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Doctor Who is my favorite anime.
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Doctor Whooooooos!

They were all so much fun to make, I had a blast making each one of them.

Each Doctor is made from sculpey and painted with acrylic paints over a blank vinyl owl toy blank.

Enjoy!

These can also be seen on my Tumblr, with detail shots to be put up later in the week for each owl Doctor. :)

savethewailes.tumblr.com
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These things are finally done!! When I can get to some decent internet, I'll be putting them online one by one.

Made with sculpey and acrylic paint over a blank vinyl owl toy.
(dalek and TARDIS are just bought toy props I had on my desk)


If you're interested in a commission, I only have 9 owls to work with, so it'll be a first come first serve basis.
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One of two poster designs I did for Christmas presents for friends. Here's the Doctor and Rose being cute.
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Givin' some love to the Ninth Doctor.

FANTASTIC.
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Doctor Who Companions: Zoe Heriot

Because everyone in the 21st century wears sequined bodysuits. Duh.

Despite the smugness and the fact that, in the only story I saw with her in it, she suddenly screams her head off so loud I wasn't prepared for it, I actually enjoyed Zoe. It could be the humor of how the 60's writers thought we 21st centurians would look, act, and sound like, but Zoe wasn't all that bad.

This is the last of the Second Doctor companions. I'm saving the Brigadier for the Third Doctor's.

I do not own Doctor Who.

Jamie McCrimmon [link]
Victoria Waterfield [link]
First Doctor Companions [link]
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jfdlskajfkl I hardly ever do fanart of real people ;A; so this was a challenge. Freaking Benedict with his perfectly sculpted cheeks! D< . His eyes were bothering me too but meh, couldn't really do much to it.

Finally finished this show recently though, *is so late with these things* ;u; twas beautiful, but now i get to wait for the 3rd season.

I might draw John or something, idk lol i just kinda drew this cuz ~Chibimerica wanted to see me draw Sherlock in my style XD kinda failed though OTL sorryfjdklsa

BBC Sherlock (c) Moffat
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jfdlks I didn't like how sam's face turned out :T I need to do some practice sketches. It's hard makin' dogs have the same-ish expressions as the rl character! < A >;;;

I made sam a Leonberger really only because of the looks XD they resemble jared padaleki to me for some reason. I think the temperment and all that sort of fits the character too ;u;b plus they're just about as big as a moose lol.

up next dean!~

art, Dog!Sam winchester design (c)Aibyou
Supernatural (c) Eric Kripke
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very slowly getting these out now lol. did this when, well when I was trying to get LS to work but my comp decided to be a butt and freeze so I had to turn it off. :T might try again tomorrow lol not many people showed up though and then i just disappeared. FFF sorry again ;A;.

anyways. made Bobby an Italian Spinone. fffff they're markings are harder to understand than you think XD

art, Dog!Bobby design(c)Aibyou
supernatural(c)Eric Kripke

I might actually try drawing them as humans in some life....maybe...lol
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After a long school-and-theater based delay, I have FINALLY completed my picture of Oswin from Doctor Who.

Oh, this one gives my friends feelings.
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At last, something new!

A recently doodled-and-made-less-messy picture of Spider Man.

Woo.
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I am starting to miss Doctor Who, can't wait for Capaldi's Doctor.

Doctor Who (c) BBC
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Had this linear for awhile, thought I give it come colours XD

This was inspired by an offscreen photo of Martin and Benedict, where they wear them shades and Martin looking cool in the hat XD

Also can't forget about Mary no.

Sherlock (c) BBC
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I forgot that I finished this last week lol.

I also noticed I typed Dox instead of Docs lol.

If I'm not mistaken the TARDIS there belongs to someone here but I lost the link, so if anyone knows to let me know the person so I can credit ^^

Doctor Who (c) BBC
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i slept in the woods last night
with no coat and missing shoes;
i made my bed in the snow,
buried my face against the ice,
and felt nothing.
skin sinking to pale blues with every hour,
(a faded variety against the colourless drapery called my complexion).
my veins crackled and snapped, icicles forming inside.
numb to the bone and core as i was the day you left.
staring into a dead sky, past fusain tree limbs,
the sound of something corporate seemed to take to the passing wind.
its pounding piano and cutting words
should have stung like the frostbite,
but instead swept me unconscious.
but i am Kristie not Konstantine,
and you spell konfusion with a J
..and? i don't like it.


asleep on the forest floor,
lifeless as you'd left me,
still as the day i watched you go.
though we'd stood motionless in the kitchen
and went nowhere at all;
you had left.
the you inside you had;
you let it go, fled, gave it up.
gave me up.


you canceled all our reservations
but forgot to tell me.
i kept showing up every day,
..but you were never coming.

one night you told me why you were a no-show and why i always sat alone;
but, the next morning you retracted all those reasons,
scribbled our names back into every book.
side-by-side,
as we were,
as we'd been.

for the first time
i stopped living in the past
..experienced the present
...and believed in something called a future.
but
you were just content that your present
..wasn't as bad as the past
...and the future held no particular significance.
indifferent it all had become to you so quickly;
you checked out yet again,
and, this time for good.


you had a dream you once shared with me:
a vision, a plan, more than a wish.
i couldn't see it clearly at first,
but you painted me in and i purchased your artwork.
now it's dismantled;
and no amount of white-out could ever erase a plan that big.
but, you don't want to open the book anyway;
don't want to see it,
remember it,
..because of me.


how i became the lamb so quickly,
the weak and feeble one between us two.
number the times my furrowed brows and darting eyes searched for something
anything
on your face to hold on to.
so vivid are all the punches to the stomach,
all breath long extinguished from my lungs.
carvings that severed each auricle,
internal organs eroded from such
a debilitating disease.
with acidic tears just puddled inside,
they'd never surfaced to burn my cheeks.
my pillows upon the snow will have to take care of that part.
it shouldn't feel this way when
i've long learned not to hold trust in promises -
or intoxicated words where the truth is supposedly revealed.
they're always taken back in a sober sunlight,
replaced with attempted theory or erratic rationale.
hold fast to not one word (or smile even).
a drunk's a liar, Kristie.
don't fall for it.
just ....don't fall.


again tonight, i think i'll try to stand
with bare toes, thin pajamas;
and wander aimlessly in the dark.
dragging unsteady feet through the snow,
maybe an unexpected stick will pierce my sole
jolt any semblance of presence to my body.
i'd prefer a spear to the soul;
anything to waken me.
halfway to nowhere, i'll lie down
deep past anyone else's trodden paths.
beyond these hollowed trees and vacant branches,
stare a leaden gaze to the blackened sky and missing moon,
and appreciate feeling at home here.
in the emptiness,
the cold,
the abandoned.



maybe my home here in the wilderness will remind me:
..your place isn't in the woods.
so maybe i never really belonged....
{{ "and you don't want to be here in the future,
so you say the present's just a pleasant interruption to the past.
and you don't want to look much closer,
because you're afraid ..."



i wish i could say this was inspired solely by Something Corporate's Konstantine, but instead it was very much inspired by real life. the song offered the answer to my 'k'onfusion, and put to words what i'd been trying to piece together in my head.
as i was stood alone in my bedroom, hands to my forehead, shaking, nearly covering my eyes, i looked across from me nearly eye-level. in a glass frame on my dresser sat:
:thumb70466193:
..my gift from Lisa.

i stared into it and suddenly realized i was living those words - or rather had just lived. for those who know the song, i wish i could say i only wrote this piece solely for ~nightmaresontv since she'd inadvertently held my hand in my room that night.. sitting with me in that living space as i tried on this awareness for the first time.. but while i'm thankful for her, it was finally grasping what i'd been trying to make sense of for so long, that needed to be put to words - my words. however, continuing on with theirs, i could just as easily admit that all of this was:

"to dying in another's arms,
and why i had to try it"

...and?

"this is to a [boy] who got into my head
with all the pretty things [he] did,
you can keep me up in bed...
this is to a [boy] who got into my head
with all these fucked up things i did."




{{ you gotta get out
you can't stand to see me shaking.
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the truth i made you promise to tell me.
the truth i wasn't ready to hear.
..never expected to hear.

you claim it was a mistake:
confused, a cluttered mind and stress pervading your thoughts;
betrayal, fear and a guarded heart that froze you..

well i was freezing
when i walked outside in twenty degrees at three in the morning
a place to clear my head
a street to turn teardrops into ice slopes on chafed cheeks
a pavement my feet couldn't feel beneath me because no feeling existed in my body

like the clawing at my arm that burned in four red lines
carved from the same fingernails you fell in love with the night before for scratching your back.
[funny how i used the phrase 'in love' just now when it's the basis of my scribble here now.]
but like that burning on my forearm
i watched you light a stove to fiery flames, searing hot -- to sanitize a knife.
why sterilize something you want to use to inflict pain on yourself i wondered?
and why am i standing here witnessing it in you
when it's my chest that's been speared with 12 daggers in 2 seconds not but 5 minutes ago.

--

there's a promise that can never be kept
not in anyone
word to the masses!
never promise these words:
i'll never hurt you.
it's inevitable
it's real
it's going to happen
it's the human condition and we were built with feelings for a reason.
we hurt and we get hurt.
i don't mind a broken promise when i knew it was "unkeepable" from the start.
but i mind hypocrisy.
the hostility and anger over my broken skin from a writhing fist that grappled at my body in attempt to withhold crippling tears;
i didn't want to hurt me,
you took care of that for me first.
but watching refractions of light ignite the ceiling in glare from the lights
off a silver blade of yet another steak knife that met your throat?
for that?
i have no words
only horror
only confusion
only pain
only a slice of that very knife right beneath my heart.

oh wait, you think i would've said 'straight through my heart', right?
did you forget?
i do not have a heart.
only a cellar hole where one should've been created but never was.

--

so i couldn't breathe
i choked and coughed
vomited acid and decorated the road in bile.
i held the breath in my lungs like i was storing for hibernation
the oxygen scarce,
my body fell limp and lifeless in my state of unconsciousness
i guess the respiratory system was created for a reason
i'd never seen its purpose or function before

in the bitter cold with only pajamas and a coat
the calls from my coat pocket signaled someone worried
shame on me for choosing the word "ignore"
such a cruel and bitter and uncaring word
but maybe that's what i am
though i thought i'd done everything to prove the precise opposite.
i guess when you walk through the door of the place you just started calling home
and someone attacks you with some semblance of a hug,
the message is unclear.
my skin, the jagged iceberg with purple fingers and blackened eyes
my aorta, chipped with an icepick not for a beautiful sculpture
but you're warm and worried.
i'm cold and cadaverous -- inside and out.
the paint on the walls can't even be seen through my fogged-blasted irises.
tell me
am i white, am i blue, am i alive?
because i feel like a ghost
which takes care of the answer:
i am both colourless and dead.

you try to revive me
i can't believe you
not yet.
misguided ghosts have no recollection or understanding of truth or reconciliation.
but this was all because of the truth
the truth i made you promise to tell me if you uncovered it
and you did.
so, i had you to thank and me to blame.
yet i'm the paraplegic with a bloodstream of no platelets,
and a gaping wound that won't stop draining.

--

you're asleep and i am writing.
we have to put on smiles
give thanks to the end song of November
with a family that is not my own but has invited this happy couple.

i think i'm regaining flesh;
my celestial absence taking human form again
i believe you
i love you
i just never expected this;
those words
from you.
those had belonged on my lips from the uncaring, emotionless, inhuman cyborg.
but i begged for the truth,
and you told it.
now we wait and see if it had the merit you claim now it didn't.

--

i think i'm going to shut the door and go for a walk in the cold now.
without a coat
in my same pajamas
an empty stomach
..and maybe i'll get some coffee.
this is all just fiction.
fiction is unreal, dishonest, a fabrication of something that doesn't exist, never was, and some would simply say "made-up".

.....i like to live in my fictitious world where we're all just words on a page and stories, right?
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Whoever said that silence was gold,
Has never been told
The story of Emily,
And the secrets she holds.
This child has uttered not one single sound;
Her lips have been bound.
Abused the mute heavily,
Her spirit has drowned.

But.
In her dreams she lies,
Lies beneath cerulean skies
In a meadow humming lullabies;
She’ll close her eyes.
In her prayers, she’ll rise.
Rise above, leave the tears she cries.
In her hands she holds a bright surprise.
Strength beyond their size;
..a pair of golden butterflies.

In a cellar so cold, chained to the floor.
A vacant, shivering core
Pleads for salvation;
A cry You couldn’t ignore.
Though her screams cannot be heard by the ear,
You can’t miss the fear
In furrowed brows, wide eyes;
Fright unavoidably clear.

But.
In her dreams she lies,
Lies beneath cerulean skies
In a meadow humming lullabies;
She’ll close her eyes.
In her prayers, she’ll rise.
Rise above, leave the tears she cries.
In her hands she holds a bright surprise.
Strength beyond their size;
..a pair of golden butterflies.


Emily,
Emily.
Don’t forget who you are.
Precious child of God,
An angel by far.

Emily,
Emily.
You breathe life into me.
Around your neck hangs a lock;
But, darling, you hold the key.

Because,
In your dreams you lie
Beneath a deep cerulean sky;
In the meadow you hum a lullaby.
You close your eyes.
In you prayers, you rise,
Rise above, leave the tears you cried.
In your hands you hold a bright surprise.
Strength beyond their size;

You gaze into, and release
…a pair of golden butterflies.
This poem was originally written for this deviation: [link]

However, I have a deeper pulling on my heart for what was written with it. I wanted it to be its own deviation. It's not that it's amazing and there are a lot of places that it needs work in literary technique. BUT!? This was written straight from my heart, no editing, and yet....I have a melody and chorus to this in my mind and I hear myself singing it in my head at night, during the middle of the day...or just any time I'm lost in another world, time and place.
I wish I had the courage to record this, it'd be too much of a challenge to play both piano and guitar and do vocals for one piece without decent recording equipment; nothing would line up correctly.

But, I have a friend Emily. She cannot speak though she's 16. The most magical child I've ever seen. She amazes me. I stare in wonderment and have sung this song to her. She's sweet and just takes my hands and rocks along to the slow melody. Her emerald eyes dart from my lips to the sky to the air and sky around. What she's thinking I wish I could know. One day, one day she and I will if nothing else hum this song for her together one day. I know it. She may never speak a word aloud, nor sing ... but I believe one day we will achieve a hum. We will. SHE will.
I wish you could meet her. See the unbelievable beauty in this girl. Stand back in awe and wonderment watching the girl that never grows up. So sad locked in silence, but so beautiful dancing and holding butterflies the way she does in a humming meadow. I've never seen someone hold a butterfly for an hour in their hands. They trust her. They come TO her. They find her. I know she speaks with them.
And, while I've never gotten to hear her prayers aloud, when she kneels by her beside every evening, on cross legged in the field to pray, I feel His presence. We can't hear His voice either, but He speaks. Just like Emily speaks. She speaks. Emily speaks.
....if only you could hear her song.
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For a thing. A SECRET THING.
I used to hate doing backgrounds, but now I kinda love it and spend way too much time on them. DO NOT FEAR BACKGROUNDS is the lesson learned here today.
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THIS IS NOT A TRICK. God I hate April Fools...
Anyway, in case you wondering how he got out of the Time War.
That is how.

Edit: A few tweaks.

I had an unimaginable amount of fun on this one. I'm experimenting with actual comic formats and getting away from the Sunday funnies 3-square-panels thing.

Also, Mark Bonnar is unreasonably attractive and a very good actor. Look him up if you haven't already.

I do no justice to his Scottish accent. Sorry Scottish people. I may stop trying to type it phonetically after this. I think I'm failing miserably and you all know he's Scottish by now.
EDIT: No more phonetic "Scottish" accent. MY APOLOGIES TO SCOTS EVERYWHERE.

Oh, but that has nothing to do with him being in Scotland. Sorry if that's confusing. It just sort of happened like that.

I'm very tired now. Hopefully this will hold you over until I'm all finished finals.

And yes Classic fans, I threw Drax in there. BOO YAH.
SUPER EDIT: Drax is now 'played' by the wonderful Lee Pace as I had originally intended! And my version of Drax does indeed have an American accent. Why not have American Time Lords? Anyway, a character that resembles Lee Pace. For your enjoyment.

Oh and if there are any details of my Time War that don't match up with whatever the f*ck RTD wrote, I don't really give much of a shit. lol

Rest of the comic YONDER:
:iconsearch-for-the-truth:
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I wanted to call it What Have You Got for Me This Time Old Girl?, but I didn't have room. D:

I still adore Mr. Tennant and simply had to draw him as our wonderful planet-hopping Doctor just once more. Alright maybe a few more times. Oh who'm I kidding? I'll never stop drawing that beautiful bastard.

And I put 'Doctor Who' in the title now to make search results work better, even though I hate doing it. Bleh.

Edit: Made it a bit darker and moodier in Photoshop.
EDIT: redid the highlights in Corel Painter 12 instead of Photoshop. Looks like pencil now. Much better. Much happier with it.

Enjoy!
Tutorial! fav.me/d36e1zu

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Went to the Dickens Fair and went to see Dickens' dramatic reading of "A Christmas Carol". Mister Dickens wanted to wait for the performance across the way to quiet down because it was a bit noisy, so we talk about his books and their impact on society.
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I just thought... Jeez the Doctor would lick a turtle if he had to. All his companions seemed grossed out by this, but I don't recall if Rose ever complained about him licking a wall when he needed to.

UPDATE: I WAS RIGHT!

[link]
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Doctor 10.5 would be like the coolest big brother-in-law ever! He can make as many k-9s as he likes. I mean it's a dog and a robot! Two things little kids love combined into one! Awesome! Just wondered what shenanigans the Doctor Clone could get up to having a 4 or 5 year old little boy, like Tony, around as encouragement fanning The Doctor's ego to build cool stuff.

Do you not agree?

Don't know if this is anywhere close to what Tony is suppose to look like but I had to draw some kid sitting on K9, so creative liberties, yay!
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An homage to [link] this drawing by the hilarious [link] geothebio on tumblr.

That awkward moment when your imaginary friend's raggedy ass is so bootylicious it kills your husband...


This picture has been pretty popular on tumblr! I'm not used to so much internet attention, so every like and reblog fills me with happy kitten feelings. :love:


Prisma markers, Copic markers, and Chinese knockoff markers
[Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, Eleven's skinny ass belongs to Matt Smith, and Dead!Rory belongs to Steven Moffat]
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This isn't actually new, I just never got round to posting it.
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Catherine Tate

This took me forever, and something still isn't quite right.
I just realised that I haven't drawn or painted women in ages.
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