Doctor Who, Game of Thrones, Sherlock, Teen Wolf, Vampire Diaries, anything written by JK Rowling and other stuff too... @ferreyranderson
[echoes of eleven blowing up cybermen to get information in the distance]
People who don’t love Nine are ridiculous.
People think that Nine is dark sullen and a killer. They’re wrong. Nine not dark. He’s light and happy and in love. He wear a leather jacket and is the closest Doctor the the Time War but he is not dark. He is a light person who is fighting his dark past. He knows what he’s done and is fighting to write his wrongs. He just wants everyone to live.
Eleven on the other hand is the exact opposite. People think he’s a puppy in a fez. They’re wrong. He is not happy and joyful. He’s careless. He is having adventures while ruining lives and killing people. He is the man who forgets. He has forgotten the pain he felt after what he did and now is so comfortable killing.
He doesn’t remember Nine. Nine, the Doctor with depression. Nine, the Doctor who fell in love with an nineteen year old shop girl who didn’t need a magic back story to be special. Nine, the Doctor who went and saved his friends without killing. Nine, the Doctor who chose to lose instead of causing loss.
Nine chooses to give up being a god. Eleven pretends he is a god. Nine would make a merciful god. Eleven acts like a vengeful god. Nine is a puppy in a leather jacket. Eleven is a a killer in a fez.
This is so important
petition to make young adult authors stop writing about girls whose lives change when they meet a boy
When she saw him time slowed to a stop. He was so perfect and she knew her life would never be the same because she had finally found him. The one. The first boy she would ever kill.
mainstream tumblr feminism may have many glaring faults but it has bred an army of teenage girls who understand the common ways that misogyny is reinforced in society and who know that they’re better off loving their fellow woman than fighting with her and that’s actually pretty damn revolutionary
I came out as a queer during football practice when my coach was like “son, you’re having trouble throwing straight” and I replied “I’m also having trouble being straight”. It got very quiet and then coach just shook his head and said “throw the damn ball, Cooper”
i have been laughing for 3 million years
He waited until the train was in motion to make his move—a true sign of someone who knows how to make the environment work to their advantage. Then he leaned forward. “Hi.” “How you doing?” “What are you reading?” “What’s your name?” “I really like your hair.” “That’s a really nice skirt.” “You must work out.”
It was painful to watch. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and he clearly wasn’t going to take the hint. Her rebukes got firmer. “I’d like to read my book.” And he pulled out the social pressure. “Hey, I’m just asking you a question. You don’t have to be so rude.” She started to look around for outs. Her head swiveled from one exit to another.
The thing was, I had already heard this story, many many times. I knew how it would play out. I knew all the tropes. I probably could have quoted the lines before they said them. I wanted a new narrative. Time to mix it up.
So I moved seats until I was sitting behind him. I leaned forward with my head on the back of his seat.
"Hi," I said with a little smile.
He looked at me like I was a little crazy—which isn’t exactly untrue—and turned back to her.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"I’m fine," he said flatly without ever looking back.
"I really like your hair," I said. “It looks soft."
That’s about when it got…..weird.
He sort of half turned and glared back me, and I could tell I was pissing him off. His eyes told me to back the hell away, and his lips were pressed together tightly enough to drain the color from them completely.
But no good story ever ends with the conflict just defusing. He started to turn back to her.
"Wait, don’t be like that," I said. “Lemmie just ask you one question…"
"What!" he said in that you-have-clearly-gone-too-far voice that is part of the freshmen year finals at the school of machismo.
And I’m not exactly a hundred percent sure why I didn’t call it a day at that point, but…..maybe I just love turning the screw to see what happens. I gave him the bedroomy-est eyes I could muster. “What’s your name?”
Right now I’m sitting here typing out this story, and I’m still not entirely sure why I’m not nursing a fat lip or a black eye. Because that obviously made him so mad that I still am not sure why it didn’t come to blows. There are cliches about eyes flaring and rage behind someones eyes and shit like that that are so overdone. But it really does look like that. When someone gets violent, their eyes just kind of “pop” with intention—pupils dilate, eyelids widen. And his did. Even sitting down he was clearly bigger than me and I was pretty sure he was kind of muscular too, so at that moment I was figuring I was probably going to need an ice pack and sympathy sex from my girlfriend by day’s end.
"DUDE," he shouted. “I’M NOT GAY."
That’s when I dropped the bedroom eyes and switched to a normal voice. “Oh well I could see not being interested didn’t matter to you when you were hitting on her, so I just thought that’s how you rolled.”
I cant believe I almost scrolled past this.
this post is gold