hm. feeling like drawing some sonadow
SILVER FUNKO POP IS FINALLY HERE
God I would die for Silver!!!!! And the episode art is so cute!!!!!
Make sure to listen to the first 3 episodes first if you haven’t already!
Shadow is amnesiac, again, so he is calling Sonic “Sir” and “Mister. Also, both are being held by G.U.N. so… Slow Burn Sonadow.
Leaving the sir to gather himself up privately, Shadow padded away to give him a moment alone, taking his time to look at the place they have been holed up in. He had been doing so since he came, while also trying to knit together the bits of information he had, trying to remember more about himself, about this place, wondering what may have changed and what could have happened in those years he missed. Or, forgot about?
Just, how much time have passed? What major important events he may have lost? Besides the fact that apparently he was now older than what he thought he would ever get to be, that he was on earth, and that it was also called Movious, or something, not earth, as he had been taught during all this time? Just, what the fuck?
This was…all of this was just, so fucked up Shadow didn’t even knew where goddamn shit he should start on. The fact that he was alive? How much had he changed? Why couldn’t he remember what happened to him? WHY was he so damaged? What was this guy doing here? Who was that white corpse? Why did that…person… clung to him so tightly?
He could feel the anger and confusion boiling down on his stomach, fear lacing its way through his body.
He hated it.
Being afraid was never a good thing. It just meant more pain was going to come.
He took the skates from where he left them, scratched, worn and somewhat burnt but functional, no doubt. A single kitty hand and they would be in perfect conditions, he decided. Knowing he couldn’t dally anymore without it being suspicious, he made his way back and tried to hand them over, but the Sir, currently busy snacking on the bread Shadow gave him, didn’t accept them, somehow backing away every time they were offered much to Shadows surprise.
Why did he ask for them, then?
<<Make up your mind! >>
Shadow didn’t dared to question, though, and just stood there, holding the skates in his hands and, Mh, waiting for an instruction?
“So, now what?” he asked hesitantly, looking at his friend with an arched eye ridge, and, wow, wasn’t that a giddy feeling? Having someone to certainly call friend besides his sister Maria! He couldn’t help but be excited about this finding. He couldn’t help, neither, to want to see her soon and tell her, maybe even Professor Gerald! A friend… Would they be proud of him? He could only hope… He could even tell Merick once he saw him! Or…Mh… well, maybe not Hanna, exactly. He didn’t think Hanna would have the best of the reactions…
There were moments when he didn’t knew wherever Hanna was his friend or not.
❄️✨ Snow girls ❄️✨
“Ha! Past, present or future, I’m still the best!”
That’s the Silver the Hedgehog energy I want
Been wanting to make this comic for a year now, an au where Tikal and Chaos are okay and sometimes leave the Master Emerald to give Knuckles some company.
Some thoughts about Manic’s backstory, how he learned (or never learned) to control his powers, and why he appears laid back compared to his hotheaded siblings. It’s a sad one, lads
Some of Manic’s earliest memories were of things breaking. When he was barely more than a toddler, chubby-cheeked and prone to chattering endlessly about things that only made sense to a child, Ferrell had gotten him a pair of headphones. They were ancient, but well-made, at least until Manic wore them non-stop for months before taking a tumble off of something he definitely should not have been climbing. The bruises and scraped knees didn’t hurt nearly as much as the sound of static in one ear, while the other didn’t make any noise at all. With money and delicate electronics difficult to come by, they were never properly fixed, despite Ferrell’s best efforts. It was before Manic knew how to blink back tears before they spilled or grit his teeth to swallow sobs. He was so small, and his emotions were so huge, and his wails were the only way he could relieve the pressure of too much feeling poured into a too tiny body. And as he screamed, the plaster in the walls began to crack. The one window overlooking the street shattered. What should have been solid ground shook and rumbled, and the noise that Manic could no longer block out only scared him more. By the time Ferrell managed to soothe him, furniture was tipped over, and the floor was a maze of dust and glass. Looking back, Manic wondered how scared Ferrell had been, faced with a specter of destruction in the form of a screaming child. He hadn’t seemed scared at the time. In fact, he was the only thing in the world that did not shake. He rubbed Manic’s back until his breath slowed, made him hot chocolate in the only mug that hadn’t been cracked.
After that, they worked on breathing slowly; in four, hold eight, out eight. Manic learned to deflect and evade at the first sign that his temper was rising. What he told himself was “don’t lose your cool.” What he grew to believe was that danger came from without and within. His only chance at survival was to keep a level head. Sometimes, deep in his core, he felt like a little kid again, overwhelmed by more feeling than he would ever be able to contain. Even as he grew, the world never became smaller. Even as much as Manic had struggled, he knew that the magnitude of cruelty that existed was more vast than he would ever be able to comprehend. So he didn’t try. He kept going, kept his head down, kept himself alive. Anything more was too much. Reckoning with the weight of the world was too much. Hoping for a better life was beyond his reach. So he didn’t. And when his soul shrieked for something more, he stifled that voice under tons of stone before it could shake his foundation. Manic didn’t lose his cool. How could he, when he didn’t care? Not about himself, not about anyone else. He’d always been an excellent liar, able even to fool himself.
Foundations were hard to come by in Robotropolis, but Ferrell had done his best. Even when they didn’t know where they’d sleep that night, Manic could count on his old man to help him feel at home. The night that Ferrell didn’t return, the earth shook like the waves of a treacherous ocean, and there was no one to pull Manic back to solid ground.
i’ve been considering taking commissions via ko-fi, so i’m wondering if anyone would be interested? i’ll get some examples ready, but i’d pretty much be drawing sonic characters / ocs!