the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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[Click Click Boom] [Shadow x Reader short stories]
Summary: You're set to be Shadow's companion to keep an eye on him and keep him in line, a courtesy from the goverment for him saving the world with Sonic and the others.
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Can be read as platonic or romantic! Shadow/reader romance is implied though! You're human in this, age is vague but you're meant to be in your 20s.
Disclaimer: Shadow is an adult, and as for the furry debate, he's literally an adult who can consent and is sentient, don't like? Don't read!
A/N: I've literally been obsessed with this fucker since I was a literal child and it's the first time I've written for him!! The trailer yas me going insane. This is written well before the movie has come out, literally all I got to work with is Shadow in the trailer and the bits and pieces of info I psychoanalized so I don't wanna hear shit about it not being accurate tbh, this is self indulgent!!
Shadow isn't the worst task you've been assigned, you both are more akin to awkward roommates more than anything.
I'm talking randomly lingering in the corners of the room, his bright red eyes glowing and they always seemed to be locked right onto you.
You screamed the first dozen times, but now you just glare at the black hedgehog and spit out a "fuck you." and go about your business.
He'll never admit that it brings him infinite amusement, it's hard to tell, but the huff he lets out is evidence enough.
Shadow will never admit he cares for you, he loses everyone he cares for, and humans don't live that long. It's terrifying to think about how much he's come to like you.
He's not nearly as slick as he thinks he is.
You're sitting down at the dinner table, typing away on your laptop, editing the mission report from the other day when Shadow makes his way towards you. Sending him a nod in his direction, you don't think of anything when he moves in close.
A huge slam takes you off guard though, jumping damn near out of your skin as you twist your head to look at him.
"What the fuck-"
"Take it."
It's one of Shadow's guns, his emblem being engraved along the stock.
"What? No, I have guns." You raise an eyebrow at the hog, his face is perfectly still, eyes locking onto yours as he waits for you to grab the heckler.
"Your guns are worthless, you need something better."
"Well excuse me, I so happen to like my guns." You try and joke back, but the offense is taken.
Shadow rolls his eyes so hard you're scared that he's gonna blind himself. Jutting his chin towards the table once more to get your focus back onto it.
"If you have one of mine, I know you're safe." He doesn't elaborate. Not that he needs to.
"...Thank you, Shad."
All you get is a grunt in response, and he's on his way back to his room.
Gingerly picking up the weapon, you take in how pristine it is, a thumb caressing your small initials that you missed on the other side of the stock.
With Shadow saving the world, the reeking of havoc makes it to where he's limited to what he is allowed to do in the public eye.
Not that he listens, he isn't supposed to be out after curfew. But to be fair, it is extremely hard to keep a teleporting hedgehog confined to a meager two-story house.
You can hear him teleport above you, he's on the roofs of the nearby building, leering down at you.
It was a small errand you were on, simply stocking up on the essentials for the house.
Namely, snacks for Shadow, he doesn't ask for a lot other than coffee beans and Doritos.
You are choosing to ignore the fact that he eats the coffee beans straight up, the crunch echoes through your head and it sends a shudder down your spine.
He was adamant against you leaving the house this late, standing in front of the front door.
"No."
"Fuck you mean no?"
"I said no."
"....I don't listen to men."
And you weaved around him to leave the house, ignoring his shout of disapproval.
That leads you both to here now, you pretending you don't see him trailing you from the rooftops as you walk your way back home from the small shopping center.
You feign surprise when he opens the house door for you, begrudgingly sticking a hand out to help you with your bags.
"Oh! Thank you my knight in shining armor~"
"Shut it."
He's never told you his birthday, which you can understand, living for 50 years and not having your family around must be hard. No matter how he may fake that it doesn't bother him.
That doesn't stop you, not in the slightest really. You damn near kick him out of the house for the day, shoving him over to Tom and Maddie's house so he can be with the others. Despite how much he protested.
"I don't want to go over there. Not with that blue fake."
"You don't really have a choice bub, I need you out of the house."
"I don't understand why I have to-"
"Keep arguing with me and I will make it a point to not buy you shit next grocery trip."
It's an empty threat, but he grunts nonetheless.
"...."
"That's what I thought."
When he finally gets home from his long and admittedly overstimulating day with the Wachowskis, he's ready to recharge in his room.
He teleports through the house door, sighing and rubbing at his temples as he moves to kick off his shoes, knowing that if he doesn't, you'd chastise him for not doing so.
Something about tracking dirt and rocket fuel into the carpet.
Whatever.
After trying to massage his brain through his fur, he opens his eyes up to see a colorful banner strung across the mantle.
'Happy birthday!' It screams, in its disgustingly neon color palette.
Shadow wracks his brain for any information of it being your birthday, he knows for a fact it isn't today. A friend you're throwing a party for? Well, that makes no sense, he knows very well you don't have many friends, especially any that you'd invite your house up for.
You're antisocial to a fault, not that he has absolutely any room to talk.
He hears you before he sees you, turning the corner into the living room, carrying some balloons in your hands. A stupid little party hat on your head.
"Shadow! What are you doing back so early?"
Kicking off the last shoe, he stands at his full height, staring into your eyes with a shrug.
"I wasn't aware I had a time."
"....fair enough, anyways, fuck, goddamnit. Stay here. Okay?"
And you're off, running into the kitchen, his ears flick at the slamming of the fridge door, followed by the cabinets being no doubt, hip nudging it shut way too forcefully.
He's awkwardly standing there still until you yell for him to come in.
Shadow has half a mind to ignore you and go into his room, but curiosity kills the cat, so he takes in a deep breath and makes his way to you.
He finds you sitting at the little kitchenette, a nervous smile spread across your lips as you gesture to the plate in front of you.
The smell is apparent, it's a coffee cupcake.
The hedgehog feels his ears flick again, staring down at the desert, then trailing his eyes back to meet your own. Wordlessly asking you what was going on.
"You've never told me your birthday, but it's been a year since you've been here, with me. After the whole trying to destroy the world shit. So since you won't tell me, we can kinda treat this as it?" You keep rambling, eyes flitting around the room, very clearly nervous as to his reaction.
Shadow doesn't say anything, or move even. Just staring down at the cupcake.
It looks amateurish, the frosting is lopsided, and the toppings on it look messy. But you made it for him. You even added a big black "1" candle in the center.
He doesn't know what to say, he can feel heat rush through his body, rushing to his ears and his face, and his fur feels constricting.
What the fuck.
What the actual fuck.
You go to open your mouth again, no doubt to apologize, but he beats you to it.
Moving to scoop up the treat, he gently sniffs it before taking a cautionary bite.
A beat passes between the two of you.
"...it's good."
Shadow does his best to ignore the smile that blooms across your face, not wanting to remember just how pretty he finds you like this.
Disgusting.
Shadow doesn't like touch, you know it, he knows it, and everyone knows it. He's threatened to break Sonic's wrist for even so much as patting the older hedgehog on the back. Baring his sharper fangs and hissing out to not touch him ever.
He avoids group hugs from Team Sonic, avoids Tom and Maddie like the plague, dodging every invitation to be a part of the family, it makes him sick to think about it.
With you, it's a little different.
You're not like them, you don't push him to change, you don't have a problem with how closed off he is, giving him space, never once pushing his very strict boundaries.
Something churns in his chest at the sound of you crying in your room, you probably think you're being incognito, holding a pillow to your face to drown out your sobs.
The internal debate is heavy, Shadow used to be able to comfort, to provide warmth, but he hasn't done so in years. Flashes of memories where he would comfort Maria on her bad health days, letting her run her fingers over his quills, to lend an ear to Gerald when he was frustrated about treatments not working.
It's not to say he is replacing you in their place, but it's scary. To open himself up like that again. He can feel his anxiety rising as he goes over the pros and cons of crossing this line. Eyes squeeze shut forcefully as he tells himself he doesn't care about you, that you're an adult, and you don't need to be babied.
His ears twitch when a pathetic little whimper drops from your lips, and his resolve cracks.
You don't look up when he makes his way in, too stuck in your bubble.
Startling a little when two, much stronger and larger hands grab at your own, peeling them away from the pillow. Your puffy bloodshot eyes looking at the hedgehog in front of you, his face set as it usually is, stoic. But his eyes are different, and his body language is different, when has he ever looked at you so softly? It's jarring.
Oh, he's moving closer. Okay. Weird.
"Shadow? Uh, I'm ok-"
You try and lie, it's a pitiful attempt. Your voice is scratchy and the tear tracks down your cheeks aren't helping your plight.
"No, you're not."
He shuts you down immediately, hands sliding up your arms to drag you into him.
The instant your bodies touch, you feel a fresh wave of tears well up in your eyes again.
Shadow has you resting against him, your head resting on him as he wraps himself loosely in your arms, giving you the space to move away if you so choose.
It's the first time he's allowed you to hug him, the first time he's ever initiated contact with someone in years. A fact that you both are well aware of.
A sob works its way up your throat, immediately tightening your grip on the hedgehog, curling into him as you shake.
Shadow doesn't say anything, doesn't make fun of you as snot pours from your nose, doesn't point out that your mascara and eyeliner are getting everywhere, just sits there and lets you cling onto him like he's your only lifeline.
He thinks that this is okay, he's strong enough for you both, and you don't need to worry when he's here.
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