#wip: doodles in the margins

[scorchedcandy]

WIP Whenever time again yippee

Tagged by @falmerbrook (thank you!)

So largely this is “I’ve just circled back to two old hyperfixations” doodle nonsense lmao and yes the other stuff I’ve posted in the past is still in the works lol I’ve just been absorbed in the aforementioned hyperfixations (I included the doodles as receipts lmao). The other one is Mavus in sock garters based on an old advertisement I’ll include whenever I finish him lol

I’m tagging uhhh @orfeoarte @gwilin-stay-winnin @beekniighted @connortheconceded and you 🫵

[margindoodles2407]

@whyoneartheven @seeking-elsewhither @jessicalled @griseldafury21 @cheerfullycatholic

@kommandantpinks @turdofanerd @majorproblems77 @seaotter-17

(if you'd like to be tagged in my art posts, please let me know!)

I return from my quest, drenched in my own blood and also the blood of ArtRage 6

I have... an art style

collapses

Anyway. What better to draw than. perhaps. Commander Fox. Take him. Enjoy

as always click and zoom for quality because tumblr hates me

[stygiansauce]

So here I’m sitting, trying to work on one of my WIPs, and my brain goes, hey, yknow what is a fun head canon for MOE?

No? But I’m sure I’m about to be told.

Maybe it’s already canon to MOE, I can’t remember. But Tango can draw really really well. He doesn’t think he can, thinks he’s limited to engineering sketches. (Or doodles on the margins of proofreading papers) He especially can get frustrated when he finds himself sketching Jimmy. Because he doesn’t think he can ever draw Jimmy correctly. He’s wrong, he’s drawing Jimmy well enough most art students would weep, but he holds himself to impossible standards.

I don’t know, just the thought of Jimmy getting all flustered by finding a stash of these drawings of himself and he can see all the love Tango pours into them, and Tango goes “Yeah, they aren’t good enough.” Whilst Jimmy’s brain short circuits because ?!??! what do you mean you see me this beautiful and these drawings are amazing???

~Elen (🍠)

My Elen!!

So. this. I've been rotating this in my head for a few days now and I cannot find a reason to NOT put it in. I don't know if it will appear in the main story (so much is outlined and half written now) but I will try my damndest because I LOVE Tango who can draw.

It's normally Jimmy who I have doodling in my aus. But thinking about it, Jimmy spent most of his free time growing up out doing things. He was working part time jobs and doing school work. Tango on the other hand, did school and Ranch and maybe he saw Zed. Most of his childhood is yapping with Jevin on their horses. He's had tons of time to teach himself how to draw.

he has a little book in his saddle bag. and a simple charcoal pencil that he sharpens with his pocket knife. and he draws what he sees. birds, bison, landscapes. and when he gets to college he learns to draw more mechanically. but it always has a bit of an artistic flair his classmates never had He draws a sktech for one of his projects and it has shading on it. Or he marks up an exam with explanations of his thought process, and he gives visuals to many of this thoughts. Tango has always been someone to just snap his fingers and understand something, he's learned that many people need visuals, so he always provides them.

Drawing people though? I don't think he has a lot of practice in that. He can do loose outlines of a person in a landscape, but never detailed enough to know WHO the cowboy in a drawing is. until he met Jimmy. Theres a moment where he's up late, somewhere between the start of their flirting and the lollipop scene of chapter one. He's working on a project and is thinking about Jimmy's blushing flustered face and just, draws it. It doesn't look very good, and it doesn't look like Jimmy at all, but that doesn't stop him from trying again. As they get to know eachother and as Tango commits Jimmy's face to memory, they improve. Tango is a practical guy, he doesn't have social media and he hardly uses his phone, this is his way of "stalking the gram". this is how he gets to look at Jimmy when they aren't around eachother. on loose bits of papers, on the edge of his homework, on the back pages of a sketchbook he hasn't drawn in since he was last in texas. is Jimmy's face. Sleeping on the lab couch, taught in frustration, smiling softly. The only thing that Tango just cant seem to get right are his eyes. Nothing can capture them, not even the person who stares into them everyday.

GOD THIS MANNNNNNN hes to romantic aough. Thanks for this!! I needed this big time . much love Elen!

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

How do. uh. the crying stone angels (I dont want to say them by name, I'm sure esteemed scholars like yourselves understand a human's hesitancy and superstition.) reproduce? Like, do they hatch from eggs, is it mitosis, do they copulate, etc?

How do Weeping Angels reproduce?

Excellent question! Horrifying implications!

The short version is they don't reproduce so much as propagate. The distinction is important. Weeping Angels aren't biological in any traditional sense—they don't hatch or copulate, or go to Parent-Teacher meetings. Instead, they duplicate.

🪞 Image-Based Propagation

The core principle is this: The image of an Angel becomes an Angel. Literally. Anything that resembles an Angel closely enough can become one via methods like:

A photo

A video file

A drawing

A reflection

A vivid, mentally projected hallucination

As long as the image remains stable and uninterrupted, the Angel can emerge from it, either gradually or all at once. This means even thinking too clearly about an Angel can get you possessed by one.

This also applies to mirrors. If an Angel sees itself in a mirror, a new Angel can form from the reflection.

🧠 Psychic Seeding

In some cases, Angels can even propagate mentally. If a person holds a vivid enough mental image, they can become a host. The Angel takes root in their mind and slowly begins to overwrite their biology and identity.

⚡ Temporal Reproduction via Time Lords

If an Angel feeds on the future regeneration energy of a Time Lord, it can use that temporal potential to create new Angels. One case created forty-nine new angels, simply by having two incarnations of the Doctor meet.

🏫 So…

They don't breed—they spread. A Weeping Angel doesn't need a nest or a candlelit romantic dinner—it needs your attention. And the longer you look, the more of them there are. Please stop doodling them in your margins.

Related:

💬|👾👼What do Weeping Angels actually look like?: Discussing the ‘true’ forms of Weeping Angels.

💬|👾👼Can you reason with a Weeping Angel?: Why you can’t invite a Weeping Angel to your birthday party.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[stabbyfoxandrew]

hi hello happy Wednesday!!! May I please have some more of my boy? Very excited to see how they plan to give Neil a body again, the world building is just sm fun!!

WIP Wednesday (5/14) | Demon Neil AU (Part 41)

"It's a lot more complicated than that."

"Why am I not surprised." Andrew sighs out. Nothing in his life has ever been fucking simple, it stands to reason summoning Neil will be a pain in the ass.

"Be glad it's difficult—"

"Um. No."

"Andrew," the demon pauses to scoff. "If summoning demons were easy, this realm would've been overrun well before you were born. Humans are foolhardy at best and plain ignorant at worst. Especially when it comes to the supernatural. They watch a film or read a book and decide they can 'handle' an entity created to torture them endlessly in the afterlife. Spoiler alert, they cannot."

Andrew supposes maybe Neil has a point. If he'd known it was possible, he might've tried it himself by now. (He definitely would've tried it.) Hell, maybe he already did. A couple memories flicker through his mind. A teenaged version of himself doodling pentagrams in the margins of his school notebooks, because he was edgy that way. And there's the time he and a couple foster siblings messed around with a homemade Ouija board— they received no interest from the spirit world, just beatings for not being in bed.

"See what I mean! If it were that easy you could've summoned dozens of monsters right into your lap. You'd be dead."

"How do you know that?"

"Basic statistics. A summoning rarely ends well for the summoner."

Andrew wonders why that is and can't help the way his stomach twists. "Never go into sales, Neil. Your pitch is all wrong."

"You've already made the contract to summon me, so my pitch is just fine. Besides, you have nothing to worry about." Neil tells him, which is not at all reassuring when he's just said it never ends well for the human side of the deal. "Shut up. You don't count. You're getting bona fide instructions from a demon already bound to you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Make with the instructions then, demon."

After a huff from said demon, Andrew learns it is a much more complicated process than he thought. Neil lays out the basics. They have to have pure, grade A moonlight. Which shouldn't be a big problem, since Andrew's got a decent-sized window in his living room. He can throw open the curtains and let the moon in. But he's going to have to buy candles and learn an incantation, in Latin. Because of course it's fucking Latin.

"It could be worse, you could have to learn our language."

"At least that sounds interesting. Latin is just pretentious."

"Maybe so, but I don't think human minds can comprehend it."

"Try me." Andrew dares. Neil inhales, then lets loose a rapid fire string of what must be words but can only be described as hissing. It's a cacophony, an endless stream of unintelligible noises that raises the hair on his arms and makes his teeth chatter. After a few seconds, he has to tap out. "Stop that." Andrew commands. "Right now."

There is a smirk in Neil's tone when he switches back to English. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah. You're so scary. Get back to the recipe."

"You're not cooking me."

"I fucking might."

[cursed-candlehop]

I'm back with yet another goddamn writing WIP, lmao.

My darling partner is being a horrible enabler about me writing a bunch of emmrook stuff (especially character studies, both of the horny and hurt/comfort-y persuasion), but I was having some difficulty getting going without any setup (especially since Rooks behave more like OCs than canon characters as far as fics go), so I figured I'd make a series out of it and just start at the beginning.

And because I tend to implode and lose interest if I don't share what I'm working on, here, have what I've got so far I guess! Ain't much, but it's a start.

----------

Rook had been more than just a little apprehensive when Bellara nominated a Nevarran professor as their resident Fade expert. The necromancy, he could deal with — Nevarra had made it work for what might've been millennia, and besides, funeral rites in Thedas weren't nearly as united as the Chantry liked to pretend anyway, what with the Dalish and their trees and the Dwarves with their burials (and whatever the Qunari were doing; admittedly he'd never given it much thought). So, walking skeletons in lieu of cremation? Maybe a little peculiar, but not the weirdest thing he was gonna see this week.

He liked the "professor" part a lot less.

It wasn't that Rook disliked smart people or education or anything like that, but his own time as an apprentice had been more than a little fraught. Maybe it was the ears immediately marking him as an outcast in the Minrathous circle schools, or maybe it was just that he'd always been a little off in a similar way as Bellara seemed to be — except he was clearly a lot less charming about it. Whatever the reason, he'd spent a distressing amount of his adolescense hiding ruler-bruised knuckles from his parents whenever he was home for the holidays, because he couldn't stand the idea of disappointing them with material proof of his disobedience and lack of understanding and disruptive personality. Needless to say, whatever he knew about magic, he'd taught himself — from books who couldn't see his ears or hear him rhythmically run his fingers along the trimmed feather stubbles of his quill pen as he read or tell him off for doodling tiny florals in the margins of his notes while he thought.

So, "Professor Volkarin" certainly didn't inspire confidence. Made his fingers ache, if anything. Bel didn't seem to share his trepidation, happily chattering away the entire way to the Eluvian they'd found connecting the Crossroads to the Grand Necropolis.

"Do you know what your professor is like?" Rook asked during a rare lull in the conversation.

"I mean..." Bellara replied, dragging out the "n", and he suddenly regretted asking at all. "He writes really kind and encouraging letters?" she finally concluded with a shrug. "Much less intimidating than Myrna and Vorgoth, and they turned out pretty alright in person too, right?"

They had been shockingly reasonable, to his surprise. Still intimidating, sure, but so was Morrigan, and he liked her alright too. Still, he wasn't sure about any of this — and going by Bellara's tone of voice, neither was she.

The Necropolis itself turned out to be a stunning amalgamation of centuries of architecture and magic so powerful it must've taken hundreds of mages to set up the original enchantments even before eons of Fade influence had made it all so much weirder than it had started out. Half the time, Rook couldn't even tell if he was above- or underground, or something else entirely. It was also absolutely bitterly cold and seemed to get ever colder as they descended, and there was something so oppressive about the atmosphere that even Bellara started talking less and in careful, hushed tones. This? This did not bode well.

"I hope he won't mind us barging in..." Bel half-whispered as they turned another corner.

"You did tell him we're coming though, right?" Rook asked, and figured he could've saved himself the question. Bel was, without a doubt, the smartest person he knew, but she had this horrifying habit of jumping straight from Point A to Point F with nothing in between. He'd have bet his best bit of pocket lint that, as far as his genius friend was concerned, they were basically already back at the lighthouse after this Professor Volkarin had naturally already agreed to join their little team, because clearly there was no reason he wouldn't be on board with chasing down a bunch of elven gods, cultists, and quite possibly a whole bunch of darkspawn. Andraste's tits, did he ever envy Bel for that cheerful confidence that stuff would simply work out. Especially because thus far, she's been right every time.

"I... told Myrna and Vorgoth we'd be coming?" Bellara asked back.

Who, in turn, probably assumed that she'd cleared the whole thing with the Professor.

"So, he has no idea," Rook sighed.

"Probably not, but... shhhh"

"What..." he began — and then he heard it. A rhythmic clanging, paired with the underlying feeling of magic being channeled, turning the air slightly sharper than it was meant to be. They rounded another corner — and there he was. Standing in front of some kind of augmented skeleton, tall and thin and working spells with a fluid, almost musical grace, his elegant, gold-draped hands drawing Fade-green patterns into the air. The skeleton got up, moving slowly and awkwardly at first before gaining its bearings, hefted a large pickaxe, and stalked past them to clean up what looked like a serious cave-in.

And then the mage turned towards them.

"Visitors!" he exclaimed, his genial, friendly voice sharply at odds with the green, glowing skull where his head should've been.

Kaffas, what had he gotten himself into.

[out-there-tmblr]

Wip: Zaundads2EB (6)

In a strange way, it's lucky that Silco was working in the mine most days. They already know how to run the bar and the market between the four of them, and who works which days in the mine. Following Silco's careful columns of numbers is harder.

It takes the four of them, sitting around a table before shift, to figure out which ships are due this week and what they're bringing.

"Ah," Benzo says suddenly, spinning Silco's notebook on the table so he doesn't have to read it upside down. He stabs a finger at the doodled symbols in the margins. "I saw those."

"Where?" Felicia asks, leaning over Benzo's shoulder as he starts flicking through the pages. Vander glances at Connol, but Connol shrugs back at him with baby Violet held to his chest.

(Vander tries not to think of the face Silco would pull if he were here. For all that Silco likes the foundling kids, he doesn't like babies. He's called Violet, the cutest baby in existence, a squalling potato.)

"Ah," Benzo says again, tapping a corner of a new page, with a triangle shaped doodle in the corner. "Orders and price by ship. Okay, we can work with this."

He didn't expect Benzo would be the one best suited to following – and maintaining – Silco's careful records, but he is. He expects Silco will complain about Benzo's slanted handwriting, but he'll recognise the necessity of it. Vander would feel better about it if he could just talk it through with Silco, make sure he's not forgetting anything.

"You want to hold her?" Connol offers, nodding down at Violet. She's wrapped up in tiny blankets, only her face and a shock of pink hair showing. She blinks up at him with a vaguely stunned expression, like the world is too big to even try to understand. Vander can sympathise.

"Yeah," Vander says softly. He holds the weight of her in his hands, this tiny little person with tiny fingers and toes.

He can't help thinking of Silco. The way he crosses his arms and steps back if anyone suggests holding the baby. The way he'd scrunched his face up in disgust at the idea of having one of their own. ("Fortunately, that's not something that could accidentally happen to us.")

Vander hadn't been able to let that go. "You don't want kids? Like, some day? A family of our own?"

It was written all over Silco's face: he'd never thought of it. Never considered what their lives might look like in ten years, a home of their own, work outside of the mines, a couple of kids.

"You want them?" Silco asked, wary. "You want some screaming little red-faced thing that can't even tell you want it needs?"

"There are plenty of kids in the foundling home that need a family. We could adopt one that could walk and talk." Vander leaned sideways, wrapping an arm around Silco as he pushed the advantage. "Or a few more."

"We are not opening a foundling home," Silco chided warmly, but it's the same tone he uses to claim good whisky is a needless indulgence. Given time, Vander could convince him. "And not any time soon. We haven't finished building the upper floor. We still don't have running water, and we need to work out the best way to build on the next level."

"So, some day," Vander agreed easily.

***

[detectivecrash]

Last Line Challenge!!

thanks for the tag @tealmist55!! This is from my new rexsoka WIP. I counted all of them, and I currently have ten WIPs😭😭 I need to stop. But it's fun!!! This one's gonna be kinda dark. :/

The windows were fogged.

Not enough to block the view entirely, but enough to make everything feel a cold kind of humid. Beige, maybe. Fields stretched on, wide and wet, dotted with sheep who looked deeply unbothered by the rain and pelting chunks of hail.

Ahsoka pressed her forehead to the glass, feeling the vibrations as the precipitation hit the window. She absently picked at the medical tape on her right forearm. It was already peeling, anyway.

She hadn't said a word in the five hours since she got on the bus. She simply handed the driver her ticket and found a spot.

Her hoodie still smelled faintly like antiseptic, and the drawstring hung halfway out from where she’d tried to force it back in. She hadn't been allowed to have it. Her duffel was stuffed beneath her seat, overpacked and under-thought, with ten t-shirts, three hoodies, two pairs of jeans, and a journal someone on the unit had given her. They suggested she write her feelings down.

She doodled dicks in the margins.

@emilyhufflepufftlk @snarkyfina @aknightreaderr @cyarikacyare @gingerhopper @ladylucksrogue @lordy-lou @amidalahsoka @writer-in-blu

and anyone else who wants to participate!!!!

[whathorselegs]

6 (show us a bit of a WIP!) and 22 (give us a headcanon for Dazai (or Chuuya if you got it already)) for the ask game!!

and 9 (write a recommendation of someone else's fic you enjoyed!) if you got any 👀

6. Show us a bit of a WIP!

"I wanna go home." He wasn't sure why he'd chosen that word. The shipping container had never really been a home, no matter how much he'd insisted on it. Home for Dazai came the shape of his friends, the familiarity of their tired smiles, eyes that mellowed with fondness upon seeing him. It came in the warmth of a cream blazer placed around his shoulders when he'd misplaced his own, of calloused hands ruffling his hair. It was the clink of glasses as Ango chided Oda for indulging him time and time again. His home had forever been torn asunder by betrayal and death. There was no going back there.

Technically this is the second WIP I've shown for this piece, ( the first WIP is here )

It is yet another piece that was supposed to be pretty short and keeps getting longer and longer, asdfghjk.

22. Give us a headcanon for Dazai

I headcanon that Dazai does actually have quite the artistic talent. I think it was something he was more invested in as a young teen but still does every now and again. He prefers creating with monochrome/greyscale styles. So mediums like pencil sketches/charcoal/inks.

I also like to think he's a fan of Van Gogh, especially his earlier black and white works. (Because of that one section in No Longer Human and because I am too)

Of course, he still does his creepy ghost drawings to poke fun at people, I think they came out of absentminded doodles in margins of paper. He's definitely a doodler and his reports are usually full of them.

9. Write a recommendation of someone else's fic

"You stole my wisdom!?" By Blowingyourmind

Premise: Dazai and Chuuya have to get their wisdom teeth out at the same time. Kouyou and Hirotsu escort the pair to and from their appointment.

The rec: This is peak dumb teen skk. Chuuya and Dazai are high out of their minds after having their teeth removed. What could go wrong? I love that not even the drugs can stop Dazai from being a little menace in this. I re-read this every time I need giggle, it's pure silliness.

I also, always re-listen to the pod fic by PeaPodfics at the same time because the added sound effects are just *chef's kiss*

Ask game

[blackbirdofasgard]

WIP Wednesday

Was tagged by @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, and I actually have something started this week, so hopefully sharing it will serve as some motivation to finish it quicker! It's the next in my line-up of Fluffuary prompts: urgency / kneel / rural. It's a Lokius story, but following two variants, rather than the Mobius and Loki we followed in the series.

"I'm back!" Loki called into the house as he walked through the front door. Don looked up from the kitchen table where he was sitting with Kevin, helping him with his math homework. "You get Sean to soccer practice on time?" As Loki approached, he nodded. He came to a stop by their side and ran his hand along Don's shoulders. "His coach said they'll be having a long practice today," he informed his husband, "We have three hours until he needs to be picked up again." With that, a certain spark entered his eyes as he and Don exchanged knowing grins. They had hopeful plans for how they wanted to spend that particular Saturday afternoon. Plans that involved having the house to themselves. With Sean out for several hours, there was only Kevin left to cockblock them, but they were fairly certain it wouldn't be for long. Every weekend, Kevin's friend came to their door to invite him over to play video games. It was only a matter of time. But until then… Tearing his eyes away from Loki and back down to the table, Don finally noticed that Kevin had abandoned his math problems in favor of doodling a robot in the margin of his worksheet. "Hey." While Loki wandered farther into the kitchen to get himself a snack, Don tapped the paper to draw his son's attention. "Focus," he urged, "It's just long division, right? You got this!" He pulled over a separate sheet of paper, on which he'd written out one problem as an example. "Do it the way I showed you. Remember?" "That's not the way Ms. Tullis wants us to show our work," Kevin pointed out, going right back to his drawing. Groaning, Don rubbed his hands down his face. "Why'd they have to reinvent math?" he complained, snatching up the paper he'd used to explain the process to Kevin, "Solving it this way works just as well! Probably better!" Luckily, that was when the doorbell rang.

It's going to be exactly what it sounds like 😘

Tagging (probably duplicating several): @insert-witty-user-name-here, @dewdropreader, @lgwilt, @mirilyawrites, @sparrow-the-tired-lesbian, and anyone else that sees this and wants to share some of their work!

[wishingforatypewriter]

Last Line Challenge

Thanks for tagging me @yell0wsalt! This is from my latest timebomb wip (one where Ekko travels to see Jinx while she's living abroad)

The air in Ionia was sweet, untainted by the dense pollution of Zaun, and perfumed with ancient flora and the sound of her laughter. It was that very sound, rich and full of so much mirth it reached the rafters, that drew Ekko in the direction of her lab.

Partway down the stairs, he leaned against the banister of braided vines and watched for a moment, studying her smile lines as she exchanged barbs with her lab assistants and doodled in the margins of her blueprints.

“Look who it is. Sleeping beauty,” Jinx said when she finally caught him staring, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. She met him at the bottom of the stairwell and captured his lips in a kiss, tasting of fresh coffee and sun apples. “What, did I wear you out last night?”

I'm tagging anyone who would like to participate!

[gumy-shark]

untitled shou wip #1

yeah. decided “fuck it we ball” and am posting a wip i like. POV shou, set post-canon, 655 words. Shou does some introspection while working on his homework.

Shou may have his flaws, but- well, actually, Shou hasn’t put much thought into whether he has faults or not. He’s sure that he probably has them (and equally sure that you could ask pretty much anyone from Claw HQ about them and get a whole list), but it’s really just not the kind of thing he bothers to worry about. As far as Shou’s concerned, dwelling on all of your problems all the time is a great way to waste the little time you have on this earth.

The point is, whatever other faults Suzuki Shou may or may not allegedly have, being a liar isn’t one of them. It’s not in his nature to hide things, not when he could just come right out and say them. (Well, obviously he’ll make some exceptions for politeness and stuff, he’s not an asshole.) (Wait, is he an asshole? Maybe he should ask Ritsu about it, Ritsu’s pretty good at that kind of stuff.)

Shou makes a mental note to ask Ritsu about whether or not he is, in fact, an asshole. 

Maybe he should ask when the next time he needs help with wants company doing homework and Oh Right Homework He Still Needs To Do That.

The homework in question glares accusingly from his backpack. He’d gotten so caught up in thought that he’d forgotten all about it. Maybe he should get a diary like Ritsu, so that all of this thinking can become writing and doodling in the margins and then he won’t want to do it as much. Maybe- wait a second. This is stalling. Shou doesn’t want to do the stupid homework, so he’s running off with random trains of thought to avoid doing it. And stalling is for cowards who waste time and aren’t tough enough to face their problems head-on, so Shou forces himself to sit down and actually look at the worksheet he’s supposed to be turning in tomorrow.

Six minutes of extremely valiant effort later, Shou has reached new heights of hatred for (in no particular order): math, his teachers, his dad (who was not directly involved in this one but also Shou’s situation is almost certainly his fault somehow), his mom’s ancient old cat (puked on the floor), and most of all for the first worksheet he pulled out of his bag, which has stubbornly remained impossible despite Shou’s best efforts. The numbers just swim around in his head and he can’t keep the equations straight and no matter how hard he tries he just can’t get it to work.

There’s only one person Shou knows who could actually make any of this make sense. Looks like he has a reason to visit Ritsu today after all!

(It’s not running away, what he’s doing. Shou’s not running away here, he’s making a tactical decision to attack the problem from another angle. That’s still facing his problems, and he’d waste more time by struggling on his own since he clearly isn’t getting anywhere. Also, because asking for help isn’t cowardly OR running away it’s actually harder and tougher and therefore cooler. And also because running away isn’t even a bad thing, even if he was running away it would be fine and it wouldn’t make him a coward. See? He’s growing! He’s learning!)

As he leaves the train station and starts the trek towards Ritsu’s house, Shou pops into a convenience store on a whim and walks out with some soda and mentos. That way, if math still makes him want to explode things, he can do it without destroying the whole house (again).

Now that he thinks of it, Shou’s pretty sure some of those guys from the 7th Division ended up working at a convenience store somewhere in the city. Shou’s glad he didn’t end up walking in there- not that he’d particularly care, of course, but it just seems like it’d be kind of weird for everyone.

[stellastra-scribbles]

PINNED POST - about me~

Made: Sept. 12, 2024

Updated: March 30, 2025

IMPORTANT LINKS

Bluesky: stellastra (I post sketches + WIPs here!)

Toyhouse (for OC info): stellastra

Artfight: stellastra

Reddit: stellastra (I don't post there much, though)

Twitter: k_stellastra (retired account/not posting there anymore)

Hi, hello! You can call me Stellastra. This is my art blog I made in September 2024, but I've been on tumblr since 2014 on my personal blog.

To tell you a bit about me: I like to draw, play video games, take photos, work out, and collect historical fashion books.

I'm admittedly a fairly shy and private person, so my posts will almost strictly be related to art and/or my OCs. However, feel free to send me a message, whether it's about me, my art, my OCs, or if you just wanted to drop in and say hello. If you send me an ask about my OC, I might accompany the answer with a drawing!

All I ask is for some basic cordiality if I don't know you.

Some Ground Rules:

I make art based on mature games/genres. My content is intended for an adult audience.

Reposting my art off-site is fine, so long as I'm credited/it links back to me. For example, if I drew you something and you want to add it in your OC's reference compilation on Toyhouse or wherever, that's fine. Something as simple as "art by stellastra [insert link to my blog]" is all I ask for.

I can't believe I have to say this, but just be a decent human being. It's not that hard. I will not engage in petty discourse openly nor in DMs.

I am not doing commissions. I am not offering them nor do I intend on doing so in the foreseeable future.

My favorite video games are:

The Elder Scrolls series (particularly Morrowind)

Guild Wars (both GW1 and GW2. GW1 is my childhood jam~)

Arcanum: of Steamworks and Magick Obscura (a D&D-like fantasy setting paired with the 19th century aesthetic? *chef's kiss*)

Fire Emblem series (especially Shadows of Valentia and Three Houses, crossing my fingers for a proper remake of the Jugdral games)

Halo series (Bungie-era, haven't played any 343 entry since 4)

Tomb Raider series (the Legend games are my childhood classics)

More random fun facts about me I'm willing to share (if you wanted to know for some reason):

I'm half-Filipina (Igorot, specifically Kalinga) and half-white (apparently of mostly British ancestry, according to a 23andMe test my dad did).

I was born and raised in the the southeast USA.

Unfortunately, I can only speak English (+ some rusty high school-level French). I want to learn Tagalog or Ilocano (my mom's native language) someday.

I have pet cats.

I can safely say that I really started drawing when I was around 10 years old, when I was doodling in the margins of my schoolwork in the fourth grade.

I love watching 'so bad, it's good' movies like The Room, Troll 2, Samurai Cop, Neil Breen movies, etc.

I have an unhealthy collection of historical fashion books. Most of my collection is 19th century European stuff, but I'm always looking for books of an earlier time or even non-European cultures.

If you're looking for any specific resource regarding historical clothing, feel free to shoot me a message and I can point you to some resources for reference material. Should you need something specific, I'm willing take a look in my collection for you. I JUST LOVE TALKING ABOUT HISTORICAL CLOTHING!!!

Well, with that out of the way, it's a pleasure to meet y'all~

[heartstringsduet]

sing👀👀

Hi May! heheh i see what you're doing! Get some of the Glee fic! TK strictly looked at the doodles at the margins of his page, drowning it all out. His annoyance about The Warblers is the mask he wears not to show the stab to his heart instead, because if he still were a member, he would have been the loudest, most annoying singer in the group.

✨Send me a Word and I will share a sentence from one of my WIPS. ✨

[orchurisarts]

yall ever have That One Guy who you like to put in all the situations. whatever it is. rp’s. shitposts. even just doodling him on the margins of schoolwork :D all this to say ive put Xer in Yet Another Conundrum and im very happy about this. he looks like some kind of furry and tbh i dont mind this

anyways wip for yall :> have fun with this

[stabbyfoxandrew]

You already know I'm gonna ask for demon Neil this week, last week's part had me screaming omg. Happy Wednesday!

WIP Wednesday (1/22) | Demon Neil AU (Part 16)

When the joy of creation starts to die down a bit, Andrew realizes his neck is stiff from sitting like a goddamn gargoyle and his wrist is ever so slightly pissed off. He stretches it and rolls his head side to side, hoping this won't affect work tomorrow. Andrew freezes. How the fuck is he supposed to go to work with a demon in his head? Actually, that might just earn him brownie points with their clients. It would not go over well with Renee though, would it?

Is he allowed to tell people he's possessed? Andrew wonders as he makes himself a sandwich for dinner. And suddenly, Neil wakes up.

"No. Most definitely not. You will get carted off to a psych ward." The demon says, sounding half-awake.

"Oh, hello Neil. Where did you go?"

"Got sleepy while you were dicking around trying to update your Neil drawing." Neil says with a yawn. "It's hard to jump into mirrors, takes a lot of energy."

"Oh poor baby. I hope you like turkey and tomatoes." Andrew says, then some of the mustard from his sandwich gets on his finger. He licks it off, then feels Neil's grimace in his mind and wonders which he objects to.

"Neither. It was the mustard you just shoved in my mouth." Neil complains.

"Oopsie." Andrew starts to take his plate over to the coffee table and glances over at the Neil on his desk.

"Woah." Neil says suddenly. "Take me over there."

"Why?"

"I want to see."

"Too bad," Andrew says as he sits down. "You shouldn't have nodded off."

"Where'd you learn to draw like that?"

"Lots of places." Andrew answers. 

"You didn't go to art school?" Neil asks. Andrew snorts at the question. "What, you taught yourself how to do that?"

Andrew supposes he did.

When he was a kid, he would doodle in the margins of his school notebooks. On the backs of his homework pages, on desks and on his jeans and anywhere else he could reach. It was like he needed to get the pictures out of his mind and onto paper. So he did, to the aggravation of many a teacher, custodian, and foster parent.

It wasn't until Nicky took him in that he had an actual, real dedicated sketchbook. And from there, he only got better and better. His memory helped, of course. Andrew could look at something for a couple minutes and recreate it in almost perfect detail. It came in handy for work.

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a tattoo artist." Andrew answers. "Now be quiet, it's TV time."