usakkhae

[usakkhae]

By the way, I don't use dr*gs (it sucks) I only drink wine sometimes (also sucks) But I'm not too ashamed to post my arts (except for the next day)

Besides, my English is bad and I don't always understand some slangs... But I am very happy with this community and the responsiveness! It is very cozy here! Have a nice day everyone!

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It takes two

Send me a tip for hurting my hand for this 😔

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🍻

Have TADC fanart big fan of Pomni-and-Ribbit-being-similar idea

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highkey have not drawn much in the past few months,,, busy busy busy!!! take my artdump anyways though

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81

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June 18, 2025 - Protesters took to the streets in New York City in solidarity with Palestine, and to denounce the war on Iran. [video]

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They need more money 😏

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My frame for the Time to Frame It project of Jayvik Frames! 🦋

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MWAH <3

Meljay version

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gay poems????

no text ver cuz its even funnier without context (if there ever was any)

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Hiya!

How does Error feel about Fresh’s parisite form? Just curious lmao

(Also *buries Error in chocolate*)

In Pride Month????

INDEX

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I'm so glad!!! I wasn't sure what kind of clothing to give to Stone so I settled for his usual but with Sm1 Rob's coat(how he got it? No idea. Maybe it's just one similar)

Also, I really wanted to draw Dost's full face but I think it's cooler like this XD maybe if she shows up again...

Stone & Robotnik's Gaggle of Robot Children P3

Stone meets up with an old colleague and keeps his temper mostly in check.

Ch 9- Stone and Metal Amsterdam Part 3

The improvements that Stone made to Metal were slow and groggy. Bit by bit.

He'd started calling the project Metal when he thought about it and talked about it. He preferred not to think of the blue hedgehog when he didn’t have to.

Besides, it deserved its own name.

Metal was an impressive wonder as a semi-independent automaton, but he still could not go very fast.

Stone had a rigged a treadmill rinside the hideout to track the little robot as it ran, making it run until failure, adjusting its joints and then trying again.

They added 10 mph after trying out five different lubricants on his joints. Another 20 mph after changing his fasteners. Another 10 after changing the weight around in his chest-plate.

They'd gotten to 80 mph. Fast for a bipedal creature of his size. But not Sonic fast, not even close. And they still hadn't tested him on turns.

Stone could feel the self-hatred creeping in, his failure to protect Robotnik coloring the way he felt about all these tests, about his lack of progress.

There was a little part of him that had expected this to be easier, and he felt guilty for it existing. How dare he thought he could replace the great Doctor Robotnik? How dare he think he could just slide into a project he couldn’t finish, and get it swiftly done?

It's-just-

Towards the end? Robotnik's experimental design had sucked. It truly had.

Robotnik was still as smart as ever, but his self-destructive tendencies and impatience with himself leaked into how he did experiments. It wasn’t careful, it wasn’t cautious, it wasn't measured, there was no room to collect data.

He'd use walls as turning barriers for obstacle courses instead of traffic cones, and crank the treadmill up to speeds higher than they'd proved Metal could go,  going in units of 50 mph with each trial instead of 5 or even 10. Either he'd been too eager to get affirmation that his design worked or he simply desired to express his frustration on something and Metal was there.

So was Stone.

Stone had always been there for Robotnik's yelling and destruction. The weeping had been new. And it both delighted him that the Doctor was trusting him to see such a delicate piece of vulnerability and terrified him how much everything he’d relied on was shifting and changing through his fingers.

In the present day, Stone adjusted the weights in Metal’s chest to allow him to slightly tilt forward without falling over. He breezed through 10, 20, 30, 40 mph with complete success.

Stone was sleeping more these days. Fitfully, but he was in bed on schedule. He was jogging again. Half measures. Struggling to move things forward.

50 mph, stable 60 mph, and Stone could see some of the vibration in his legs.

He was tempted to shave his beard off completely so he didn't have to think about it anymore, but he didn't want to admit defeat against his own facial hair. He rubbed his hand over his face, thinking about it, and one of the badniks turned to look at him.

They did that now- tracked his emotions. They watched him if they saw his shoulders tensing or his breathing quicken, and they flew closer to him waiting for... something. A command to fire maybe?

They used to do the same for the Doctor when he was alive.

He'd watch them gather near Robotnik and know that it was time to get him a distraction, or coffee or a punching bag.

Often a verbal punching bag. Someone else if he could find them, but himself if he couldn't.

They did it for Stone now. And he didn't know how he felt about it.

Metal hit 80 mph on the treadmill and his leg fell off again.

Stones' teeth clicked, and all the badniks turned to look at him, a dozen and a half unblinking red eyes turned towards the two of them.

Stone caught Metal as he fell off and turned off the treadmill.

He inhaled.

Exhaled.

"A failed test is not a failure, simply a gathering of more data."

It was something Robotnik said in one of his better moods after he'd blown up his lab. He'd said it was a burnt sleeve and a maniacal laugh.

(It’s fine Stone, It’s the necessary damage of progress, we’ll bill it to our budget, have some of these idiots clean it up and do it all again tomorrow. Maybe with less fuel.)

Stone said it now to keep his temper in check.

"You did fine, we learned more, we'll try again in the morning"

He didn't know if he said it to himself more or Metal, but someone needed to hear it. His voice was still tense, restrained.

"I'm going to take a walk."

.....................

Ch 10 - Stone and Future Plans

Whenever Stone felt like he was going to blow up in his (Robotnik's. It was always still Robotnik's) lab, he took a walk back to Crab and scavenged for parts.

He'd bought an old boat with the last dregs of his old coffee shop funds. He was planning to take it back to the States. It would be good for Metal to have a place to run around somewhere other than a treadmill, somewhere where they wouldn't be seen,

A desert would work. There was a small safe house in New Mexico that would do.

He went to the junkyard he’d hidden the crab in.  Its claws were hidden under old cars and washing machines, exposing the half-wrenched off doorway only. Hidden in plain site.

He was in his head about it all. It was all going too slowly. He knew he was comparing himself to an unreasonable standard, but at this point it would take years to get Metal up to his expected design. He'd have to study microelectronics and jet-propulsion, and possibly alien anatomy to begin to understand the kind of upgrades he could make.

He had a rough knowledge of each, but enough to do maintenance, not innovation. He'd been relying on his knowledge of mechanics and he was quickly using up the extent of his expertise. He’d have to study each. It would take years. And any progress would be delayed as he found ways to acquire more funds.

He would do it even if it took years, that wasn’t a question, but could he even finish it before he died? And were the practical logistics of survival and day to day living during that time?

It's what he was thinking about as he was carefully extracting one of the larger motors from the crab, acting every part of the carrion all in black.

It was his focus on his task and his thoughts that prevented him from seeing the subtle shift in light as someone slid into the doorway behind him, took aim and shot one tranquilizer dart into his neck.

He felt the sharp bite in the vein, and the sudden heaviness of his limbs before he realized what he had missed

..............

Ch 11 - Dust and Stone

He awoke still in the crab, but with a lot more zip-ties around his ankles and wrists.

In front of him was the collection of cheap liquor that he'd left in the Crab, far away from where the badniks could see it.

One of the bottles sat squarely in the hand of the Agent in front of him. She was a tall, blond, woman with her hair in a ponytail that perpetually had small strands coming out of it. The lid was off and she'd taken the liberty of helping herself to some of his supply.

“Hello” She said, taking another swig, heavy slavic accent cutting through his groggy hazy “Are you awake?” 

"Agent Dostoyevsky”

"So formal, and after all the missions we've had together. Please, call me Dost"

......

She'd said the same thing when they met 12 years ago. "Please, call me Dost."

Stone didn't see the point in picking a long code name if you were going to shorten it at every opportunity. If she wanted something short she should've picked it at the beginning.

He said as much to her when they first met.

"Our employer is going to ask us to give up every part of our friends, family and all past history for the job, let me keep my favorite author." She'd responded, "Besides, it keeps a separation between my friends and bosses. My friends call me Dost, my employers call me Dostoyevsky, and I get to see their tongue trip over the word."

She said it with a smile, and the implication of “look, I’m letting you into my friend group, don’t you feel special.” He didn’t. He’d simply felt manipulated, and like she was over-reaching.

Stone and her had worked together as field agents when they were both in a probationary period of employment. They both specialized in espionage and targeted assassination. Covert work.

Stone was on probation because he liked to reuse the techniques he found were most efficient and he gained a noticeable signature. 

Dostoyevsky was on probation because her timetables were awful. She treated each one of her assignments like a vacation and would take time to try the local food, wine, and women. Sometimes men but mostly women.

 For six months Stone put up with every minor tawdry affair, and distraction. He pulled her away from restaurants and flirtations and back to the assignment, and, due to the fact that he was adapting to her natural chaos, he was forced to use new techniques. Both of them improved.

Which is why it still, to this day, confused him that he'd been taken off of field work, and reassigned lab-work with Robotnik. He liked the end-result, but he didn’t understand what his superiors were thinking. He’d done what they’d asked. He’d changed his techniques, he’d even learned some from her. Why had he still been removed from field work?

In his more optimistic times, he suspected that the Agency had used him to keep Robotnik on task after he'd done so admirably at keeping Dostoyevsky on task.

In his less optimistic times, he suspected Agent Dostoyevsky had said something about his behavior in their post-work assessment that that poisoned the well with his commanding officers.

[usakkhae]

I did some fanart for this chapter, hope you like!!

I said this before, but I LOVE to see Stone interacting with other agents, so I couldn't resist >.<

Got kinda lazy with the coloring so I improvised lol. Here's the lineart version cuz I like it better:

Stone & Robotnik's Gaggle of Robot Children P3

Stone meets up with an old colleague and keeps his temper mostly in check.

Ch 9- Stone and Metal Amsterdam Part 3

The improvements that Stone made to Metal were slow and groggy. Bit by bit.

He'd started calling the project Metal when he thought about it and talked about it. He preferred not to think of the blue hedgehog when he didn’t have to.

Besides, it deserved its own name.

Metal was an impressive wonder as a semi-independent automaton, but he still could not go very fast.

Stone had a rigged a treadmill rinside the hideout to track the little robot as it ran, making it run until failure, adjusting its joints and then trying again.

They added 10 mph after trying out five different lubricants on his joints. Another 20 mph after changing his fasteners. Another 10 after changing the weight around in his chest-plate.

They'd gotten to 80 mph. Fast for a bipedal creature of his size. But not Sonic fast, not even close. And they still hadn't tested him on turns.

Stone could feel the self-hatred creeping in, his failure to protect Robotnik coloring the way he felt about all these tests, about his lack of progress.

There was a little part of him that had expected this to be easier, and he felt guilty for it existing. How dare he thought he could replace the great Doctor Robotnik? How dare he think he could just slide into a project he couldn’t finish, and get it swiftly done?

It's-just-

Towards the end? Robotnik's experimental design had sucked. It truly had.

Robotnik was still as smart as ever, but his self-destructive tendencies and impatience with himself leaked into how he did experiments. It wasn’t careful, it wasn’t cautious, it wasn't measured, there was no room to collect data.

He'd use walls as turning barriers for obstacle courses instead of traffic cones, and crank the treadmill up to speeds higher than they'd proved Metal could go,  going in units of 50 mph with each trial instead of 5 or even 10. Either he'd been too eager to get affirmation that his design worked or he simply desired to express his frustration on something and Metal was there.

So was Stone.

Stone had always been there for Robotnik's yelling and destruction. The weeping had been new. And it both delighted him that the Doctor was trusting him to see such a delicate piece of vulnerability and terrified him how much everything he’d relied on was shifting and changing through his fingers.

In the present day, Stone adjusted the weights in Metal’s chest to allow him to slightly tilt forward without falling over. He breezed through 10, 20, 30, 40 mph with complete success.

Stone was sleeping more these days. Fitfully, but he was in bed on schedule. He was jogging again. Half measures. Struggling to move things forward.

50 mph, stable 60 mph, and Stone could see some of the vibration in his legs.

He was tempted to shave his beard off completely so he didn't have to think about it anymore, but he didn't want to admit defeat against his own facial hair. He rubbed his hand over his face, thinking about it, and one of the badniks turned to look at him.

They did that now- tracked his emotions. They watched him if they saw his shoulders tensing or his breathing quicken, and they flew closer to him waiting for... something. A command to fire maybe?

They used to do the same for the Doctor when he was alive.

He'd watch them gather near Robotnik and know that it was time to get him a distraction, or coffee or a punching bag.

Often a verbal punching bag. Someone else if he could find them, but himself if he couldn't.

They did it for Stone now. And he didn't know how he felt about it.

Metal hit 80 mph on the treadmill and his leg fell off again.

Stones' teeth clicked, and all the badniks turned to look at him, a dozen and a half unblinking red eyes turned towards the two of them.

Stone caught Metal as he fell off and turned off the treadmill.

He inhaled.

Exhaled.

"A failed test is not a failure, simply a gathering of more data."

It was something Robotnik said in one of his better moods after he'd blown up his lab. He'd said it was a burnt sleeve and a maniacal laugh.

(It’s fine Stone, It’s the necessary damage of progress, we’ll bill it to our budget, have some of these idiots clean it up and do it all again tomorrow. Maybe with less fuel.)

Stone said it now to keep his temper in check.

"You did fine, we learned more, we'll try again in the morning"

He didn't know if he said it to himself more or Metal, but someone needed to hear it. His voice was still tense, restrained.

"I'm going to take a walk."

.....................

Ch 10 - Stone and Future Plans

Whenever Stone felt like he was going to blow up in his (Robotnik's. It was always still Robotnik's) lab, he took a walk back to Crab and scavenged for parts.

He'd bought an old boat with the last dregs of his old coffee shop funds. He was planning to take it back to the States. It would be good for Metal to have a place to run around somewhere other than a treadmill, somewhere where they wouldn't be seen,

A desert would work. There was a small safe house in New Mexico that would do.

He went to the junkyard he’d hidden the crab in.  Its claws were hidden under old cars and washing machines, exposing the half-wrenched off doorway only. Hidden in plain site.

He was in his head about it all. It was all going too slowly. He knew he was comparing himself to an unreasonable standard, but at this point it would take years to get Metal up to his expected design. He'd have to study microelectronics and jet-propulsion, and possibly alien anatomy to begin to understand the kind of upgrades he could make.

He had a rough knowledge of each, but enough to do maintenance, not innovation. He'd been relying on his knowledge of mechanics and he was quickly using up the extent of his expertise. He’d have to study each. It would take years. And any progress would be delayed as he found ways to acquire more funds.

He would do it even if it took years, that wasn’t a question, but could he even finish it before he died? And were the practical logistics of survival and day to day living during that time?

It's what he was thinking about as he was carefully extracting one of the larger motors from the crab, acting every part of the carrion all in black.

It was his focus on his task and his thoughts that prevented him from seeing the subtle shift in light as someone slid into the doorway behind him, took aim and shot one tranquilizer dart into his neck.

He felt the sharp bite in the vein, and the sudden heaviness of his limbs before he realized what he had missed

..............

Ch 11 - Dust and Stone

He awoke still in the crab, but with a lot more zip-ties around his ankles and wrists.

In front of him was the collection of cheap liquor that he'd left in the Crab, far away from where the badniks could see it.

One of the bottles sat squarely in the hand of the Agent in front of him. She was a tall, blond, woman with her hair in a ponytail that perpetually had small strands coming out of it. The lid was off and she'd taken the liberty of helping herself to some of his supply.

“Hello” She said, taking another swig, heavy slavic accent cutting through his groggy hazy “Are you awake?” 

"Agent Dostoyevsky”

"So formal, and after all the missions we've had together. Please, call me Dost"

......

She'd said the same thing when they met 12 years ago. "Please, call me Dost."

Stone didn't see the point in picking a long code name if you were going to shorten it at every opportunity. If she wanted something short she should've picked it at the beginning.

He said as much to her when they first met.

"Our employer is going to ask us to give up every part of our friends, family and all past history for the job, let me keep my favorite author." She'd responded, "Besides, it keeps a separation between my friends and bosses. My friends call me Dost, my employers call me Dostoyevsky, and I get to see their tongue trip over the word."

She said it with a smile, and the implication of “look, I’m letting you into my friend group, don’t you feel special.” He didn’t. He’d simply felt manipulated, and like she was over-reaching.

Stone and her had worked together as field agents when they were both in a probationary period of employment. They both specialized in espionage and targeted assassination. Covert work.

Stone was on probation because he liked to reuse the techniques he found were most efficient and he gained a noticeable signature. 

Dostoyevsky was on probation because her timetables were awful. She treated each one of her assignments like a vacation and would take time to try the local food, wine, and women. Sometimes men but mostly women.

 For six months Stone put up with every minor tawdry affair, and distraction. He pulled her away from restaurants and flirtations and back to the assignment, and, due to the fact that he was adapting to her natural chaos, he was forced to use new techniques. Both of them improved.

Which is why it still, to this day, confused him that he'd been taken off of field work, and reassigned lab-work with Robotnik. He liked the end-result, but he didn’t understand what his superiors were thinking. He’d done what they’d asked. He’d changed his techniques, he’d even learned some from her. Why had he still been removed from field work?

In his more optimistic times, he suspected that the Agency had used him to keep Robotnik on task after he'd done so admirably at keeping Dostoyevsky on task.

In his less optimistic times, he suspected Agent Dostoyevsky had said something about his behavior in their post-work assessment that that poisoned the well with his commanding officers.

[usakkhae]

URGENT!! FUNDS NEEDED TODAY TO SAVE A BABY!!

I'm so sorry. I have to ask you for help. I am in tears and don't know what to do. Raneen and Ahmed, @life-22, are my friends. They live in Gaza. Their baby Mohammed has cancer; we urgently need $900 before the end of the week to pay for his life-saving surgeries. Please donate to help the baby live!!

Their account is vetted by @90-ghost , @gazavetters (#576) , and @bilal-salah0. Gofundme takes too long, you can dm @life-22 if you want to confirm that paypal goes to them. Please help.

When you donate, please don't mention Raneen or Ahmed Hammad in the paypal message. PayPal is racially profiling and it is retaining all money that accompanies those names. PLEASE HELP MY FRIENDS SURVIVE THIS INJUSTICE!!

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My entry for @hugsarethugs DTIYS! I am in LOVE with this reverse au and the designs so much!!!

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Meow

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My animatic Crime and Punishment will be released tomorrow! Have the thumbnail as a treat 🪨🥚🥰