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megalony · 4 years

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Burnt vermilion

This is a Harry Styles imagine that contains a lot of angst and is like my Ben Hardy imagine ‘I want a baby’ because I couldn’t decide who to write it for so I did both. I hope you will all enjoy it, feedback is always lovely to have.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Harry and (Y/n) try for a baby but when he comes home one night, things take a very bad turn.

Enjoy.

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He was finally home.

She could hear the sound of his shoes hitting the wall when dug his toes into the back of his shoe to kick it off his foot and into its rightful place up against the wall near to the front door. The usual thud of his jacket followed the sound of his shoes and the jingling of the many keys on his chain being dropped into the dish near the door.

She could only just hear his feet tapping against the floorboards that barely groaned under his feet. He always walked so light as if he was a fairy or weighed nothing at all and it made it harder for (Y/n) to know whereabouts he was in their home or when he got back. But (Y/n) did notice that when he was walking it was like he was walking in time with his heartbeat or a tune in his head and he was tapping out the rhythm with his feet as he walked.

(Y/n) didn't bother to open her eyes when she heard him getting closer and closer to their shared room, she decided to wait and see what he would do if he thought she was asleep. They both knew well enough that (Y/n) hardly ever went to sleep without him unless he was away on tour and even then it took her ages to finally get to sleep. It took a lot out of her to stop herself from smiling when the door opened and she could hear his slow breaths filling the room.

It was as if (Y/n) could actually feel his surprise when his eyes set on her and saw that she was sleeping even with the lamp turned on very low.

(Y/n) tensed her legs to stop them from moving and giving away the game that she wasn't really asleep, she had only been resting her tired eyes when Harry finally came home from a party she didn't fancy attending. She wasn't mad at him for staying out, Harry liked events and parties and it wasn't like he came home drunk or on drugs or angry or horrible. He always let her know roughly what time he would be home and he called if he was going to be staying late at the studio.

She could feel his weight pressing down on his side of the bed behind her and she could hear the little pops of the buttons on his shirt that he was taking off. (Y/n) felt the bed lift ever so lightly before quickly settling back down when he moved to take off his socks and trousers before climbing into bed behind her, still under the impression that she was asleep.

For a moment, (Y/n) thought Harry was just going to lie down and try to fall asleep since it took him a while to calm his mind enough to fall asleep. But his arm soon found its way around her waist and she could feel his chest pressing up against her back.

When a kiss was slowly pressed to the back of her neck, a smile formed on (Y/n)'s lips and she had to fight to keep her eyes closed when he was making the blood rush to her head and her skin tickle. He kept lingering kisses against her neck before peppering open-mouthed kisses down the back of her neck and along to her shoulder causing (Y/n)'s smile to disappear so he would still think she was asleep. After a little while, his lips moved back up to her neck until he reached just under her jaw and she could feel his stubble tickling against her skin.

"I know you're awake." He murmured the words quietly against her skin, feeling the way the muscles in her neck pulled up when she swallowed before her eyes slowly fluttered open like butterfly wings. "I can practically hear your heartbeat." He added when he could see her questioning how he knew, but there was no smug tone to his voice like she thought there would have been.

(Y/n) lifted her hand from the bed to gently brush over Harry's cheek before her fingers trailed down to play with the ring settled neatly on his wedding finger. Out of all the rings Harry wore day in and day out, his silver wedding band had to be her favourite because it was the one that joined her to him. It was the ring that showed he loved her enough to commit himself to her.

"I missed you." (Y/n) twirled the ring around Harry's finger before she dared to lift her eyes and look up at him.

"Missed you too, s'not fun when you're not there." Harry's response was quiet but his words were tender and sweet as he trailed his kisses up her jaw before his hands moved and he slowly turned (Y/n) over so she was laying on her back instead of her side. Giving him the opportunity to move and lay over her, resting his weight on his forearms that were resting next to her shoulders, pinning her beneath him like she was his prey.

(Y/n)'s tired eyes looked up into his as he smiled sweetly, momentarily stopping his kisses so he could watch her play with his rings. The lazy smile on his lips and the look in his eyes told (Y/n) that he was drunk or at the very least he was tipsy, it took quite a few drinks to get Harry drunk.

"M'not going out without you again." Their voices didn't go above whispers but they had no need to speak any louder.

Harry's words made (Y/n) smile and caused her eyes to soften as she stared up at him. She did like going out to parties with him, but then again if she didn't go it meant he could come home after not seeing her all day and be affectionate like this. This was the usual routine if he was away all day and (Y/n) was still awake, he would come home and worm his way into her arms and never let her leave his embrace until the morning. He wrapped himself around her like a vine and she loved it.

Harry trailed his finger down (Y/n)'s cheek in a way that reminded her of a teardrop before he leaned down to steal a kiss from her lips. When he pulled up for air, his eyes narrowed and an inquisitive smile formed on his lips when he noticed the look in her eyes as she cupped his face. There was something on her mind or something that she wanted to tell him.

"I want a baby."

In her head that sounded much kinder and more of a conversation starter than a statement that she expected Harry to go along with. She didn't want to blurt it out like that but she also didn't want to beat about the bush this late at night.

(Y/n) could see the surprise in Harry's eyes and the smile on his lips at how blunt she was but he wasn't offended by it thankfully.

"Are you asking me or telling me, love?" Harry didn't really mind either way because it was clear (Y/n) wanted to talk about this, she wasn't just putting it out there and expecting him to go along with it. This was up for discussion so asking or telling him what she wanted wasn't an issue.

"Both... what do you think? I really want to try for a baby."

"I think that sounds like a great idea-" No more words could pass through Harry's lips before (Y/n) was pulling him down by his cheeks so she could press a bruising kiss to his lips.

Harry hadn't long come back from doing a world tour which meant that for the foreseeable future he wouldn't be jetting off anywhere other than a few interviews here and there. He was home and ready to take a break before thinking about getting on with another album. It was the perfect time to think about expanding their numbers and both of them had already agreed that they wanted a lot of kids in the near future.

(Y/n) couldn't help but hold her breath when Harry's lips moved from her own, down her chin and back down her neck. He felt the way her chest shuddered beneath his lips and how she kept taking short breaths and holding her breath for a long time like he was very used to by now. It was like she didn't know what he was going to do next and so held her breath in anticipation and he loved it. Harry loved having that hold over her and the ability to take her breath away without having to do very much.

When he started to pepper kisses down the valley of her breasts he could feel her stomach tensing and pulling inwards too as her hand knotted in his hair, needing something to hold on to.

"Let's have a baby."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His socks padded quiet yet heavily against the soft carpet that felt like sand enveloping around his feet until he felt like he was going to slip beneath the floorboards and down into the living room below. There was nothing more he wanted than to strip from the constricting clothing he wore and to jump into bed with his wife.

Harry was rather surprised (Y/n) was in bed even though it was gone midnight. He'd been out at the studio since five o'clock in the afternoon because he'd had an idea that he wanted to work on with the band before the idea slipped from his mind. And Harry knew (Y/n) always waited up for him for as long as she could until she physically dropped. Something about sleeping on her own set her on edge, she had to have Harry there to get a proper nights sleep and he wasn't complaining, as long as (Y/n) was there Harry could sleep anywhere at any given time.

He tried to be as quiet as he could when he walked into their shared room and very slowly pushed the door shut so the hinges didn't squeak and giveaway what time he was coming home. Harry always tried to come home at a reasonable time because he wanted to spend as much time as he could with (Y/n), but sometimes he just couldn't help but let time slip away from him. He never liked being home this late, it made him feel bad if (Y/n) was waiting up for him and he felt even worse when he realised she was already asleep.

Harry could easily get changed and walk around the bedroom without needing any lights turned on which was good right now so that he didn't wake (Y/n). He knew where the wardrobe was, the chest of drawers was next to the door and there was a chair near to the window where they both placed their clothes ready for morning.

Harry trudged around to his side of the bed before slowly easing himself down until he was sat on the edge, his eyes sneaking a quick glance over at (Y/n) who was sound asleep, as she should be at this hour. The moment he felt the mattress beneath him he wanted to flop down and collapse as the mattress brought the exhaustion to his bones. He shrugged off the now itchy black button up shirt he had adorned all day and tossed it down onto the floor, doing the same with his socks and he slipped a few of his rings off and placed them on the side table before a sigh left his lips. He couldn't be bothered to go into the hall to put them in the wash basket, nor could he really be bothered to grab some sleep shorts or a shirt.

Without taking off his trousers or even his belt, Harry threw the covers aside so he could lay down. He knew his mind was far too active for him to fall asleep then and there despite how tired and groggy his eyelids felt. He'd remove his uncomfortable trousers when he had the energy, right now he just wanted to let the bed hold his weight for a change and let his muscles relax.

A minute ticked by that felt like an hour to Harry as sleep desperately clawed at his mind, fighting his willpower that was keeping him awake so that he could think for a while longer.

He liked this, Harry liked having a few minutes in the dead of night- or early morning, and being surrounded by quiet. The studio was anything but quiet with the sound of a drumbeat circulating through the air like a heartbeat or the strings of guitars and bass guitars and vocals being thrown here there and everywhere. Whatever Harry did it never came with silence, he did interviews, he worked in the studio or on a movie set, he recorded vocals and practised stage shows. Nighttime was the only time where he got some peace and quiet but it didn't happen often enough for his liking.

Harry liked coming home and laying in the silence and the dark like this, it allowed his mind to rest and recover and it let him think about things over than his music. And when he had (Y/n) laid beside him it further calmed him down. (Y/n) always had the ability to calm him down even when he didn't know what was wrong himself.

Harry's left hand rested on his lower stomach where he could feel one of his tattoos beneath his fingertips which absentmindedly started to trace around the butterfly design he'd had there for roughly four years now. Harry had too many tattoos to count at this point, one of his favourites was the one of (Y/n)'s name inked onto his wrist. He knew now that since (Y/n) was pregnant, when they had the baby he would have another name to add to his collection of ink on his skin. But that was months away.

As he laid thinking about anything and everything, he just so happened to move his right hand to rest beside him on the bed under the cover and it sparked his mind to wake up from his drowsy state.

The bed sheets were wet.

Harry had only just laid down and it hadn't been raining outside so that was nothing to do with him and the room wasn't anywhere near hot enough for (Y/n) to be sweating or in a cold sweat in her sleep. His confusion brought him out of his thoughts and he groggily sat himself up, leaning over to his left so he could turn on the bedside lamp.

He ran his hand through his hair to brush the long curls from his eyes but Harry felt a shiver crawling ungodly slowly up his spine when his hand left his hair and came within his line of sight. Grabbing the cover, Harry aimlessly flung it towards the end of the bed around his feet so it wouldn't be an obstruction as realisation and terror dawned on him. (Y/n) wasn't sweating, the bed sheets were drenched in blood.

Harry's throat tightened and his lips curved like he was frowning or snarling when he realised that there was a repulsive smell in the air, it was iron and copper from the blood. His nose crinkled at the smell that was now overwhelming his senses and burning the back of his throat. How could he not have noticed the smell lingering in the air? Why didn't he smell it when he laid down?

It was everywhere. The blood was smeared on his hand, it had grazed onto his right arm from him leaning it on the bed, it was spread across the whole middle of the bed and what made Harry gag was seeing blood on the pillow beneath (Y/n)'s head. She was laid in a C shape, curling her legs up to her stomach with her arms coiled to her chest, not knowing she was sleeping in a pool of blood. All the blood was situated around (Y/n), specifically her lower half so it was very clear which one of them was in trouble and where the trouble was coming from.

When Harry reached out for her he choked when he could even see blood in her hair.

How long had she been bleeding out in her sleep? Why wasn't she awake and in pain or crying or feeling something? How had it gotten like this and she hadn't woken up and noticed- why didn't he notice when he came in?

"(Y/n)... (Y/n), love you need to wake up." Harry rubbed his thumb over her cheek as his other hand shook her shoulder with a growing force to try and wake her up.

Relief swarmed through Harry's tight chest when (Y/n)'s head jolted forward a bit and her eyes tiredly started to open and look around, adjusting to the orange light cascading the room. A small hum left her lips as she craned her head to look at Harry over her shoulder who looked like some kind of angel hovering over her. The worry on his face made her heart race and he could see the iron smell flooding her nose when it crinkled and her brows furrowed at the smell she couldn't work out.

"Love, you're not very well. Come on, we've got to get you up." He could see his words were making little sense to (Y/n) as her eyes narrowed and creased at the corners and her head shook ever so slightly. It was like she was trying to smile out of nervousness as if she thought he was playing a joke on her but something was telling her she couldn't smile because she knew deep down that something was wrong.

Harry didn't wait any longer for a response, he simply slipped his arms under her until he could ease her into a sitting position. The amount of blood she seemed to have lost and having just woken up made her groggy and her head swayed like it was too heavy for her to hold up on her own.

Harry knew that the moment (Y/n) caught sight of the amount of blood she had lost, she would fall into a state of shock and it would make her panic when he wanted and needed her to be calm. He tried to keep her eyes focused on him as he quickly scrambled across to her side of the bed before he got off the bed and attempted to try and get (Y/n) to stand up with him. He needed to get her to the hospital because he had no idea how long she had been bleeding for or if there was anything wrong other than the obvious miscarriage.

"Sweetheart, just look at me and trust me, okay?"

His efforts to keep her eyes on him were in vain for when he got (Y/n) to sit on the edge of the bed, something caught her eye. He stopped moving and anything else he was about to say died down in his throat when he realised her eyes had found a strand of hair hanging at the side of her face that was damp and matted together with blood.

It felt like everything was in slow motion for the couple as Harry watched (Y/n) reach a shaking hand up to her hair and rub her finger and thumb at the strands before moving her hand.

"Harry..." The terror in her voice was as clear as day because she didn't know or understand how she could have gotten blood in her hair when she hadn't hit her head or cut her hands or arms. There was nothing wrong or in pain to suggest why her hair had streaks of blood in it like highlights.

"(Y/n) I need you to stand up for me love."

Tears of fear welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes as she stared at her husband who looked so perplexed and conflicted. He wanted to make everything better, he wanted her to listen and trust him but his nervousness and his gentle side were making it very hard for him. The gentle edge to his voice and the look in his eyes showed he was scared for her and he wanted so badly to just take her in his arms and hold her.

Harry couldn't tell her she'd lost a worrisome amount of blood due to a very evident miscarriage because he couldn't break her like that. Harry couldn't say those words and see what it did to his wife but saying nothing was panicking her more than he wanted it to.

Maybe it would have been better if she stayed asleep, he could have carried her out to the car and driven her to the hospital without her seeing the amount of blood she'd lost or knowing what was going on. That would have been easier for her.

Harry hooked his arms around her middle, splaying his hands on her upper chest before he tried his best to be gentle when pulling (Y/n) up onto her feet. It almost worked.

He had (Y/n) up on her feet and he held most of her weight when she seemed to wobble and be unsteady. He walked back a few steps, pulling her along with him to get her out of the room and he almost got her to focus on him. But when her eyes looked down to Harry's shirt that she was wearing to bed and saw how it looked like it had been dyed red, her head turned to look at the bed.

"Baby no-"

Harry's hand let go of her back and pressed to her cheek to try and turn her head back to him but he couldn't do it in time. Her eyes were already looking at the pale grey sheets that were now burnt vermilion and cherry blossom red.

It was as if (Y/n) had woken up from a dream. Her trembling hand left Harry's arm and moved to feel her hair at the back of her head before shakily feeling down her neck, then scrunching up the shirt in her hand before she looked at her palm that was streaked with blood. Red was all (Y/n) could see. Her vision wasn't full of colour or reduced to black and white, it was sheathed in a layer of red like someone was holding a dark red sweetie wrapper in front of her eyes to make the world around her blushing red.

A horrid, broken yet so quiet sound scratched and cracked against the back of (Y/n)'s throat and clawed against her chapped lips as her eyes wide with pain and fear locked onto Harry like he was a lighthouse during a storm. Her hands dug down into his biceps, painting one of his bare arms red and digging crescent moons into both arms from the force she was holding him with to stop herself from collapsing.

Harry's mouth opened like he wanted to echo her scream back to her but no sound left his lips, he didn't know what to say. He had nothing to say that could make this situation any easier for either of them.

He watched in agony as some kind of pain either came flooding back to (Y/n) or she only now realised that there was pain somewhere in her body that she had been ignoring. Her jaw slacked and he could see her tongue tensing against the bottom of her mouth before a small, shattered cry of pain left her lips just as her head tipped down and her wide eyes snapped closed.

It was as if a fire had suddenly erupted in (Y/n)'s abdomen and the shock of the pain sent her knees buckling beneath her like broken matchsticks. Her knees caved in, thrusting all of her weight onto Harry who didn't know what else to do but to go down on his knees on the carpet with (Y/n) huddled brokenly against his chest.

(Y/n) could feel every drop of blood both fresh and dried that was painted onto her skin like drying paint and she hated it. How had she bled that much without knowing? She was fine when she went to bed, she hadn't been bleeding or in any sort of pain and she hadn't passed out from bloodloss, she had been perfectly fine.

"I need to take you to-" Harry couldn't get the words out quick enough before (Y/n) cried out, curling in on herself and forcing her knees up into her stomach like he was going to help or relieve the pain.

Harry had seen bad things in his life, he had seen a small number of people die and he'd witnessed things he would much rather forget. But everything he had ever witnessed had been mild compared to what he was witnessing now, this was a different level that Harry didn't want to be on.

He'd never seen something so small, so odd and so gut-wrenching like the blood-covered creation (Y/n) was holding in the palm of her hand like she was willing it to be alright or holding it out for Harry to try and make better. But Harry's hands could never make a child so small come to life, his hands were only good for writing down his lyrics or holding someone in a loving embrace. Harry's hands couldn't take the creation in the palm of (Y/n)'s hands and give it life or sustain it and make it better.

The broken sob that left (Y/n)'s lips sounded like a howl in Harry's ears and it left him paralysed. He had to get up, he had to take (Y/n) to the hospital before she passed out or got an infection or something much worse. He had to take her now because she was in a worse state than he would ever have imagined, but he couldn't move.

All he could do was wrap his arms tightly around her and hug her broken frame to his bare chest. His short nails dug into her upper arm and his other hand dug into the flesh of her thigh, cradling her against him like she was the broken child that needed caring for.

Harry himself felt like a child who had witnessed something he was far too young to see. The inner child in him was coming out and making tears wash down his face. He was never going to be at the right age or stage in his life to know how to deal with something like this, all he could do was wish that this was a nightmare that he could wake up from.

Neither of them could feel the blood that was covering them like they'd had a fight with paint. All they felt was numb.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #dad! harry styles #imagine

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faunusrights · 4 years

Text

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 18

IN THIS EPISODE OF ROBLOX OOF NOISE:

“Yes.” Glynda couldn’t hang up, not without: “I’m—I’m sorry. About what I—”

“It’s alright. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay—” The feed cut. Softly, Glynda said again, “Okay.”

GLYNDA DISCOVERS WHY BEING CINDER FALL SUCKS

do u know how hard it is to wake up and play animal crossing whilst knowing this chapter looms over yr shoulder,

OKAY HERE WE GO

She was fidgety; even Cinder mentioned her pacing, shooting a critical eye her way. Glynda sat, intent on stillness; moments later, Cinder mentioned her bouncing leg.

i LOVE it when a chapter calls me out just right out of the gate hahaha who gave u the right

"Really?" How long had they been doing that? How long ago had Cinder noticed? "Should I stay?"

cinder: maybe i should tell glynda abt that /see glynda pacing a dent into the floor cinder: ooooooor i could. NOT give her an excuse to bully them for something to do,

On her way down the street, Glynda couldn't help but stare at the car, its tinted windows revealing nothing within. As she passed it, she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting an attack or something. But nothing came of it.

HJGDFSGSDFHKGHJDF GLYNDA,,,,,,,,,,, can u imagine being in the white fang, and sittin in yr fuckin. TINTED WINDOWED like BULLETPROOF CAR and yr sat on yr ass watching out for cinder “dumbass” fall and suddenly glynda goodwitch, The Top Bitch, comes out and starts GLARING YR CAR DOWN,,, like ah. i think she knows we’re here. hrm. hm.

i would just like. drive to mcdonalds and get some nuggies at that point.

She had a clutch of flash-images and a wash of emotions and impressions, the raw materials of memory, stored as-is without refining. She was quite used to that—most of her missions were hazy and rough in her memory, mere sketches of events.

i cant wait for glynda to become a vlogger if only so she can actually have physical proof of whatever the fuck happens whenever she goes out and about. get her a go-pro.

It told her: despite her restlessness, despite the arduous journey here, and despite the way Vale seemed to call for her from somewhere beyond the horizon, she felt quite content to be where she was.

the difference having a gf has huh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, u got a whole ass home (being cased by the fang) a real nice city to live in (its floating and atlas wants yr number) a bunch of unread msgs (from a [redacted] who [redacted]) and its a nice day!!! its all coming together. but probably not for very long,

(i got very distracted at this point making a line graph for the animal crossing stalk market so here we go, x2 edition,)

That meant the nightlife would soon begin. She had never liked crowds; too many people, too much input at once. It was hard to focus, to be comfortable.

/chefs kiss

autistic glynda did u kno: id die for u,

Since she’d blocked Ozpin’s number, there was no chance of receiving anything directly from him—but there was still a moment of pause each time she checked her Scroll, as if expecting his smiling face to appear somehow.

OH YEAH LMAO SHE DID THAT SHIT HUH,,,,,,,,,, i still cannot BELIEVE that happened. GOD. cant wait for this to bite her entire ass right off her body,

By the time she reached the top landing, Winter had replied: “I wasn’t aware that you had additional support on this mission, Professor. I will need their full name and Hunter’s license number.”

To answer Cinder Fall and she doesn’t have a license, but she does have several warrants for her arrest felt like inviting Winter to question not only her integrity, but her sanity as well.

SDHGJFKSKGHDJFGJHDKF i cant say what makes this funnier because 👈😎👈 but HOHOHOHOOOOO could u imagine the fallout if she did just, say that shit. if we just went and fuckin said it like it was no biggie--

Finally, Glynda let her shoulders relax, exhaling deeply, like she would before rushing a Grimm. She wrote it plainly: “The clearance is for Cinder Fall.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

MA’AM WHAT THE F U C K

winter rn:

She’d just have to wriggle her way out of having to talk face-to-face, then return the game to a field she felt slightly more comfortable with: text.

okay this is so funny to me cause i just keep thinking of her sending ‘no reason’ to oz. a MASTER of textual conversion. un fucking PARALLELED in this field, UNRIVALLED,

Glynda tossed a look at the door as well, her mouth pulling into a line; what if Cinder came outside? What if—

Could Winter track her exact position using her Scroll signal? She minimized the projection of Winter’s face and hurried off in a random direction the instant she hit the bottom of the stairs.

i LOVE these two because this is the first time we’ve rly seen glynda like. Actively do smthng to defend cinder in this sort of way? she’s been pretty passivve abt letting cinder take the lead when theyre together but on her own shes thinking of all the contingencies to make sure winter cant find cinder and u know what. thats gay. what will u do for yr not-gf when yr talking to someone who would kick her ass in a hot second,

also im TAKING to grab choice lines here to comment upon but honestly this next section is SO GOOD that im rly struggling to find a line to encapsulate how much i am LOVING this convo. i cant say exactly WHY im loving it because again thats 👈😎👈 BUT KNOW THAT THIS IS VERY GOOD FOOD AND I AM ENJOYING IT. and im also enjoying this line a lot

Winter’s voice was decisive: “Professor, if you hang up on me, I am flying to your location—tonight.”

winter: if y’all dont shut the fuck up back there i am turning this car, city, and continent AROUND,

It was the same thing, over and over: people didn’t understand her and she didn’t understand them. It was an exercise in futility that only gave her grief. In the end, she gave up on trying to explain herself. She resigned to being wrong, to always being wrong, even when she knew she wasn’t.

OOF OKAY WHAT THE HELL IS UP W/ THIS FIC AND CALLOUTS. HUH??? ME BITCH!!! I FEEL THAT!! AND IT SUCKS,

/reads the next bit

oh are we donning our tinfoil hats? we’re donning our tinfoil hats.

It was so easy. Glynda didn’t stumble over her words even once; didn’t waver. She was built for doing harm. Her anger burned hot and clean; it excised all the hurt like a malignant tumor.

Maybe she really had learned something from Cinder—channeling her frustration, her guilt, her pain, all of it into anger like this was something Glynda was new to. But it felt good. She leaned into it, letting it take the reins; the distressing memories vanished like wisps of smoke, vaporized by the heat of her wrath.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS god this is. SO EXCITING. i also love it when ppl rub off one one another its my FAV thing in the WORLD and this anger is. WOO. this anger is. DANDY. its also a very short-term burst of pleasure glynda so enjoy that hollowed-out whoopsie feeling that i sure get when i Blow Up,

“She butchered my friend!” Winter snarled, the camera shaking as she slapped the desk. “She butchered my friend in the streets like he was cattle! And I have done everything in my power to help you! Everything! To keep her from doing the same to you, and you’ve blown me off or lied or—” Winter’s voice snagged. “And now you tell me—you accuse me—”

It was early evening in Umbraroot, but it must already be night in Atlas. The shadows revealed the unclean angles of Winter’s face: the bruises of exhaustion under her eyes, the lines of stress at the corners of her mouth.

im sorry im just copy-pasting wholesale at this point but OH this is GOOD. i cant rly explain. like. the difference-- because you’d think from the og version this is just a bit more flavouring right? its like getting a bit of hot sauce on yr chicken wings and yr like ‘okay it adds smthng but its not like a side meal’ BUT IT IS A SIDE MEAL this is like a whole basket of fuckin. cheese-baked fries. winter DESERVES this screentime she DESERVES to have presence in this fic and OH does she USE IT im LIVINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Glynda wanted anger. She wanted fire and brimstone. She wanted a fight.

What she got was the glisten of tears on pale lashes. A hand covering Winter’s trembling mouth.

The ashy taste of remorse in her throat.

THERES THAT HOLLOWED-OUT WHOOPSIE FEELING!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE IT IS RIGHT ON TIME. its like CLOCKWORK,

She didn’t have anything. Nothing against that. The possibility that Winter might truly care what happened to her had been so insignificantly small and easy to trample. She had forgotten about the losses Winter shouldered the moment Cinder had whispered inheritance.

it’s just like clockwork,

also this chapter feels lengthy but maybe its just cause i got distracted with animal crossing so ill have to do a wordcount check at the end

/checks

no its lengthy this is a thicc one,

“I know,” Glynda said. “I know. I know how this sounds. But she’s the only person who makes me feel like—like I make sense.” In her mind, Glynda lay in the darkness of Cinder’s bedroom, watching the glaze of streetlights along her lips as she said you.

you,,,,,,,,, we,,,,,,,,,,,, our,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, its all that gay shit,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that Cinder Fall is a tremendous liar. She could convince you it is raining in Vacuo, given enough time. Two years ago, I was working on the Argus base, where I met her as a client; she told me she was a merchant seeking entrance into Atlas—she had all her documents in order, her entire persona set up, and she sold it perfectly. She was flawless—and all of it was fake. She gave me no reason to doubt her. She was—”

Winter cut herself off, abruptly. Then: “Once I was comfortable and safe, she burned down my office and murdered my friend.”

YES,,, SLOWLY THE LORE PIECES TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! winter is once bitten twice shy, but mayhaps we mean,,, once burnt,,,, twice shy,,,,,,,,,, hrmmmm,

Glynda told Winter everything.

OH MAN,,,, we’re really getting this messy fucking trio up in this bitch i am SO excited. i am THRILLED. here! we! go!!!!!!!!!! also i said it before but again im so glad winter gets to Be Here for this. sure this has nothing to do w/ her destiny or w/e but shes here now. shes in the uber. she waiting outside.

The dying potted plant Glynda had spotted last time on the back wall’s shelf had been replaced with a new one; this one’s leaves were beginning to shrivel at the ends.

dsfjhhkljsdf side note: is this like that scene in finding nemo where all the new fish see the niece and go ‘oh no we’re gonna die’ but instead its plants getting taken into winters office? they go ‘im sorry, mate, but once you go into her office, you come out TOTALLY dead,’

okay so this whole convo happened and if i try to pick one section ill end up picking it all AAAAAAAAAAAAAA im dying out here. WINTER BLEASE,,, BELIEVE THAT SOMETIMES CINDER CAN TELL A HALF-LIE. A SORTA-TRUTH. A SEMI-HEMI-DEMI HONESTY,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

How different would that mission have gone? How different would her life have been?

She found herself saying, “He had so many chances to tell me. Instead, he let me think I was reckless. That I was a danger to other people. I stopped working in teams. I didn’t have many people in my life to begin with, but afterwards was worse. He saw to it that he was all I had, and he let me think it was my fault.”

ROBLOXOOFNOISEDISTORTEDWITHDELAY.MP4

OOF!!!!!!! O O F!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! honestly OOF that shit HURTS BITCH!!!!!!! thats BANANAS. WILD. im also loving (hating???) the increase of painful glynda lore and honestly everyone feels like they have So Much More that builds them up and im THRIVING off it. im also suffering for it.

With the video feed closed, Glynda could see she had new notifications. Missed calls. From Cinder.

Glynda’s stomach lurched. She stowed her Scroll before she could think about them.

At the mouth of the alley, she could see the shape of Cinder’s apartment in the distance. She stood there for a long time, staring, uncertain what to do with her hands, unsure what to do with her heart. Her jaw flexed. She remembered the tears on Winter’s lashes. The friend she’d lost.

Glynda took her first step toward the apartment.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and so the soft domestic shit ends. but nowhere near as explosively as id thought???????? HUH. H U H. must b because we’re gearing up for smthng honk honk honk

ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. this chap was SO good its astonishing (despite the [several] times i got distracted by animal crossing rip me). WINTER!!!!!!!! BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!! i cant believe this disaster trio is coming together. also cant wait for glynda to tell cinder the shit she just pulled. oh no,

(also the wordcount was 5,931. just in case u were curious)

#liveblog #rwby #offal hunt #HERE IT IS #so much went unsaid because the convos were SO juicy so PLEASE read it #dfsghsdfjgh

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flwrpotts · 6 years

Note

1, 4 and 18 for bughead. (I love angst okay, also feel free to just pick one or two or whatever, I’ll take anything from you 😍)

omg im so sorry about the wait on this!!! thank you so, so much for these asks and I hope you enjoy!!!

1. “Do you want me to leave?”

4. “You can’t keep doing this.”

18. “I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

i. “God, could she be any more artificial?” asks Toni, disdain soaked all the way through her voice, like a sheet of paper drenched in gasoline.

Jughead looks up from his whiskey soda and sees Elizabeth Cooper, swamped by admirers at the front of the room. He shouldn’t be surprised to be at the same opening party as her- they’re on the same label, after all. And yet, there’s something shocking about seeing her in real life, not transmitted by the blurred out waves of a television screen.

Like always, she’s in shades of pastel and bubblegum, hair curled in ringlets around her shoulders and lips coated in a sticky, nearly reflective gloss. She blinks, and her unnaturally long, glittery eyelashes brush her brow bone.

She looks like plastic. Smooth, unblemished, and yet, somehow flimsy. Like you could stick a pin through her, and she wouldn’t even feel it. Jughead is suddenly and insistently reminded of an article he read about her once, just as she was first hitting it big. She’s the sort of girl who never laughs, only smiles.

“All those pop girls are like that,” he says dismissively, and Toni laughs meanly, but he cannot help but watch her for a beat too long. Discomfited, he swallows his drink and wades through the crowd of ghost thin models (heroin chic, they’re calling it now) for a refill.

ii. He was labelled a sell out before he even sold, product of being the kid of an almost-famous rock star, one of those burnt out near-supernovas.

The critics never tire of talking about it; rewind the clock a decade or two, and F.P Jones and Freddy Andrews were the hottest things on the scene, smashed bottles to smash hits, with the sort of chemistry between them that crackled through the live shows like a bolt of lightning.

Jughead knows the players, if not the story.

His father- the charismatic, volatile addict, with magic in his hands and whiskey in his veins, too unstable to ever hold onto anything for very long. Fred Andrews- sweet and talented and the only person F.P was ever truly scared to lose.

They only released one critically-acclaimed album before falling apart, a whole slew of cheating scandals and rehab rumors and and F.P’s drunken Vegas wedding to a young poet, whose journals he later riffed through for “inspiration,” a little more Bukowski than Fitzgerald.

Jughead’s parents had divorced when he was fifteen, and he hasn’t seen his father since. But it’s an undeniable truth that F.P passed his raw, unchanneled talent on to his only child.

Jughead never quite forgives him for it.

iii. The band is just him and Toni, and is barely even a real band, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself.

Him and Toni met as teenagers, two pretentious, angsty fifteen year olds stuck in the middle of Ohio, spending too much in the library and bonding over their shared taste in music. They had bought cheap, falling apart instruments at a local thrift store, and the rest was history.

They still aren’t technically called anything, ever since their first bar show where he had mumbled “Um, I’m Jughead. We don’t really have a name” into the mic and started playing.

It’s a childish sort of rebellion against the trappings of success, him refusing to give a proper title to the notoriety that’s fallen into his lap.

He used to think that making it for real would rid him of his father’s ghost once and for all. But one album in, and he’s learned that it’s all business, all show, the music an afterthought to the whole production.

Management wants him to get into fights, to play shows with his shirt unbuttoned all the way down, to have a breakout album or maybe just a breakdown. Something salacious, something to sell, a high profile affair, maybe.

He can’t complain about it, really- some people waste their entire youth away waiting for a big break, after all. He and Toni had only played three shows when the agent in the back of a grimy bar had caught his surname and gotten them a flight to L.A the next day. He should be grateful, for the platinum albums and the expensive bottles of champagne and the teenage girls in the audience that scream along to the lyrics.

But he can’t help but notice the darker underside to all that glitter and gloss, the seedy underbelly that people prefer not to notice. Jughead’s got addiction in his blood, and knows a lot of addicts coming from where he did, but it feels futile in the wake of all these pretty boys and girls being handed pills by their managers like candy. His father got caught in that riptide and was dragged all the way down under the water, never to resurface again, not totally.

Jughead can’t play their games. Not can’t as in won’t, can’t as in am not capable. The only thing he’s good for is popping open a vein and bleeding onstage. Somehow, it’s enough.

iv. Betty Cooper’s brand is good girl, and she does it well, all tulle dresses and blonde hair and sticky-sweet love ballads that always sound happy, even the sad ones.

They bill her and Veronica Lodge as rivals, tabloids conveniently forgetting that the two used to be best friends as children, hauled around by their respective mothers-turned-agents to auditions for commercials and music videos. They were on the Mickey Mouse Club together, too, back when they were still too young to understand what words like show business meant.

Articles run constantly about the both of them, about Veronica’s constant partying and the half-assed coverups of her hospital stays, or about their supposed spats- showing up to events in the same dress, fighting over boys, the works. The sort of high school stuff that people never get sick of.

Jughead has no idea how deep their feud never runs, but at the very least, it’s profitable.

Betty performs at the VMAs, and she’s good, but Veronica blows her out of the water, writhing around on stage with a snake and doused in glitter. The whole thing is a joke: Veronica’s lip syncing is bad enough that he doesn’t even know if she’s singing the right song, and she’s obviously on something or another, but her hair is still shiny and her smile is still gleaming and she still has some indefinable star power that means the people in the audience don’t care if she’s stumbling on stage.

The cameras all pan on Betty’s polite, pleased smile after she loses four nominations in a row, and Jughead cannot help but admire the way that her mask doesn’t crack, not even for a minute.

v. As it turns out, they’re recording albums at the same time, in rooms next to one another in the studio, and Toni spends hours crafting finely point barbs for Strawberry Shortcake, as the more vicious tabloids like to call her. She hates her on principle, and Jughead doesn’t begrudge her that.

But Betty mostly keeps to herself, curling up on the couch in the studio with oversized headphones and a book. Her manager, a vicious redhead that’s related to her in some complicated technicality he doesn’t care to keep track of, is fiercely protective of her, and sweeps away the press that lingers outside with a ruthless sort of efficiency. She doesn’t seem to have many friends, either, despite the gaggles of girls dressed identically to her that she’s always being photographed with.

He and Toni get into a sweeping fight one day about the bridge of their latest song, and he storms off, yanking at his beanie and looking for a place where he doesn’t have to play nice with anyone.

He somehow finds his way onto the roof, and much to his surprise, Betty is already up there, looking surprised at the interruption.

She’s the most dressed down he’s ever seen her, in a baggy pair of overalls and her styled hair coming undone from the wind. There’s a book in her lap, and Jughead is both surprised and a little thrilled to see it’s The Picture of Dorian Gray.

“Little dangerous up here, don’t you think?” he asks, taking in the complete and total lack of safety parameters around the roof, and the lock that looks like it was prised open with a hairpin.

Betty glances down at the pack of cigarettes in his right hand and arches an eyebrow. “We all have our vices.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks instead of arguing her point, only a little awkward.

“You don’t have to,” she says, and so he flops down beside her and teases her about classical literature, instead.

vi. Betty is engaged, to the lead singer from some truly terrible boy band, The Archies. Their music is mainstream, all generic pop and meaningless declarations of love, but his jawline is sharper than glass, and they look good together, objectively.

“It’s all for show,” Betty tells him, corner of her mouth pulled up in a wry smile.

They’re on the old studio couch, Betty with a biography in her lap (Marilyn: Norma Jean, by Gloria Steinem) and her feet propped up on his knee, her toenails painted a sparkly, pastel blue.

Jughead, for his part, is scribbling in an old, leather notebook, tooling around with lyrics. I’m lonely so I do lonely things he writes, and then immediately crosses out.

“So what’s the point? You’re engaged to someone you don’t even have an interest in.” he asks.

She shrugs, a little defensive. “We’re friends. The engagement is helping album sales for both of us. And besides, Archie is completely in love with Veronica, but his label doesn’t want him to be seen publicly with her, because of her, you know–” she waves, a gesture he presumes to mean out of control partying.

He gnaws on the end of his pen, processing.

“What’s the endgame?” he asks slowly. “You can’t keep doing this- you’ve already been engaged a year and a half. Are you just going to marry him? ”

This time it’s Betty’s turn to look pensive. She twists the obnoxiously huge heart shaped diamond around her ring finger.

“It seems like a contradiction, but marrying him would give me a sort of freedom. Less attention from the press. I would be able to do more of what I want.”

“You’re selling away your future. I don’t see how that’s freedom.”

The smile Betty gives him is a little pitying. “Jug, I signed away my future the minute I released my first album. So did you. This is just- making the best of the circumstances”

He nods once, and his heart beats unsteadily when she links his fingers through hers.

vii. She does a set for MTV Unplugged a few weeks later, and he stops pretending that he isn’t going to watch about twenty minutes after it begins.

She lights up on the tiny television screen, and she’s a six hour plane ride away but his breath still catches in his chest.

Her makeup is a frosty shade of lavender that makes her look a little sickly, almost alien, and her voice is pretty and well-trained as she works her way through the set, song by song. She’s good, but it’s obvious that she had to work for it, that her pitch, while excellent, is not the product of natural talent.

But I swore I would never fall in love with a boy in a rock and roll band she sings at one point, tucking a lock of uncharacteristically loose hair behind her shoulder, and Jughead can’t quite work out whether he’s in on the joke or not.

You’re an enigma, Coop, he thinks to himself.

“Jesus,” sighs Toni from across the room. “You’re in love with Princess Peach, aren’t you?”

viii. Jughead and Toni stubbornly refuse to upgrade out of their shitty apartment, even though they can more than afford to move somewhere nicer now, but as a consequence he spends more nights than what is probably necessary at Betty’s place, a lovely, sharply modern loft full of a loneliness that seems to echo around the corners.

She’s got stacks and stacks of records, and even more books, and it only hurts a little bit when he spots his father’s album among the meticulously ordered piles. He puts on The Cardigans to distract himself, and laughs when Betty sings along a little bit, batting her eyelashes in perfect pop star imitation.

I don’t care about anything else but you she breathes, and he kisses her, pressing her into the marble counter while her arms come up to lace around his neck.

After they sprawl out on Betty’s comically oversized bed, Casablanca burbling away in the background with no audience to watch it.

Betty looks both younger and older with no makeup on, and Jughead studies the planes of her face in the dim room, the way her eyelashes curve when they aren’t laden down with extensions and her chapped, unglossed lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, because it’s true.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, twisting to face him in bed. “It used to, when I was younger, and more insecure. But there’s no accomplishment to being pretty. It’s a product. People think I’m beautiful because the makeup artist, and the photographer, and everyone else made me that way.”

She looks at him intently, like she wants him to understand, and somehow there’s a part of him that does. He wants to protest, to tell her that she is the loveliest thing that he has ever seen, but stops himself at the last minute.

“So what matters, then?” he asks instead.

She smoothes her unstyled hair behind her ear with the back of her hand, eyes faraway and dreamy, a murky shade of bottle green in the darkened room.

“I think I’d marry the person who told me I had an exquisite, wild soul.”

“You have an exquisite, wild soul,” he deadpans, and kisses away the sound of her laughter.

ix. F.P dies on a Thursday.

Body found in a motel room, alone, reads the article, and Jughead calmly puts down his newspaper, gets sick in the bathroom, and pours himself a double of scotch.

Toni is across the country, shooting the cover for some magazine called Sassy, or something, and so it’s Betty that comes to their apartment, trepidation scrawled across her face.

He’s already drunk, and sprawled out on the couch, all the blinds in the apartment pulled shut. He blocks one hand over his face at the slit of light that shines through the opened doorway. In the background, the T.V drones about the recent updates in the O.J Simpson trial, and really, it’s the purest form of misery that he’s ever experienced.

Betty sits down next to him on the couch, and he expects her to ask all the usual, obligatory questions, are you okay? or is there anything I can do?

Instead she says “I broke off my engagement with Archie.”

“Well, that’s just swell, sweetheart,” Jughead replies, injecting as much soft malice as he can into the words. “What, do you think this is fucking happily ever after? You should’ve stayed with Archie. I’m a- a god damned dead end road.”

Betty doesn’t react, just stares at him with those green, green eyes, as wavering and fathomless as the ocean.

“Juggie,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”

He balls his hands into fists and presses them into his face, until he sees stars.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits quietly, into the stillness. “He was an asshole. I shouldn’t- this shouldn’t be the fucking apocalypse. God, and I’m just gonna stumble right on after him. I shouldn’t be making music. I shouldn’t be in love with you, Betty. I ruin everything I touch. Like father, like son.”

“Oh, Juggie,” Betty says, pressing a cool, small hand to his cheek, and he’s in tears before he even knows what he’s crying about, whether it’s what F.P was or what he wasn’t, what he lost or what he never had in the first place.

He presses his face into the fuzzy material of her mohair sweater, inhaling the familiar smell of her, and she cards a comforting hand through his hair, cooing nonsense reassurances.

“It’ll be okay,” she tells him, her voice steadying enough to dull the world spinning effects of the alcohol. “You’re gonna be okay.”

x. Things get better, slowly.

He attends the funeral, the entire thing sick and surreal, and pretends not to notice that his mother decided not to attend. Fred Andrews is there, though, red eyed and overdressed in a suit, and Jughead swallows bile when he sees the man tuck a pack of Marlboro Reds into an open casket.

Betty is there, too, and the press blows up when a reporter snaps a picture of them holding hands as they walk out of the chapel. He no longer finds it in himself to care what his publicist deems important.

He does start writing more though, filling up notebooks with his messy, slanted handwriting, and stops being so afraid that what he writes will be too similar to what his father wrote.

Him and Toni still argue constantly about the music, occasionally storming out of the studio in the force of their fury, but the album finally begins to come together, to feel like something real.

It’s a departure from their first, a little less angry, less punk, but somehow realer, too. There’s only two covers on this one, I’m on Fire, because singing it makes something in his chest feel jagged and shivering and fragile, and Highwayman, because even though he can’t find it in himself to cover one of his father’s original songs, he can cover one of the ones F.P had been fond of, back in the day.

Betty, for her part, quits her label after finishing up her five album contract, to her own delight and the media’s dismay.

“I always hated the posturing,” she tells him at a celebratory dinner, smile bright and sharp and free. “And besides, the technical aspect behind the scenes was always my favorite part. Singing was just a means to an end, and the cost wasn’t quite worth it.”

Rolling Stone hires her as a critic, and she writes keen, insightful album reviews, using her years in the business to shape the narrative around other people’s work.

The tabloids don’t know about them, quite yet, if only because they don’t hop clubs the way her and Archie used to get paid to do, though the redhead still often comes over to their apartment, bringing Veronica with him.

Ironically enough, it’s Betty that gets assigned to interview him and Toni, just at the beginning of the press junket, and he’s hit by a wave of fondness as she uncaps her pen, the picture of professionality.

“So, Jughead, this album has a distinctive departure in the lyrics from that of the previous album, though the sound is still quite distinctive. Is there a reason behind this evolution?”

Jughead looks at her, at Betty, with her blonde hair and her big eyes and her ability to look at him and see the mess inside his head and understand it, and there’s only one answer.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I fell in love.”

#hello this was probably in the top three most DIFFICULT things I have ever written #but like!#it's done thank god #also if anyone was wondering this is set in 1995 #bughead #betty cooper x jughead jones #mine #prompt fill

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cannonette · 5 years

Note

Hey hey~ i’m not sure if you have already answered this, im sorry if im asking you the same thing again ;; but have you heard the dearvo Xtreme cd’s? Will you translate the samples like you did before? Thanks and sorry if i bother you, have an amazing day ❤️

Ooookay, seems as though when xKit said didn’t post due to error meant, post it under a different ask, sorry about that…

Yes I’ve heard of it, and MMC and Reo’s CDs are in my wishlist on AmazonJP, but translating samples are sort of on hold at the moment.

Honestly speaking, I feel burnt out… I’ve been feeling burnt out for a long time but I’ve still tried to give it a go and do it, but right now I’m not exactly 100%. Some days I feel great and I try to give it my best and then there are days where I’m just not into it at all.

Right now I want to play more than translate, I’ve collected way too many otome games in the few years and I think it’s time I finally played them. Also, there are some few personal things, but there’s no need for details on that.

So sorry for the late reply, and sorry for the confusion on my reply, I had some errors with xKit and after messy double post I passed out because I was super tired.

But thank you and I hope you have a lovely day.

P.S. Ever since I got the Switch I’m really getting into non-otome games, and I want to have a bit of fun with other games, and just really enjoy myself for a short while before things start again.

#ask cannon #Anonymous

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chaosbcrne · 6 years

Text

TAGGED BY: @blue-pincushion thank youuu TAGGING: @brokenweapon, @hcrwish, @bouncepads, @heartfelt-silver, @last-fxstbump

— BASICS.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? ...he’s on the shorter side, though I guess not that far off average for mobians/hedgehogs. definitely short compared to humans though, and tiny for a Black Arms. he appears a bit taller than he actually is, though, because his shoes give him two inches. he’s 3′4″ with them on, 3′2″ without

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ?

yea. i mean i feel like he’s been enduring a bit more teasing than usual lately because of it, but it’s not something that bugs him past that. he spent several years on the ARK where everything was built for humans so he got very used to dealing with his smaller size, climbing on counters and shelves to reach stuff, looking up at people, things like that. his size definitely doesn’t feel like a problem in human environments, let alone mobians’

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR FUR LIKE ?

very versatile, much like his incessant quilling his fur is constantly adapting to change, mostly in temperature, growing longer when it’s cold, thicker when it’s rainy, shedding when it’s warm and so on. it always has a decent enough layer though, you can never see skin beneath his black fur unless it’s been ripped/burnt/cut off, so I guess in that sense its default state is considerably more furnished than that of the average hedgehog

his thicker white fur follows the same kind of behavior, it grows wider in winter to cover most of his upper body and throat and essentially serves as a natural scarf so he can breathe okay even when he’s dashing against sub-zero winds, and it sheds back down to a small patch that barely covers his chest in summer to reduce risks of overheating

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ?

not... really ? I’d say he settles for a quick but thorough daily shower, he’s not one for grooming much past that because he already sheds like crazy and that would speed up the process even more ? if anything, he might pat down his white fur a bit because it really fluffs up when it air-dries

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ?

he didn’t for a long time, but I think learning his color scheme was due to Black Arms genes may have changed that a little; he doesn’t like the idea of being seen as one of them, that’s why he avoids taking his gloves off around others or show off his teeth much or doesn’t like eating in public, i could go on for a while but basically he didn’t mind his black and red colors and his threatening complex until he learned he got that from man-eating aliens,

over the years i think he’s come to terms with it for the most part because black is real useful on stealth missions and for getting that extra warmth on sunny days and claws can come in real handy sometimes when you’re missing certain tools, but, yeah i think there’s probably still a bit of lingering self-consciousness there

— PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ?

hmm I think he has a slight preference for outdoors just because it’s less confined and ever-changing, but he wouldn’t spit on indoors either you know sometimes you just need some place to take a break and where there’s a limited possibility of things that could happen

▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? both. both are addictive when you spent your early life where you could experience neither of those, in fact i’d say those exact two things are responsible for shadow growing/shedding fur out of season because he’s the kind to just stand in the rain when it’s cold or in the sun when it’s hot just because the feeling of rain through his quills or sunshine in his fur will always be like a bit of a novelty to him ▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? hhh f...f.....beach probably. both are fine but i feel like the beach is one of those cliche things maria especially wanted to experience and talked about all the time so he just have a slightly better preconceived idea of it ▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? im just gonna link you to the lucky charm post that should give you a clear idea ▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? flowers hands down. they’re colorful and pretty and smell good and are natural. maria would have loved them and also earlier this year rouge decorated the whole observatory in the ARK with them to surprise shadow and it was Good ok ▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? personality. yeah people can be nice to look at but if that’s all they got going for them they’re not worth much ▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? alone. i don’t think i have much explaining to do here lmao he’s just not a people person. small groups can be okay and so are a good few people, like, he can deal with a crowd or otherwise large number of people in one place but he’s definitely not gonna enjoy it as much as just being alone ▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? I think Gerald’s (and therefore his) idea of an ideal world was a place where they’re one and the same ? a world where people are free to do what makes them happy, to not be limited in any way shape or form but where such a freedom would lead to people being selfless and generous enough to not throw it all into chaos ? but given that’s not really something remotely feasible at this point order is probably the best options in his books given what he’s seen some people do once some of their restraints were removed ▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ?

painful truths. unless it concerns him revealing stuff about himself that he just doesn’t want people to know about, he’s always gonna be blunt with people and he expects the same courtesy in return. shadow’s sick of all the lies and insincerity a lot of people go to for no good reason and he’d rather you just tell him the truth head-on

▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? chaos energy is where it’s at. i don’t know what it counts as, i’m assuming it’s something between the two ? gerald, tails, eggman and probably a whole lot of other people managed to harness it to create life or power machinery and such, so it can be useful in terms of science, but it’s also something so unstable and unquantifiable and tricky to control or even understand, and being able to do so is considered a power instead of knowledge - which makes it sound more like magic. either way, that’s what shadow believes in and relies on - not that i expect that to be a surprise to anyone, considering ▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? he strives for peace but i don’t think he’d know what to do with himself if that was ever achieved tbh ▸ NIGHT OR DAY ?

either. shadow’s not operating on a regular day/night cycle so the two are basically interchangeable to him, for better or worse. i wrote more about this over here

▸ DUSK OR DAWN ?

again, the two aren’t really different to him

▸ WARMTH OR COLD ?

hmm warmth probably. he’s definitely built to tolerate cold more than warmth but the general concept of warmth is just associated with more pleasant feelings in general

▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ?

im gonna say like the bbff, points at team dark

▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ?

it really depends on the mood he’s in honestly. i’ve explained before(x) that shadow is actually quite fond of reading, but if he’s too restless for one reason or another some kind of game will be better for his nerves. or just, you know, if team dark is stuck on standby at HQ and they’re waiting around to be called in

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? - letting people provoke him very easily - always talking down on people at first - pushing people away 24/7 - not having an established eating or sleeping schedule he can keep track of - crossing his arms all the damn time

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?

hahahaha

oh boy

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?

- the countless hours spent in the observatory with maria - early team dark times when he had good enough days to just focus on his goal and not worry about everything else, probably mostly around grand metropolis/casino park hours, when they were starting to be a proper team but things hadn’t gotten too serious/difficult yet - when a certain hedgehog came back to life and immediately turned to him and silver for additional help. i’ll go into this more some other time but let’s just say that meant a great deal to him - that crush 40 concert rouge took him and omega to - quite a few simple moments spent with his team that wouldn’t have looked like much to many others but that he remembers clearly feeling fulfilled and happy right then and there - a certain night when things felt Bad and a certain hedgehog showed up and made them feel good again - spraining zero’s wrist

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ?

if we’re talking physically, yes. if we’re talking emotionally,

not as much as he makes it look like honestly. death is something very permanent that has been the cause of possibly the biggest trauma he’s experienced in his life - he does not take that lightly and does not inflict it when he sees an alternative. episode shadow in forces can go suck a lemon

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?

that’s happened once and that’s a drabble in the works so yall are just gonna have to be patient for this one

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ?

hhh it’s. difficult. but it’s definitely something team dark has earned at this point. literally all three of them have explicitly proven that they would give up their lives for either of the others so it’s safe to say there’s absolute trust between them now

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ?

oh boy it’s bad lmao

shadow is very unfamiliar with the concept of romantic love as a whole so he has no idea how he’s supposed to behave with the subject of his affection. remember that picture where he’s holding sonic’s hand and staring at it and presumably has been doing so for like ten minutes ? yeah

social norms aside what would come naturally to him is a very, very intense protectiveness - that’s his primary response when it comes to anyone he’s attached to and romantic ties would be no different. he would be very defensive of them verbally but also protective-bordering-on-possessive physically

he also pays very close attention, i’ve already said it countless times but he’s an amazing listener and whoever he’s smitten with would likely be someone he could watch and listen to intently for very long periods of time. he’ll never be the most talkative but don’t let that fool you into thinking he won’t enjoy engaging conversations with the person he’s interested in

aside from that i tend to think that shadow would be a very unintentional sap because, again, he’s not familiar with whatever’s considered normal in a relationship. so he’ll be the kind to let the other know he’s thinking of them in various ways or just show up and surprise them with something they might want, all completely shamelessly and like it’s no big deal because if it pleases them why should he hold back ? (of course that’s all in a hypothetical situation where it’s solely between him and his significant other-- if there’s other people involved he’s gonna be a lot more subtle/shy about it if he dares doing anything out of the ordinary at all)

his affection is hard to earn but once you have it he’ll be loyal to you for life honestly

#✮ ☾ there’s no time for games ☽ ↳ tag meme #✮ ☾ step inside and hold on for dear life ☽ ↳ headcanon #do i really need to go into details about gerald and marias death traumatizing him to the point where he hardly believes in kindness anymore #i dont think so

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