#after you've gone over 75% of the process

[ghosts-of-rishi]

The Acolyte was a show

Mae looked stunning in her original outfit though

amen to levels, gradient maps, and brightness/contrast

[blood-mocha-latte]

Rie!!! 55 for Speirton and 75 for Randlemartin

beloved!! i got 75 for another request, so please enjoy some Lovely speirton <33

- - -

Carwood is staring at him like he’s lost his mind.

Ron can’t blame him for that. Especially as the sun dips further and further into the horizon and the warmth soaked into the sand goes with it.

Carwood looks good, though. Simple white button-up, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, black trousers. Ron hadn’t bothered, just stripped down to the army-issue t-shirt and left his khaki in the Chevy.

“What was the thought process with this?” Carwood asks him, voice bordering on the edge of something slightly lighter than usual. It’s almost like a laugh, just more wary. Ron just shrugs, passing by Carwood to pop the trunk of the truck and push up onto the tailgate. He leaves Carwood standing where he is, leaning back against the side of the truck.

Ron’s shipping out to Seoul in two days, and it feels different than shipping out in ‘44. More final. The perpetual advantages and significant disadvantages of getting older and gaining more experience, he supposes.

“Guess I figured I oughta take you somewhere.” He says aloud, ambivalent, shifting against the truck bed enough to fish his lighter out of his pocket and tug his pack out of the opposite one. He tucks a smoke into the corner of his mouth and lights it with one hand. Carwood hums, doesn’t join him on the tailgate.

The blood red sunset has long since set into dreary night, and Ron stares out at the black, black water and thinks.

Carwood doesn’t ask him if he’s worried. Doesn’t ask him anything about it, and why would he? They haven’t talked about it at all, have walked around it like a set bear trap in the middle of the kitchen.

“Have we ever even gone out anywhere?” Carwood does ask, after a minute, rounding the side of the truck to lean against the tailgate. He’s not close enough to touch Ron, but Ron can feel the warmth of his arm, where he props his elbow against the metal.

Ron pulls the smoke out of his mouth with two fingers and examines the filter. “Not that I recall.” He says.

“Unless you count you coming down here.”

“I guess so.”

Silence, again. After a moment, Carwood makes a quiet clicking noise in the back of his throat and reaches for the smoke. Ron gives it up without a fight, and immediately misses it.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Carwood tells him, and his voice is low. He coughs, slightly, around the cigarette. Ron stares out at the water.

“I know.”

He doesn’t. Neither does Carwood.

This is their biggest point of contention. Always will be, he thinks: that neither of them want to confront the large, arching beast that lurks around the corner in the form of deployment. Of Korea.

After a moment, Carwood speaks up again. “You ever read A Farewell To Arms?”

He gives the cigarette back to Ron. Ron blinks at the cherry before taking it. He doesn’t like reading. The letters switch on him, or it just makes his head ache. Carwood knows that. Of course he does. “Saw the movie.”

“That’s an older one.”

“Guess so.”

A heavy hand lands on Ron’s knee, steady and warm. “There’s this quote.” He says, even. “Where she says that maybe he’ll fall in love with her all over again. He says that he already loves her enough, that she’s going to ruin him. She says that she wants to, and he replies that he wants that, too.”

Carwood pauses, as he talks. Like he’s trying to remember the specifics. His hand stays at Ron’s knee and doesn’t move.

“Remind you of us?” Ron asks, wry, and Carwood just huffs.

“I don’t know.” He says. “I was thinking about it, the other day. When I was looking at your papers.” Ron took another drag of the smoke before handing it back to him. “You wanna know the line that I remember, word for word?”

Ron just hums. He drops the hand that had been holding the cigarette, tracing over the back of Carwood’s hand. “Sure.”

“Life isn't hard to manage when you've nothing to lose.” Carwood tells him, low.

The back of Ron’s neck feels hot. He stares out at the waterline. Carwood’s hand leaves his knee as he pushes his thumb along Ron’s cheekbone.

“You don’t have nothing to lose, anymore.” Carwood tells him quietly. “Try and remember that.” His fingers run along the nape of Ron’s neck, and Ron finally turns to look at him, tracing over the deep creases in his eyes, the exhaustion in his expression.

“I will.” Ron tells him. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as.

It’s quiet after that. They’ve never been to the beach together. Ron wonders if this counts as a date. If they’ve ever really had one.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Carwood tells him again, voice hoarser than before.

Ron reaches up, wrapping his fingers around Carwood’s wrist. He turns his palm over, presses his mouth to the warm, calloused skin there.

“I know.”

[hornball-house]

"This is a reward" (Lemon)

This is for all the people who wanted me to write that 39 lemon, you're fucking welcome, pervs

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

39's POV:

I haven't moved from the couch in a few hours. Everyone is busy & I'm just sat here by myself. As of late, I've been feeling hornier then I normally do & I have no idea why. I sigh in boredom & just flop down onto my side, since it's the only thing I can do right now. A few seconds later, I grab one of the pillows behind me & just hug it close to my chest & some of my face. That was when......things started acting up again.

"Hmm......" All I could let out was a small groan. I feel slightly embarrassed getting like this right out in the open like some loser. But, at the same time, it just gets me even more excited if someone might see me. I think this might be from muscle memory because my hand starts to slighter down to my package but not down into my jeans, & starts scratching it. My face squishes into the pillow I'm hugging & all I can bring myself to let out are faint mutters. I try so hard to hold back & not let it out, but sometimes my hands just have a mind of their own. & for whatever reason, the same girl just shows up in my head every time. The exact same girl who almost gives me a bloody heart attack when she comes in to tell me something.

"Hey, 39!"

I immediately stop what I was doing & jerk up, throwing the pillow off me in the process. "Uhhh! H-hey, Zoey! You need anything?" I say, trying to act cool & forget what I was doing just a second ago. "No, I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna be out for a bit. Just kinda in the mood to treat myself, y'know?" Zoey says as chipper as she always is. "'Treat myself.....'" I think in the back of my head. "Oh sure, that's cool. Guess you've been focusing on Dorky & worrying about her so much that you just kinda need a break, huh?" I say. "Yeah, I guess that's one way of putting it. I'll be back in maybe an hour or two. See you soon!" Zoey calls out as she walks out waving to me. I wave back with a smirk as the sound of the door closing is heard. After realizing she's gone, I hang my head over my legs & hold my face in my hands, embarrassed as all hell.

"Goddammit! Why do I always have to do this??? I'm such a disgusting bastard!"

I curse out loud, wanting to punch myself in the nose right now. My best friend for three years, the same girl that saved me back in the old studio & gave me a home, my friends back, a new life, & a sense of hope that things would be okay, shows up in my head whenever I'm having a wank. Fucking shameful! Well, at least I held it together. That was when I realized my boxers started feeling a little......."damp", to put it lightly. Once I realized it, I slap my hands to my dick & I turn bright blue instantly. "Okay, I'm taking this to the bathroom." I say as I dart up from the couch & head to the downstairs bathroom.

--------------

(Meanwhile, in the bathroom...)

--------------

39's POV:

I did this enough times to learn to lock the door behind me so as soon as I head in, I lock the door & sit on the toilet. "Uuuuugh....I hate my life." I groan to myself. I'm a little scared to see the damage, but I start to undo the button on my trousers & pull them off a bit, but not down to my ankles & maybe just stopping at my knees. I do the same thing to my undergarments shortly after.

I get teased alot about me having a small dick since "the shorter the temper, the smaller the penis" or some bullshit like that. I can't even begin to tell you how many times 75 has done that with me. Funny thing is, I in truth have a pretty big one. Ask Tammy, she's seen it before so she can defend me on it.

"Auugh, man. What am I gonna do with myself?" I mumble. This was just getting pathetic. I'm a grown 20 year old, hiding in the bathroom while sitting on the toilet, my trousers & boxers down on my knees as I'm staring down at it. Seeing it all propped up & stiff. I'm pretty sure I saw it twitch a few times, too.

Eventually, my body just has a mind of its own & I take off one of my fingerless gloves & push it in the pocket on my jacket. Then, my hand starts to slither down to it again & starts playing with it & messing with the head, causing me to quietly squeak & whine a bit. When I pull my hand back, a light grey, gooey liquid was on my hand & a little bit of my fingers, dripping off & onto the tile. It had a slight oil smell but the same feeling & texture as the typical jizz you're familiar with. Because, in my animatronic form, that's what it was & looked like to me.

"Oh, wow. Just look at me." I quietly chuckle to myself. I stare at my hand for a couple seconds before bringing it closer to me. Curiosity gets the best of me as I sniff my hand a bit. Still had that oil smell to it. A part of me kinda wanted to lick it for no reason even though it had fucking oil mixed into it. & I was about to before I snapped myself out of it. "Ugh, what the fuck are ya doing right now?! Get your mind out of the fucking gutter for once in your life, 39!" I scream to myself, violently flailing my hand around shaking the light grey off. At this point, I was a glasses wearing teal bunny stuck between a rock in a hard place. It was almost as if an angel & devil appeared on my shoulders trying to make me take one of their sides on what to do.

"Aww, what's the matter mate? You're not going soft, are you? Since your friend down there clearly isn't. You're the only one here, & you got the door locked, so just go for it since you're already so bricked up & horny! No one's gonna care!" The little devil snarled at me, as cocky & dirty as he can be.

"Are you insane?! You can't masturbate all the time, it's not good for you! It's going to fall off, at this rate! Just clean yourself up & head back out to do something for a few hours." The little angel said to me in a disappointed tone of voice.

I just sat there, in a conflicted, blue-faced, sweaty, already sticky mess. I kept looking down at it & a few seconds later, I make a decision. ".......I might as well just get it out of the way before Zoey gets back." I sigh to myself as I hear the devil laugh in triumph & the angel groan in defeat by my answer. I didn't really care anymore, though, since I said to myself.....

"This is a reward for holding it in as well as I did out there."

Before I knew it, my hand grabs my member & starts going for it, rubbing & stroking it. It starts off slow, but does get a little faster. I'm already making alot of quiet noises the more I rub it, that just grabbing it is making me dizzy & my brain shut down.

I tend to hold my orgasms & climaxes in until I physically can't anymore, so when they finally happen, my orgasms are extremely intense & I'm gushing out nothing but light grey fluids for God only knows how long. Let's just say that post-nut clarity really puts me out of it for a while.

Just as I pick up the pace a bit more, I get that image of her in my head again. Only this time, I start to mumble her name but quickly stop myself before I can fully get it out as I slap my other hand to my mouth. I'd never forgive myself if I yelled Zoey's name while I was going at it. I'm so sorry you're friends with a disgusting scumbag like me, Zoey! After coming back to my senses a bit, I lower my hand from my mouth & tightly grip my shirt as I start going a little faster with my other hand. It doesn't take long for my breathing to get quicker & more rapid.

"Uugh.....haah.......Fuck.....I-I gotta be quiet.....People can still- Ahh~! Hear me outside....." I manage to breathe out. I got dark grey oil tears in my eyes for trying to keep them in, or at least try to be quiet.

Me sitting in the bathroom already shaking & panting, moving my hand carefully knowing that someone might hear me. Even though no one could get in, I still don't know how to feel about someone hearing me. But, then again, these are the people I've known for years, even long before I became an animatronic, so they probably heard me masturbate at least once or twice. & yet the thought of someone hearing me......just makes me go faster & I start getting a little louder. My brain stopped working, at this point. Now I don't give a fuck on what happens next. I hold in all the orgasms I can, cuz I hitch my breath every time I do. I don't remember how many I held in but I'm pretty sure it was about four, maybe five of them. I don't tend to count, though, I just kinda guestimate.

I must've done something or hit a certain spot on it because the quiet moaning I was trying to keep down in my throat quickly got louder & louder before it eventually turned into a screaming holler. I don't remember the last time I moaned this loud in all my life, it's honestly a miracle no one heard me.

By this point, I was just a puddle. My back is all stiff, all the strength moves down to my legs & feet, my entire body is on fire, my bun ears are drooped down & my tail is rapidly wiggling, I'm sweating bullets head to toe, my head gets thrown back uncontrollably, & I'm just there screaming & moaning my lungs out.

I'm already leaking & dripping. My hand is all dirty again, but it doesn't matter. I'm already about to pop & I even did a little bit twice & maybe even three times, but they were so little I barely even noticed them. It wasn't until the big one happened that really made me all foggy in the head. I was vibrating at this point, I knew I had to stop but I didn't want to. Until...

"AAAAAAAAHHH~~~~!!!" 💙💙💙💙💙

Yep. I basically blew up when I finally came officially. Afterwards, I was panting heavily, & had tears in my eyes again. I shiver a little bit since I suddenly went cold when I was done. Heaving & panting still, I look down at my hand to see sweat & my animatronic fluids on it & the rest being on the bathroom tile. I pull my hand back from my friend, only to have a string of jizz connecting them together. Not even bothering to clean it up right now, I let it fall to the side of the toilet I was sitting on & rest my head on the back of it, breathing heavily in an exhausted state as my eyes are shut but I can tell I'm looking up to the ceiling, occasionally feeling a little twitch on my legs. I guess I'm more of a pervert then I thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Timeskip~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoey's POV:

"Hey, 39! I'm back!"

I call out to 39 as I re-enter my house, in a great mood. I walk to the couch & I see him there yet again, only this time he acted a little different. "Hey, you. Have you been there the whole time I was gone?" I teasingly ask him. He stayed quiet & didn't say anything. The only thing he did to respond to my question is shake his head. This got me a little worried. "You okay, buddy?" I ask him. He nods & tiredly smiles at me. Then, he just ruffles my hair with his hand like he always does, reassuring me he's okay. He looked like he was about to pass out, so I assumed he was gonna take a nap & just leave him there, rubbing his arm a bit before I go. "Well, okay. Just let me know if you need anything." I say as I smile warmly at him & make my way to the bathroom to pee.

When I get there, I close the door behind me & sit down, sighing at the satisfying & fun time I had earlier. Everything looked normal, but then I notice a small trickle of something light grey on the side from me. I didn't know what it was for a second, but the thought quickly came to me on what happened & my face suddenly went hot & went from pale to as red as my hair. Guess that also gave me an idea on why 39 suddenly looked so exhausted & didn't speak when I came back, either. After a while, I just hold my head in one of my hands while my face is all red with embarrassment.

".......For God sake, 39, you naughty bunny. Didn't even clean it up, either."

[cosmicallyavg]

I posted 4,056 times in 2022

1,014 posts created (25%)

3,042 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thirteenmyspacegirl

@cosmicallyavg

@timelostdoctor

@timelordgifs

@regenerationofthedoctor

I tagged 4,031 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#doctor who - 2,543 posts

#q - 1,894 posts

#thirteen - 898 posts

#thasmin - 606 posts

#yasmin khan - 520 posts

#dw spoilers - 305 posts

#series 13 - 305 posts

#dw fanart - 279 posts

#the power of the doctor - 251 posts

#eli dont look at this - 206 posts

Longest Tag: 66 characters

#💜🖤💚❤💗💛💚🧡🖤💜🤍🤎🧡💙💛🖤🤍����💗💞💜🤍🤎🧡💙🖤💚❤🤎💓💓💗💞🤍

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

hello everyone and happy pride!! 🌈

this is a project i’ve been working on for a few months now and am so excited to finally share the completed version with everyone!!! i’m a sucker for pride flag sticker/etc. designs and i decided to create some of my own - they are subtle enough to be safe for anyone who maybe can’t normally buy pride stuff, but still recognizable within the community (hopefully lmao) 

then, of course i wanted to combine them all into one big piece that would still be subtle - i was inspired by those vintage butterfly species posters and wanted to recreate a version of that with my pride butterflies! the labels underneath each butterfly are short descriptions of what each flag represents, to also help keep things under the radar. super special thanks to @yourlocaltrylingual for helping me with the french translations <3333

all of the individual butterflies can be found on my redbubble, as well as the main poster! they all have nondescript names for safe ordering <;3 

i hope everyone is having, and continues to have a safe and happy pride month, i couldn’t have asked for a better community to be a part of!

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

1,039 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

#4

has anyone else ever stopped to think how the tardis feels when doctors and companions leave because its ruining me rn

like imagine you're this sentient spaceship and you have an unbreakable bond with a time lord who stole you and ran away. and how sad it must be watching them die and be reborn over and over again. feeling them die and be reborn over and over again. oftentimes destroying your very being in the process. you've been together for thousands of years, possibly more, and you've gone on nearly every adventure together. 

they know you inside and out (literally) and while they are a quite careless owner, they make up for it with the constant repairs when you get damaged or need general maintenance. its how they show you they care, because you know they do. you have a telepathic connection with them, after all.

you take them wherever they need to go, even if its not where they want to go. its fun to show off every now and then and make it look like they don't know how to pilot you. but all of time and space, so many distress signals, you hear planets and ships and people calling out for help. your time lord isn't like the others, they like to help. you take them to those people so they can help.

and oh, the people. your time lord likes to pick up strays along the way - human beings more often than not. you don't particularly like the idea, the humans always have sad endings, and you don't like to see - to feel - your time lord experience that sadness over and over again. but they continue. how many has it been now? too many to count. but you keep count, you do. 

some of the humans you're more fond of than others. some of them your time lord is more fond of than the others. some of them grow on you, others don't, but all the same if your time lord cares about them, you care about them. you like when they say that you’re bigger on the inside, that part is fun.

perhaps you don’t mind the humans as much as you should, you're supposed to have multiple pilots anyway. if this is how you procure them, then so be it. unfortunately your time lord never cares to show any of them how. they would rather bumble around on their own and crash land into things than share that part of you to their human friends. hubris has always been their downfall.

there have been a few that have done it though, some more successfully than others. finally! you have another pilot!! you like these ones especially, they pilot you much more carefully than your time lord ever has, and they have established what little telepathic connection their tiny human brains can handle. not quite the same that you have with your time lord, but every little bit helps you feel more connected to those humans than the others.

it hurts more when those ones leave.

it hurts when all of them leave.

but your time lord continues on. drying up the tears and probably regenerating into a new face - again - but this new face loves you all the same. they pick up more strays. the strays leave. repeat endlessly.

you have too many bedrooms in storage, too many clothing preferences in the back of your wardrobes, too many favorite snacks left to expire in the cupboards, too many personal items and too many souvenirs from their travels hidden away, never to be picked up again. but you're infinite, you can keep going so long as your time lord keeps breathing. you can continue growing and changing, making room for every new human friend, altering yourself for every version of your time lord.

you hold all of these memories, all of these lives, just the same as your time lord. but they don't have to organize, sort, and carry the physical reminders of all of those lives like you do.

they can saunter off and forget it all, when its convenient. but you know they don't actually forget. neither of you can ever forget. 

and the weight isn't any less just because there's two of you to carry it.

1,114 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

#3

wait no in jodies dwm interview she says she was pregnant while filming tpotd and that it gave her a special insight into the character that no other doctor has had before because she actually had two hearts and im really not okay im So emotional

1,586 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

#2

alignment chart but it’s just the different ways people type out “tardis” when they write fic

2,434 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

the ending of thirteens era being "she is loved" and her literally saying that she loved being this version is so. good actually. this whole era was full of so much hatred for thirteen/jodie and having her last moments be full of love was so good. that the doctor accepted the love and had a happy regeneration for the first time in a while. it really felt like a nod to all of the people who stuck by her side during all of this and actually watched her era and appreciated it. a nod to people like us. and im so happy

2,654 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[keevansixx]

don't worry about it. you'll be fine.

the squirrel super secret of it all is that you will naturally acquire all these things in pursuit of your hidden desires over time. (if you really want to)

this is a perfectly natural human thing and something you've already gone through probably several times so far in your life up to this point. (though in retrospect, your parents likely called it "fads" or "phases" while you were going through your childhood or teenage years and maybe you only briefly recognized it after moving on to the next big thing in your life and were cleaning out your room to make way for the new.) like i said, this is all normal.

"humans subconciously acquire the things it desires over time."

if you are a sculptor, you will acquire the tools n' things that will help you sculpt...(even if that involves spontaneously buying chicken wire for no reason at all just because you went into a supply store looking for nails and paints for a home project and ended up with a bunch of random things along with the paint and nails just because you thought you would need them later.)

same thing for artists and painters. you walk into a store for basic groceries and wind up with groceries and pipe cleaners, and finger paints, and some nifty watercolor set on sale for 75% off, and a couple of bottles of rubbing alcohol (or cheap terps) to help clean some stubborn acrylic paints off your nice set of art brushes while looking through the seasonal art supply stash of your favorite grocery/item store while wondering if that cheap bottle of olive oil on isle 3 could be used as a basic oil paint thinner for an art wash project without running all over the studio carpet.

writers are no different. you will walk into stores or bookstores (or heck, anywhere there is some form of paper products and accoutre'mou) and subconciously start acquiring things that are within your current financial budget and you will start to stockpile those things into your personal home environment. it's a gradual process that happens over years that you won't recognize until your closest acquaintences visit your home and remark how cozy a library you've built for yourself, or how goblin(cottage)core you've grown over the years.

this is normal...

yes, you will acquire fancy notebooks by sheer instinct, and then proceed to completely ignore them in favor of the cheap dollar store composition notebooks (or ring binders full of cheap loose leaf school notebook paper, or a 30 pack of post it notes pads on sale in stationary isle, or that weird roll of blank cash register tape you carry in your backpack for no reason other than if you need some quick paper to jot down an idea) that are rough and tumble for everyday use while your fancy notebooks gather dust in visually appealing places in your home. yes, you will cultivate borderline fetishes for certain ink pens and writing tools (i have tin lunch boxes (plural) full of unsharpened pencils. for one, i love the esthetic and handfeels of a clutch of pencils in my off hand while i write, for the other, well....one never knows when they will need a pencil...better to be prepared than to be without.) yes, you will acquire research materials (books) in stackable quantities out of habit because you think you need them to develop a certain character or concept. you may even develop certain fashion habits while writing (like comphy clothes, a hooded robe, or favorite PJ's that put you in a writing mood...both at home and in public. though the fuzzy PJ bottoms may raise eyebrows at the coffee shops.)

as for the hearts of enemies, feline familiars, and makeshift magical talismans...that's all personal choice and general reflections of the individual writer. if that's what you want in your life, moar power to ya, you do you boo boo.

but the coffee mugs WILL randomly spawn in your cupboards for no reasons other than someone gifted you one, random strange acquisition (oft through parental intrusion), and/or you forgot about them(plural) over the years leading you to question your sanity on why you have so many tea cups/mugs to begin with, how they got there, and a heated internal debate about the need to go to the store for more tea/coffee to justify the ownership and usage of such a unique collection of hot berevage service containers.

in conclusion,

you don't really have to do anything other than to exist and to write. the rest is just an outward manifestation of subconcious acquisitions into your daily life and will accumulate naturally over time.

i mean, if you are seriously concerned about acquiring the stuff n' things of writing. I always advise taking it to it's most logical and most absurd extremes and comparing the two.

most logical is for you to take a picture of your favorite writing spot in your home, continue on writing, and after a decade of writing and living, you look around at your surroundings and compare it to the starting picture/s for all the subtle changes in your life that have happenned because you are a writer. (works for any art, and any medium.)

the most absurd extreme is to rush out and spend an insane amount of money on writey stuff and things while dressing strangely and cackling at nothing while furiously scribling into a comically large leather bound tome notebook with a quill pen in public spaces while trying to converse with anyone who is not completley weirded out, and will still engage you at that point, in shakespearian english.

the logical first is the natural lifecycle of any artist, in any medium. given enough time, you will surround your nests with the things that are a reflection of yourself. The absurd latter is a rediculous characterization of a writer person as told throught the lense of parody.

how far you wish to take it depends on you.

I’m still new to the whole writing thing. Should writers have these things too? Is there like a store I can go to?