#I will treasure them forever

[sookilini]

My bf got me shiny tails and knuckles 😭💕 I’m so happyyyyyy

[greyias]

Aww, why thank you anon! I will happily enjoy my desktop pals for the next 24 hours

[hopetorun]

the notes on this have mostly slowed down but eye don't want to lose it so i am reblogging again with better tags 😂 i'm too lazy to compile all the names in the notes into any kind of list, especially with accounting for varying degrees of certainty (fashion glasses? blue light glasses? etc especially with guys where there's only one or two pictures). but please peruse the notes if you're curious and feel free to send me more pictures

i have a longstanding project of cultivating a list of nhl players who wear glasses (with a focus on the ones who typically wear contacts and are seldom seen in their glasses, because identifying them is more exciting and because i also am seldom seen in my glasses) but it turns out that simply maintaining this list in my head is a terrible method because i’m constantly forgetting people and losing my documentation (if i ever had it)

anyway i would love to know if anyone else is keeping records on this topic. or just like has some pictures. i want to collect the information like a gremlin

here is a picture of charlie mcavoy wearing his rarely-seen glasses, as an offering

[space--butterflies]

this was my favorite part :)

inspo [x]

[phobiacoms]

I just... love them a lot.

[hellenhighwater]

Have you taken any pottery classes or were you entirely self taught? I REALLY want to get into it but classes are quite expensive

I took some sculpting in undergrad, but it was in the context of casting and mold-making, not ceramics. So I'm fairly comfortable with clay as a medium but not so much with clay as an end product--not being able to do armatures and having to think about firing is weird. (If I had the opportunity to do bronze casting again, though, I would, no hesitation.) That puts me in the minority of my current pottery peers, who are largely self-taught or only learned in our studio.

I do pottery now at a co-op studio space, and technically that means that I'm taking classes there--but the classes are more like guided lab time? There's not really assignments or anything, and there's only a couple other people who sculpt, none of whom are in my class. Mostly the class just means that the person in charge demonstrates a technique or two once a week and then lets us do our thing.

Personally I think that shared studio space is the absolute best way to go. You spend less in startup costs (kilns are EXPENSIVE, running kilns is expensive, glaze is expensive) and it plugs you directly in to a group of fellow artists who can help and support you at whatever skill level you're at. Yes, classes are expensive--my class is $250 per season. But for me that includes lab space, 50 lbs of clay per season, almost all of the glaze I use, kiln time, and other people doing all the maintenance and kiln loading/unloading etc. Very much money well spent.

Artist-run shared spaces are often not turning a profit on anything with studio fees, just covering operations costs, so while it's pricey, it generally is just...what it costs to do that hobby. And it is sooooo much easier to be motivated when you're going to what is, basically, Grown-Up Art Club.

But if costs are prohibitive for you to do pottery via classes, and you want to learn to sculpt, then get some polymer clay and see what you can do. It's a different game than actual clay, but form is form, and the medium is secondary to figuring out how to translate an idea into reality.

Polymer clay is relatively affordable and doesn't require nearly the infrastructure of ceramics. If you can't spend the money on classes or a shared studio, then polymer clay is a great way to develop technique and an eye so that when you're in a position to spend the money, you already have the skills to make it worth what you're spending.

[ladylynse]

Thank you so, so much for your support on this fic! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.

I have now started to post it on the AO3, so I'll update it as I edit the next chapters. (If you let me know your username, I'll gift the fic to you!)

Part 3 of this untitled Doctor Who fic post Waters of Mars where 10 meets up with Grace Holloway again. (Well, I say untitled, and then I realized that when I posted the first bit to tumblr, I used the working title Saving Grace when linking it in this post, so let's go with that for now, shall we? It's better than my document title.) Posted for @gentildonna.

(Previous)

The Doctor made sure he was disconnected from all the machines before he set to work starting up his second heart. It wasn’t easy, not by himself. He would’ve liked to have someone else to help him. But he doubted the hospital staff would give him a good walloping on the back without what they deemed to be good reason, even if he specifically requested it. Not that he would, of course, because that would require explaining himself.

And when explaining himself didn’t work, he tended to run.

That would be slightly harder to do, given the conditions his clothes were in.

He’d started mending them, just a bit, so that he could get by. He could do a bit with the sonic screwdriver, mending fibres here and resonating dried blood off there. He was a bit surprised that, considering he had all manner of things in his pockets, he didn’t have a needle and thread. He made a mental note to put some in there in case anything like this ever happened again.

Though, if and when it did, he probably wouldn’t be wearing this suit anymore. Or this jacket.

Still. He’d worked quickly. Enough so that he’d finished before his scheduled appointment with the good Dr. Holloway. He doubted she’d be particularly disappointed, what with how she felt about him now.

He wished she hadn’t thought he was teasing her, poking fun at her stories. That hadn’t been his intention at all. He should have just come out and said it, but he hadn’t. He had such a gob on him in this regeneration, but did he open his mouth when he should? Of course not.

And now he’d missed his opportunity.

It was just as well. He shouldn’t have come. He managed to ruin them all, somehow, one way or another. This was simply proof that he was making more mistakes, not trying to compensate for his last one. How could he, when he ruined everything—everyone—he’d touched?

No shoes, but at least he was dressed in his suit again. Not that it fit quite as well as it ought to. Bit lumpy. He wasn’t the greatest at stitching. Never had liked all that domestic stuff. But it would do.

It wasn’t as conspicuous as a certain coat he’d worn in the past, one that would put the biblical Joseph’s to shame.

He’d get by.

Though he would like to find his trainers first.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

And then he could slip away to the TARDIS, no worse for the wear, and leave before he ruined Grace’s life any more than he already had.

-|-

The TARDIS refused to let him in.

Even when he claimed it would just be to get a change of clothes.

But she knew better, and he hadn’t been able to win an argument with her yet.

So he went back.

Not back to his hospital bed, no. No, he could do without that. He’d be fine. He’d only lost a bit of blood. Nothing serious. No broken bones, nothing lodged in his body, both hearts fully functioning, memory intact—not much more he could ask for.

He waited outside instead. It was, he thought, perhaps 2004, 2005. Grace may still be in San Francisco, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t moved. And, really, last time he’d been at her place, she hadn’t even had a couch, so she’d either have needed to buy quite a lot of furniture or move to a smaller place. And her place had been a bit of a hike from the hospital, if he remembered correctly. Not normally something that would bother him, but he was, perhaps just a little bit, under the weather.

The Doctor winced as he tried straightening up. Not quite healed up yet. Shouldn’t’ve tried running, really. That probably hadn’t helped. But he was sore enough that he figured pacing probably wasn’t the best way to pass the time, so he found a bench and sat down, waiting.

He was very quickly reminded why he rarely sat down with only his thoughts for company.

Ignoring the pain and his fatigue, he started walking, slowly, around and around and around the hospital grounds.

When he noticed someone watching him, he stopped that and sat down again.

But the itch to be moving remained, gnawing at him.

He wondered why he was doing this.

It wasn’t like he had a lot of time left, as far as he could tell.

His song was ending.

And here he was, waiting, doing nothing except thinking, rehashing everything he’d thought before, when there were worlds to see and places to explore and people to meet and—

Lives to ruin.

That kept him in place, that single thought.

The Doctor waited, deciding what to say the next time he saw Grace.

Because as far as he could tell, he’d only have one shot to get it right. And if he didn’t—if he started off on the wrong foot again—well, then, he wouldn’t get what he needed out of it. Not that he was entirely sure what he would get, or did need, precisely. Not closure. Not peace of mind. More…understanding. So that he would know for the future. So that, perhaps, once he regenerated—if the circumstances were such that he could regenerate—he might be able to see it, in the future. And if he could see it, he could avoid it.

And then he’d never, ever—ever—make that mistake again.

The fact that he’d done it once still scared him.

Almost as much as what would have happened, had someone else not taken it upon herself to correct it, even knowing what that correction would cost.

-|-

Dr. Grace Holloway was not happy to learn that their patient, the self-proclaimed Dr. John Smith, had somehow managed to escape the hospital and that not a single security camera had seen him leave. She hadn’t been particularly pleased with him, pulling the stunt that he had, but he wasn’t in good health, and if he really was a doctor—something she was strongly doubting—then he ought to at least acknowledge the foolishness of his actions. It was something too few people did, thinking they’d just pull through something on their own when they needed some sort of medical care.

Then again, if she were in another country without a passport or so much as a cent to her name, she might have run off, too.

Still, that didn’t explain why he’d singled her out, nor why he’d tried pulling that cruel joke. There was no reason for it. She’d learned, very quickly, to make the entire thing out as a story. And she’d told it, time and again, when she visited the children’s ward. She told other stories, too, but somehow, she always went back to that particular one.

Perhaps because that particular one wasn’t just any story—or just a story at all.

But the amount of detail she’d put into her retellings of it had some people questioning her. Perhaps because the details never changed, as the details of invented stories tended to do. She’d been shocked by the first remark she’d gotten, and even by all the ones that followed, despite knowing better by then. Not that anyone ever meant anything by it, really, as far as she could tell. They were only joking about it—with her, in their eyes. But the comments still stung.

To have snippets of the story repeated back to her, in a manner that hid the joke a little bit too well…. It felt cruel. Uncalled for. And it wasn’t even April Fool’s Day.

Perhaps it wouldn’t bother her so much if she hadn’t spent so much time thinking about it. Wondering, for the most part, what she had missed out on. Whether she’d made the right choice. Whether she’d change her mind, given the chance to. Whether it really had all been just a story or a dream.

The hospital records of that particular John Doe had been destroyed. Explaining away a dead man walking was a bit more difficult than simply burning a couple of x-rays and covering up the death in the first place, but it could be done. Rationalized. It had been late. The orderly had been confused, half-asleep, mixing up reality with that blasted movie he’d been watching. The door hadn’t been closed properly and had been loose on its hinges. It had been battered during normal use but had functioned well enough to not be reported, but its evident failure of function had ultimately required its immediate replacement, holiday or no holiday.

And things had simply fallen into place, logically, rationally, and everything that hadn’t fit had been shoved under the rug and had become unmentionable.

She’d even tried to find Chang Lee, once, when it was all said and done. She hadn’t been successful. She suspected it was because of the two bulging bags he’d held the last time she’d seen him. She still didn’t know what had been in them, but she knew they were from the Doctor. And that…that meant that they could have held anything within them from trinkets to cash to something as outrageous as gold dust.

Grace laughed, a bit bitterly. Oh, look at her now. Pining away after a forgotten possibility. All because some skinny idiot who had no idea what he was doing, how much he was hurting her, was dredging up her memories and shoving them in her face. Someone would have had to put him up to it, she was sure. They’d gone to a lot of trouble, telling someone all her stories. Perhaps he was a friend or relative of someone, thinking he’d have a go at her and have a laugh at her expense.

Although the wounds had been all too real. And the heart trouble wouldn’t have been faked, either. She wondered if they still had those x-rays. She’d be able to tell if his heart was overworked, as he’d kept insisting, by its size.

Grace put her coffee cup down. It was cold anyhow, though the brew had barely been lukewarm to begin with when she’d gone on her break.

Still. John Smith. Doctor. She should have seen through it immediately. The lack of ID, the odd things in the pockets, no money. And then the jelly babies. Oh, it had been planned, all right. Carefully. Not the stabbing, though she expected he’d have come up with one reason or another to see her. It was quite understandable that they didn’t replicate circumstances too much—and it wasn’t easy to fake a gunshot wound, not unless the entire hospital staff was in on it except her. The heart trouble may have been unexpected, or it may have been the reason he’d been the one to try it. She couldn’t be sure. X-rays inconclusive her foot. Perhaps they hadn’t even been taken.

Pursuing that thought, she went to check. But when she got there, she was informed that they had already been disposed of. She demanded to know why, without her even seeing them, particularly before they’d had a chance to take more, and had simply been told that it was out of their hands.

She cornered the newest addition to the staff. She didn’t know the man very well, and she wasn’t good at intimidating people, so she didn’t even try it. She merely pulled him aside and asked for the truth. What they had looked like.

Double exposure.

Double exposure. Yeah, right. As if she’d buy that after all this. Apologetic tone or not, even if he had been the one to take the blasted things— That didn’t matter. They were all in on it. What was this for? There was no rhyme, no reason. Who was trying to make her life hell?

She needed a break. And not just a measly five minutes. She wasn’t the only cardiologist in the hospital. They could cover for her. Oh, not easily, but they’d make do. She might lose her job, but, given the circumstances, she wasn’t so sure that wouldn’t be a bad thing. She’d thought about leaving after that first time, back in 1999. She hadn’t. She’d hung on, clinging to normality after her life had spun out of control. She’d used it as an anchor.

But some things you couldn’t bury so easily.

Given time, it would resurface.

Time.

She’d seen it backtrack, loop around, and play again. Just the once. But that experience had changed everything.

They always say that if it doesn’t matter in five, ten years, it doesn’t matter now, not really. Well, it had been five years. And it was still affecting her. And she was fairly sure another five wouldn’t change that.

She didn’t head to the parking lot, to her car. She knew she’d come back. But now…she needed to walk, now. Just to work off some of her frustration, expend her energy. She needed some time to think, where other things weren’t crowding her thoughts.

She nearly didn’t see him, sprawled on the bench as he was, fast asleep.

“Dr. John Smith,” she said, looking him over. She frowned as she studied him further. She’d seen the condition his clothes had been in, bloodied and torn. And while they were a bit raggedy, there were no gaping holes, no dark red stains stretching across large portions of the shirt. But she knew it had to be the same, because there were smaller spots of blood still there. Only, when she moved closer to get a better look at the material, she couldn’t tell that it had ever been ripped. The holes had closed up as if they had never been there.

How the hell had he managed that?

She shook him, intending to wake him up. He didn’t stir.

She felt for a pulse and yanked her hand back. He was cold. How long had he been out here? She pried open his eyelids, wishing she had a flashlight to better test pupil reactions, and then tried checking for a pulse again. She couldn’t find it, but his pupils had contracted slightly in the light when she stopped shading them with her hand. He wasn’t dead.

He really was in trouble after all.

It was all a bit more serious than she’d been led to believe, then.

“I’ve got to get you back inside,” she said. She looked dubiously at the lanky body splayed over the bench. He’d be heavy enough if she had to carry him. She’d be better off going inside and getting a wheelchair or someone to help her than struggle with him alone.

“And here I only wanted some time to think,” she muttered as she arranged the unconscious man into the recovery position.

She’d just finished making sure his head was tilted at the right angle when his eyes snapped open.

It was a bit hard not to shriek at that.

A grin spread across his face. “Hello, Grace,” he said as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“You need medical help,” she hissed, too angry with herself for losing her self-control earlier and for letting her emotions interfere with how she’d treated a patient than to wonder about how quickly he’d woken up, let alone how he’d woken up at all.

“Nah, better now. Had a bit of a rest. Didn’t expect to. Well, didn’t mean to. I did expect it would sneak up on me. Haven’t had much the last few days, and then, what with getting stabbed and all, well, I do need to replenish my energy now and then. Even I can’t run full-out forever.”

She grabbed his arm and only just stopped herself from pulling him roughly to his feet. “Come with me,” she said, her tone not allowing for argument.

“I don’t need to check back into the hospital if that’s what you’re thinking. If I need anything, I ought to see if I’ve got another zero room hiding out in the TARDIS somewhere. Listen, please. I just…. I think I need to talk to someone.”

Oh, and he was still at it. TARDIS indeed. Not that she knew where he got that bit about a zero room from, but that was beside the point. “I’ll make sure someone will be there to listen to you.”

He frowned, carefully extracting his arm from her grip. “I don’t need a visit from psychiatric,” he groused. But then his expression fell again. “Or perhaps I do, by your terms. But it wouldn’t help. Well, not me. I don’t need to end up in a padded room, thank you very much. Plenty to do without having to deal with that.” He sucked in a breath. “Please. You have to listen to me. I….” He trailed off. “It’s different now,” he said, starting again. “I’m alone now. Gallifrey’s gone.”

“Why do you insist on doing this?” Grace demanded, but she was uncertain now. There was something in his eyes….

“I can regenerate twelve times. But don’t worry; you’re the only one to kill me by punching a hole through my second heart. I’m not about to make that mistake again. Not that it was working earlier. Sign that I wasn’t doing so well, that. But she’s pumping now.” He caught her hands and placed one on either side of his chest before she could think to fight him—maybe because she didn’t want to. Maybe because she wanted it to be true.

A near-impossible duality of rhythm beat beneath her palms.

“There, see?” he asked, giving her a lopsided grin. “I’m easy to find. I’m the guy with two hearts.”

[dovewingkinnie]

When they're on a break do they just

HELP IM CRYING AT THIS

THE IMAGE IN LUCYS THOUGHT BUBBLE??

[jiwook18]

Smth smth Yuu promising to Azul (their boyfriend) that when they come back to Twisted Wonderland, they'll bring back their own baby photo albums and show it to him when they first meet again smth smth...

I'll try writing that.

[rechicken-and-waffles]

"It's all part of being a good superhero" 🐊🐇💚🧡

[kaiser1ns]

TAKIISHI CHIKA IN CHAPTER 153

[edwardashley]

@jahnny MADE ME BEAUTIFUL TIM ROTH PHOTOCARDS 🥺🩷

[ashipiko]

🫶 herro to my v small percent of a3! followers nowadays and my even smaller percent of fellow skypaul enjoyers. i got back into my btab sky pirates skypaul au

there is a whole 7k google doc about this AU. the beauty and the beast soundtrack changed me 😔

EXTRA PAUL REFERENCE BELOW <3

[beatcroc]

"it's better to tear it all down than let things continue like this" just seems like such a big thing to be resigned to...do you think they talked about it

[continuousmeowing]

phm&ms

[veemark]

My life expectancy increases by decades whenever YinWar discuss their brand of fanservice and their boundaries on that matter. These men never mince words to remind their own fandom and media alike that whatever fanservice crumbs they drop are nothing but a performance, and that their off-camera relationship is nobody's business but theirs since they're a lot closer than they'll ever let the public see.