to have. You had a large family portrait on the mantle. You were sat in the centre in your Sunday best, your grandparents flanking the outside, two other adults stood closest to you. Steve assumed they were your parents. You looked like your father.

“You have a lovely home,” he said, turning his attention to the pair who were watching him intently.

“Thank you.” Maude smiled “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” Steve wasn’t much for tea, but he was taught not to refuse something offered by his host. Maude hurried off, leaving him and grumpy old Harold alone.

“Y/N doesn’t bring boys around.” Harold announced when his wife was out of the room. Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, luckily he continued “So what’re you trying to do with my girl?”

“Study,” Steve said with a shrug. The man scoffed, but Steve pressed on. “She’s my partner for our English final, we’re supposed to be working on it today, it’s due soon.”

Harold nodded gruffly “Alright…” he took a seat on the couch, turning the volume back on. The Love Boat was on, a rerun of the episode with guest stars the Captain and Tennille, and Steve was certain that they’d both seen it before.

Maude came in with a tray, handing her husband a mug. It was hand painted, thick script reading ‘Happy Father’s Day’ on the front, the year 1974 written in smaller script underneath in blue paint. She handed him a plain white mug.

“Well, Steve, you’re free to go and wait for Y/N upstairs, her room is two doors to the right of the stairs, you can’t miss it.” She said, gesturing to the stairwell. Steve bid his thanks and headed up the wide carpeted stairwell.

Harold mumbled something to his wife that Steve couldn’t hear, only catching her response. “He’s young, he doesn’t want to sit with us old folks.” She laughed at her own joke and Steve smiled at their friendly banter. They reminded him of his aunt and uncle, they always joked in that sort of way, laughing at themselves before anyone else. It made him feel as if he were at home in the house; he was comforted by the casualness of existence.

Maude was right that the room was impossible to miss. The door was covered in childlike butterflies painted in purple puffy paint. When he opened the bedroom door, he was transported into a small, private art gallery. The room was covered wall to wall in fabric canvases, canvas boards, and paper sketches. Your desk was covered in paint splotches and doodles carved into the wood, there were glow in the dark stars and moons on the blades of your ceiling fan. You’d painted your ceiling into a buttery sunset. It was as if for the first time, Steve was seeing all of you. And you were absolutely incandescent.

His hands went to roam your shelves, filled with sketchbooks and art books and worn copies of the classics. Greedily, he grabbed the first black sketchbook he found its pages heavy and curled. A piece of masking tape on the cover read ‘Still Life, 1980’ in black Sharpie. He flipped over the cover. Every page was the same bowl of fruit, some plain sketches, some painted in acrylics or water colours, but the fruit changed in shape and structure with every flip, rotting more with each sketch until the image switched to a vase of sunflowers, a prim and proper version of the Van Gogh he’d seen a print of in his freshman year art class. He wondered if you’d been there, silently making your own master pieces. He wondered how many masterpieces you had hidden away in your big black book.

The door opened behind him before he could put the sketch book away. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” you snapped, bounding towards him. When your grandmother told you that your friend from school was upstairs waiting for you, you had a sinking feeling that you knew who it was. And seeing him rifling through your things made your blood boil.

Steve turned slowly, unsure what to say. You snatched the pad out of his hands “And who the fuck gave you permission to look at my stuff, you pervert!” You knew that he hadn’t done anything actually perverted, but you still felt violated.

“I can’t get you to talk to me, I figured coming here would at least make you see me.” Steve laughed a bit, unable to even process what was happening. In the back of his mind, he thought that this would be an effortlessly cool way to go about a solution. Like you’d see him in your room and think ‘wow…what an effort that was…’ Instead, you were furious.

“So, you thought that coming into my house without telling me, lying to my grandparents, and touching my stuff would make it better.” You raised an eyebrow, shoving your sketchbook onto the shelf.

“What was I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls, you won’t talk to me, I can’t get you to look at me for more than a second and all I want to know is what I did wrong so I can fix it!” Steve cried, words tumbling out of his mouth. You both stared at each other for a moment, surprised by each other, your mouth hanging silently ajar.

You closed it fast, swallowing before speaking “You…you hurt my feelings.” You said softly, pushing past him to put distance between you, standing next to your desk and the window.

“How did I hurt your feelings?” Steve asked quietly, watching you carefully even as you stared defiantly out the window.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest “You cancelled our plans. For Vicki.”

“So?” Steve asked.

“So, I don’t cancel on you. I never cancel on you, especially not the day of. It hurt my feelings.” You explained, picking at a bit of lint on your sweater.

“Yeah, but I…” he tried to catch himself before he said something terrible, but you already knew what filled in the blank.

“What? You have more friends than me? Is that it?” you snapped. It was Steve’s turn to look away, but you pressed on. “You’re right, you do have more friends than me. But don’t act like I don’t have a social life without you. I do. Do you know how many games of Samantha’s I’ve skipped out on to help you study? How many practises she’s asked me to come and watch that I’ve said no to because I already had plans with you?”

“I don’t know…” Steve muttered. Embarrassment crept up his face. He felt like such a dick. In truth he had forgotten about your plans that day in the excitement of a date with Vicki. With hindsight in full effect he could see that he would’ve had twice as much fun with you eating greasy burgers then he did with Vicki driving around Hawkins.

“Well, it’s been a lot. And it’s not the fact that you went out with Vicki that upset me, you are free to date whoever you want. But can you please at least tell me if you’re cancelling a little sooner than mere minutes before?” you asked, your voice cracking on the end.

“Sure, yeah of course. I should’ve been doing that before.” Steve stumbled over his words to apologize.

“Okay.” You nodded “Now, why are you going through my shit?”

“I wanted to see more. This whole room is incredible.” Steve breathed, plopping down on your mattress.

“You think?” you asked quietly. In truth, you didn’t think that you were that good of an artist. You loved art, but you didn’t think you were exactly talented.

“It’s so cool!” you couldn’t help but laugh, or else you’d cry. Nobody ever talked about your art with such enthusiasm. Teachers only criticized mistakes and your mother and grandparents saw it as clutter. Samantha liked some stuff but she didn’t talk about it much. Even a simple compliment from Steve made you want to cry. You covered your mouth to avoid the tears.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, wandering the room to point out pieces he thought were interesting. He pointed to a canvas depicting the quarry. You’d camped out there one night in the summer; drawing until the sun fades out of the sky and then painting it out once you had it exactly right. “This one is just insane I mean it looks like it’s going to eat you whole, like it has teeth or something.” He exclaimed.

“You can have it.” You replied quickly.

Steve shook his head “No, I couldn’t I mean don’t you want it? For college apps or something?” he couldn’t take it, he’d feel too guilty.

You shrugged “I have enough stuff for at least three portfolios, you should have that one if you like it so much. It’ll make your room cooler.”

“Hey, my room is cool.” Steve pouted, making you laugh harder. He liked your laugh, it split your whole face open into a smile. And your smile looked as if it sat on a bed of clouds. He wanted to float along with it forever.

“Oh yeah, your pee wee t-ball participation trophy is real slick, it gets you all the chicks.” You drawling, bouncing on your mattress.

“Hey, you didn’t run when you saw it.” Steve shrugged, sitting down next to you.

“Eh, your baby sports escapades don’t frighten me. It adds character to know that you suck at something.” You replied. Steve thought briefly of the bat in his trunk and the weight of it mid-swing, connecting with a heavy skull. Better with a bat now then he was as an elementary schooler.

You both lay back on the mattress, staring up at the slowly turning fan. Steve turned to you “What’d you think of Vicki anyway?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Steve nodded “I think she’s a bitch.” Steve laughed loudly but you pressed on “She is! She’s so mean for no reason!”

“Yeah, she’s not cool. She spent our whole date bitching about people, saying a lot of shit about you.�� Steve murmured.

“What’d you…” you didn’t know if you could ask how he responded. You bit your tongue before finishing the sentence.

Steve understood anyway “I told her the truth. That you’re a really cool chick and that she shouldn’t be such a bitch about people she doesn’t know.” He said simply, turning his attention back to the slowly moving stars.

You didn’t necessarily believe that he actually defended you. Still, you didn’t feel like arguing. Steve continued on in your silence. “So, do you live with your grandparents’ full time? Or do your parents just work?” he asked.

“Both,” you sighed softly “My mom’s not home very much so they take care of me. She’s a fashion photographer, travels all over the world for different magazines.”

“What about your dad?” Steve asked. He’d seen a younger man in the photo; he assumed that it was some kind of father figure.

“He died.” You muttered.

“Oh…” Steve didn’t know how to react to that. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize.

“She killed him.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying that. Anger still stewed into your bones whenever you thought about your parents.

“What?” Steve to fully look at you, flabbergasted.

“She worked him to death. She always wanted more and farther away from us. Trips to Europe, designer things, this stupid house. She killed him.” You wiped hard at your face, trying to keep the hot tears from streaming down your face. Steve didn’t say anything, he simply pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly into him and letting you cry. He patted your hair gently, trying to soothe you as best he could. He didn’t think he was very good at helping people in their pain. But you grabbed onto his middle and clung to him like a life raft.

“My parents aren’t that great either.” He muttered, unsure if he was helping at all. “They ignore me.”

“I-I’m sorry they do that…” you muttered, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. Steve melted. He absolutely melted. He was filled with the sudden urge to kiss you, which surprised him. He didn’t follow through with the urge; he didn’t know how you’d take it.

“I’m sorry he’s not here for you…” he replied, petting your hair softly. He stayed with you like that for what felt like hours, letting you cling to him and ruin his shirt with tears. He didn’t care. He needed to be there for you. He promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt you again. That he’d be more careful and pay more attention. He couldn’t bear to see you in this much pain again. He knew that you weren’t crying because of him, but if he could keep you from feeling even an ounce of this sort of pain again, he would.

He cared about you too much to ever let you suffer alone again.

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stanprokopenko · 6 years

Text

Process for Successful Drawings – Caricature Essentials

This is an example by Court Jones based on his video on Shape Design and Facial Features caricature lesson.

youtube

***

I figured a good way to end the course is with a caricature of Stan the Man himself, Mr. Prokopenko.

Stan’s likeness is a little tricky. It could go many different ways. Even with his heavy eyebrows and manly stubble, he still has kind of a baby face. So to help me out, I decided to use the Spirit Animal technique to come up with the exaggeration. After some thought, I’ve determined that Stan’s Spirit Animal is… a beet.

Now I know what you’re thinking, it’s just because he’s Ukrainian and I’m stereotyping. And that’s not true at all. Stan is actually a huge fan of beets. Every time I see him at lunch, he’s enjoying pickled beets or beet salad or just a big ole’ bowl of borscht. His favorite song is Beat It. The man is beet-crazy! If you see him at a convention or out on the street, feel free to just give him a handful of beets. He’ll eat them raw.

Thumbnail Sketch

Of course Stan’s large cranium and thin neck coincidentally worked really well with the beet shape. So I begin with some thumbnail sketches, to try and figure out how to make Stan’s face work on this beet. I soon realize his features should sit low on his head, because his forehead and hair take up more real estate than on the average person. I think the concept here is a good start. But the features aren’t executed in a way that’s accurate to him. So I end this one and try sketching from a different angle.

For this second sketch, I maintain the same basic concept of the inner beet spirit, but I thicken the beet-neck just a bit at the top. I also like the idea of really small features set into a large wide head. It’s funnier. This one is working much better than the first sketch. Although I’m not a fan of straight-on views. I prefer more dynamic angles that allow me to show the three-dimensional quality of a face. So I move on to a photo with a more interesting angle.

Again, I try to maintain the beetroot proportions for the head shape and then place the features on top of that. In this thumbnail sketch, I’m able to draw a more dynamic angle which I push even further to give it more visual interest. And there’s even a slightly sassy expression on his face that I try to make more obvious in my sketch. Because of the interesting angle and expression, I feel like this is the one that I can take to the next stage. The likeness needs some work, but that’s what the rough sketch is for.

Rough Sketch

I begin the rough sketch by tracing directly over the thumbnail. I use some simple guides to align the features in perspective on the head. And I slow down a bit to give more attention to each feature. More time than I allowed in the thumbnail sketch phase anyway. One of the distinctive traits about Stan that isn’t strictly physical is the darkness around his eyes. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but also a slightly darker tone than the rest of his face. So I try to indicate that in my rough sketch.

At this point, it feels pretty good, but I’m not entirely sold on the likeness yet. Something I’ve learned about likeness is that it’s usually easier to see with the use of light and dark values, rather than with just lines. I could continue crosshatch shading to darken the values, but for the sake of speed, I add some more shading with a large brush. It’s pretty rough and simple, but I think it does add some visual information to define the likeness which wasn’t there before, like the volumes of the forehead and cheeks. When I squint down and blur my eyes, I really see it. So It’s just enough to confirm that I’m on the right track even if it’s not perfect yet.

Abstraction

For this next stage in developing this caricature, I flip the rough sketch over to better see any structural problems and then draw a Reilly Abstraction on top of it. The rhythm lines of the Abstraction are drawn from one side of the head to the other to help check if things are lined up or if they need to be moved. Some features, like the eyebrows, are going to be asymmetrical, so I allow for that and look for unintended distortions and asymmetries. I discover that the ear I drew on the rough sketch was too low. But for the most part, everything else was in a good spot. Even if all the features are determined to be well-placed, these geometric rhythm lines are most helpful because they act as an idealized template of Stan’s head – sort of a cleanser, washing away the rough lines of the earlier sketch, so that I can trace much more nicely designed shapes and features in the right locations at the next stage.

Oh, and besides the ear being too low, the Abstraction helps me figure out that the head would look better if the forehead was more bulging in front.

Final Sketch

After a quick check, I flip it back around, dim down the Abstraction and begin my final linear drawing on new layer, tracing over the Abstraction, but with much more attention to the exact shapes of the contours and features and also to the quality of my lines.

This lesson is all about drawing caricatures with special attention paid to the visual design. As I’ve said, a good exaggeration and likeness is not enough. To draw at a professional level, you need to slow down and spend time creating a refined look or visual design. It doesn’t have to be realistic and based on anatomy, like my work. You can draw abstractly or simple and cartoony. But whatever it is, you need to figure out what you want the finished style to be and then keep working on this until you’ve achieved that look. Tracing over the previous drawing is a great way to do that.

Now, the problem with being the judge of your own progress is that while you’re learning, your artist’s eye may not be able to see all the flaws that a more experienced artist may see. As you continue your studies, your eye will improve, followed by your hand’s ability to make the right marks. But during this time is when it’s important to have a teacher, mentor or at least another artist at a higher level of development help you and let you know where you can improve. Eventually though, you’ll be able to look back on your older work and wonder why you missed all those drawing problems the first time around.

With my linear lay-in finished, I now add the soft edges. Wherever a form transitions from a light to dark value, that transition will be either a hard, firm, soft or lost edge. Once those transitions are all in, I finally start to add the values, which is the final stage of this drawing.

I always seem to have the most success in a drawing or painting when I work on a middle grey background. In the premium version of this course, I demonstrate shading drawings with different strategies. On my David Bowie caricature, I shade on a white background, which shows how it negatively affects my perception of the values on the face. Working on a white background prevents me from shading as darkly as I should because the bright white fools my eyes into thinking a value I use on the face is darker than what it really is. A light-middle grey, as I’ve used here, sets me up right in the range of what Stan’s caucasian flesh tone already is. So even before I begin, I’m in the right value range.

Most of the time in a realistically shaded portrait like this is spent working in the middle range of values. Or the halftones. The dark accents and bright highlights are fun and give the drawing more visual punch. But they wouldn’t work if the the middle values aren’t properly figured out and correctly placed first. The meat of the portrait is in the halftones. They are what’s going to sell it to the viewer. And the halftones are usually all within a very narrow range on the value scale. So there’s not much room for error. If you shade the halftones with too much contrast, the subject will look shiny or metallic. If you don’t have enough contrast, the portrait will look dull and flat. And if you don’t shade and cover the shapes evenly, you may get spotty or streaky effects where bits of light or dark peek through your strokes. So make sure you’re using the right tool for the job.

Most of the Photoshop brushes I’m using to shade here are very subtle brushes already. One stroke from them doesn’t cover much because they have heavy textures applied to them. I have to keep on adding stroke on top of stroke to lay down a value. It’s similar to using very light pressure with a hard charcoal or graphite on a rough paper. In fact, I think my main brush here is called “Shady Graphite” by Kyle Webster. It comes standard with the latest version of Photoshop. But you can find or even create similar brushes in other painting apps.

Also, it probably goes without saying, but when shading a drawing or painting, use the largest brush for an area that you can. You want to be able to cover broad areas with less brush strokes. But to get hard edges or for textures like the hair and stubble you’ll need a smaller brush. But those should be used sparingly, lest you end up with a streaky and sketchy rendering. Most of your time in a drawing like this will be spent using large brushes.

Some final bits of advice to create professional quality caricatures with a strong sense of design are: First and foremost, keep working on it until you can’t make it any better. Push yourself to draw and paint like the people you admire. If you get to the end and aren’t sure if it’s a success, get up, walk away and come back to look at it with fresh eyes. Or flip it in reverse one more time to examine it backwards. If there are any structural problems, they’ll be much more obvious. If you can correct those problems, then do so. If there are just too many problems to fix, you may need to go back a few steps and start again from your rough sketch or Abstraction.

#proko #caricature #digital art #digital painting #photoshop #stan prokopenko

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