I Love Seeing Traditional Art In The Wild, It's Always So Nice!

Heyyyy, me again! Posting will resume on Thursday, as usual. See ya soon!

HIII, it's me, ya boy. I made a tumblr account because why the hell not.

Also, I unfortunately am sick, so Thursday's chapter is now delayed 🙃

Sorry. Holidays get me super tired and I happened to get sick on top of that so I'm afraid you're gonna have to wait.

Anyway, have a nice day everyone!

Ps: I have asks open, I'll answer anything tbh

Pps: my ao3 account:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quiet_Kid_In_The_Corner/pseuds/The_Quiet_Kid_In_The_Corner

H- hap- hh- haphap- happy- ha- ah- hah- ha- hh- p- hp- happy-

happy spooky season

God gave me creative free will and that was his first mistake /j

Gut me alive, why don't you?

I was thinking about Mobian Stone's background. I sort of imagine that he didn't grow up around other Mobians, but instead around other aliens - probably in less than favourable circumstances, which is why his ears and his tail were clipped when he was young.

Be ace, be aware 3th year redraw! 2024 2023

Gift for my very dear friend @miuushi 💖

Stobotnik is conceptually the funniest ship to ever exist. It’s a gay ship with the villain from sonic the hedgehog and his fruity assistant who was supposed to be a bit charecter until Jim Carrey asked if he could stick his fingers in the other guy’s mouth and oh yeah Jim Carrey is there. Said bit character simped so hard for Jim Carrey that his role was expanded on in the sequels to the point where it becomes an emotional plot point in the climax of the third movie. They’re doomed by the narrative. They’re main goal in life is to kill Dewey from ducktales. there is a good chance that fruity ass assistant man could go mad with grief over losing Jim Carrey to the point of becoming the villain of the fourth movie.

like you can’t make this shit up. It’s fucking beautiful. Jim carrey’s dead cousin is right humanity is a gift.

I love your drawing of Stone crying! That scene is beautiful... I wonder if it is possible that Stone cried so hard that Doctor cried with him?

It couldn't have gone any other way.

ko-fi

I did it guys! It took me nine hours but I did it! I’ve been waiting and now I finally get the chance:

to @ every single one of the creators because they’re on tumblr too òvó

Here’s how it looks on my device btw

@sparrow-the-tired-lesbian

@sevi007

@technically-human

@panic-flavored

I can’t remember which fanfic belongs to which fanfic account uh uhhh

I’m sure I’ll find them and bother them eventually

Also! I still might add to this list so if you have a particularly good stobotnik/sonic fanfic send it to me òvó

For a new story I'm trying to write. CULT OF STONE . Just trying to have fun and figure out their outfits. Ivo is wearing a mask but it's S1 Ivo under there.

First pic was too big for me to scan so I had to just take a picture. That's why they looks so different.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHJJ

I've been trying to do more colouring, especially to find ways to practice lighting in different styles. This is from one of our AUs, called Do You Come Here Often - Robotnik meets Stone, a bartender, during a painfully boring charity gala and they hit it off.

I wrote a short story based on our RP, so I'm putting it under the cut below!

A charity gala. A waste of time, that’s what it was. Something to stroke the already grossly swollen egos of the guests, most of whom just loved masquerading as philanthropists for the tax cuts. 

It was well below Doctor Robotnik, and yet, he’d been forced kicking and screaming into a suit to sweet-talk potential investors. There was going to be reckoning once he was back in the lab. Maybe he’d launch the latest incompetent assistant into space. 

“ - and another thing - do you use that - that stuff, that comes from babies -” 

Then there was this asshole. Trapped into a conversation, Robotnik could barely maintain his rictus grin as he leaned his elbow on the bar counter, listening to the gormless, chinless man yammer on and on. Rich, politically active, and an absolute imbecile. Robotnik was going to strangle him with his stupid bowtie. 

“Because let me tell you, pal,” his conversation partner slurred. “When I’m a senator, I’m - banning all that shit. It’s not right - it’s just wrong, you know -” 

“Yes, we wouldn’t want the harmless salvage of iron rich cells from biowaste,” Robotnik muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah!” The other man gestured, coming dangerously close to spilling his watered down whiskey. “You get it - good man - what was your name again, Robot - something?” 

“Doctor Robotnik,” Robotnik said, in clipped tones.  

The man chortled. “Oh come on, you’re not a real doctor.” 

Robotnik squeezed his martini hard enough to hear it crack. His smile grew wider, his pupils narrowing. He was going to - 

“Gentlemen! Do I spy empty glasses?” a perky voice interrupted them. Robotnik turned, stiffly, and stared at the bartender - a rather handsome, well-groomed man with dark, twinkling eyes.

Robotnik’s conversation partner blinked, and looked down at his nearly empty glass. “Oh, well spotted, boy. Whaddya recommend?” 

“May I recommend you try my special blend?” the bartender suggested, his voice lowering an octave as he slid forward a glass, his movements mesmerisingly precise. “I promise it has a kick like you won’t believe.” 

The man chuckled, reaching for the fresh drink. “Just so you know, I don’t believe in tipping,” he said, as if gunning for the title of world’s most loathsome man, and downed half of the drink in one go. 

The bartender smiled peacefully. 

“Bit of a weird aftertaste,” the man slurred. He blinked, suddenly tilting forward sharply. A hand shot out, and the bartender grabbed the man’s hair, guiding his head to rest on the counter. 

“There we are,” the bartender said cheerfully. “Nice and easy. Now,” and he leaned back, smiling at Robotnik like he hadn’t just drugged his customer. “What can I get you, Doctor Robotnik?” 

Robotnik took a moment, blinking as he adjusted - and then raised his eyebrow. He was, despite himself, curious. “Not - what, a mix of ketamine and benzo?” 

“Trade secret, I’m afraid,” the bartender said, smiling. The man in the next stool snored loudly. Robotnik stood up, moving a few spaces over, and the bartender followed him. 

“I supposed you did save a life,” Robotnik said, haughtily. “His, I mean. How do you know my name?” 

“I heard the other gentleman mention it,” the bartender said. “Of course, I did recognise it.” As he spoke, he pulled out a glass, pouring in some ice. “I remember reading your paper on hive mind artificial intelligence. I always wondered whether you ever built anything based on your theories.” 

If Robotnik had been curious before, he was now drawn in, like a moth to a flame. Of course, there was a good chance he was going to get murdered tonight. “You read my - “ He paused, taking a moment to lower his voice and curb the enthusiasm. “Early prototypes showed some information lag,” he said, warily. “I’ve made some adjustments to the data compression and prioritisation - out of curiosity, how much of it did you actually understand?”

The bartender, in the midst of pouring something in the glass, blinked. “Most of it, I assume,” he said. “I did have to make some notes, to research and fully comprehend it, but - you’re a very entertaining writer, Doctor. I enjoyed your footnotes.” 

Robotnik’s footnotes were exclusively reserved for insulting other researchers. He found himself smiling, crookedly. “There’s a functional hive now.” 

The bartender looked startled, and then smiled, his teeth flashing. “Seriously? That’s amazing. How many?”

Robotnik shifted in his seat, starting to find his groove. “Three main hives, inter-connected via slow transfer - much faster on their intra-network. Fifteen, thirty-three and hundred and seven, respectively. It would be much more if my budget wasn’t decided by mouth-breathing knuckle-draggers.” 

“That’s still respectable numbers,” the bartender responded, enthusiastically. “I’d love to see them in action some day.” 

“Oh, would you now?” Robotnik smiled. “Which country are you spying for?”

To his surprise, the bartender laughed. 

“I wish I was in espionage,” the bartender said dryly. “I’m just a fan, Doctor. Personal interest - I saw some of your earlier work, in the field, a few years back.” 

“In the field?” Robotnik raised an eyebrow. “What sort of field does a bartender end up in, exactly?” 

“None whatsoever,” the bartender replied, mouth curling. “I was a mercenary. Gun for hire.”

“And now you’re bartending?” Robotnik asked, skeptically. 

“Well, I did just kill that guy,” the bartender said easily, nodding to the slumped figure a few seats away. “So after I clean up here, that’s my night done.” He smiled. “I’m Stone, by the way.” 

“...Pleasure,” Robotnik said weakly. He stared at Stone. He thought for a moment. 

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “A fan. Don’t tell me you’ve only read one of my papers.” 

Stone pushed a drink towards Robotnik, smiling slyly. He was rather handsome, in a well-groomed, fit and conventionally attractive way, Robotnik had to admit. 

“Of course not, Doctor. That one was just my favourite - well, besides the one you wrote about applied nanotechnology -” 

“That one was utter garbage,” Robotnik said, waving his hand as he accepted the drink. “I’ve since scrapped it, started fresh with a new approach - the new paper is nearly done, if you -” he stopped himself, feeling the skin under his collar heat up. 

“If I what?” Stone asked curiously. 

“If you want to read it,” Robotnik said stiffly. “You said you were nearly done here, right? How about we blow this popsicle stand and - you come over to my hotel room, and I can show you a thing or two?” 

To his confusion, Stone went momentarily quiet, his eyes widening, before the other man stammered out a reply. 

“I - I’d love to! If you’re sure - I mean, I swear I’m not a spy - I just heard you were here, so I took on this gig in the hopes of catching a glimpse, I didn’t -” 

Robotnik raised his hand sharply, starting to feel uncomfortably warm. “Bzzzt! I’m well aware this is an honour for you! Save the yammering for later - I want to get out of here.” 

Stone had been handsome before, but he was much more so when he was flustered. Not that Robotnik cared about that - it was just rare to meet anyone who admired his work, let alone understood even half of it. He might as well use the rest of his night for something pleasant. 

“Okay, sure,” Stone said, clearly breathing slowly to calm himself down. “Uh - I have some protection on me, if we need it,” he added, shyly. 

Robotnik snorted, standing up, starting to already pull off his cursed bowtie. “Maybe for yourself, Stone. I have no need for it.” He paused, momentarily tempted to introduce Stone to his gloves - but decided against it. He’d have plenty of time for it back at the hotel, away from spying eyes. 

Behind him, Stone all but rushed from behind the bar over to him, hurrying to catch up with Robotnik’s long strides. He was blabbering on about hoping they weren’t moving too fast - as if Robotnik couldn’t get out of here fast enough. He glanced back at the other man, his chest tightening briefly at Stone’s earnest expression. Stone really was stupidly good-looking. He supposed that would be nice to look at, while they went over his papers.