The smile on Andrew’s face as he realizes what Mark’s about to do it’s absolutely precious.
Maybe if I get someone to film me talking about what a brilliant writer he is, Mark will pop up out of no where to give me a smooch.
The absolute cutest thing is Andrew’s giggle.
Thanks for the many memories Matt Smith, you have done a fantastic job as the Doctor. You will be remembered on for many years to come.
In moments like these, I think he’s reflecting the pain of all of the regenerations from his past.
You have to remember, Eleventh is essentially the aftermath of Tenth. The various incarnations of the Doctor always reflect what had destroyed the previous incarnation.
Tenth had allowed himself to get too human. He had formed romantic relationships with his companions and was a far more emotional Doctor than previous versions.
Eleventh reacted by alienating himself from those around him instead. He doesn’t let people see his feelings. Eleventh does all he can to make people laugh, and to make people think he truly is “always alright”.
All of the above, yes.
The Doctor started as an almost grandfatherly character when we’re introduced to him. He takes people under his wing, takes responsibility for those who travel with him because they’d never get into the messes he encounters if they hadn’t decided to hop on board the TARDIS and go on a journey. He has accidental travelers, stowaways, the whole range of them, and he simply cares for them and makes sure they’re fine. But then there’s more. The Doctor has a family, has a granddaughter who travels with him and chooses a human love and life over an eternity of travel, sees appreciation in humanity over the stars that our dear Time Lord has always so adored, and so he works at it, to become the most humane person he can, only destroying his enemies when he needs to.
But the Time War changes him, as any war changes any soldier. He fights, not on the side of the Daleks or the Time Lords, but on the side of the rest of the universe, the one side nobody else wants to take, and in the process, he loses everything. In the New Who that most people are exposed to, we meet his ninth regeneration, one with a fierce defense mechanism when it comes to other people, but very little care for himself. He throws himself into the path of danger over and over, and it’s only sheer luck that he survives half the time. If Rose hadn’t been around, he would have gotten himself seriously injured or killed multiple times in that season. Nine hates Daleks with a passion, he is a man of fire and fury and the ability to burn through worlds, but love stops him, and he regenerates for love.
Ten comes into the scene, born of a kiss, and immediately in the Christmas Special we see him do something that we’re not accustomed to… sleeping, exhausted, and unable to help in their time of need. Of course he comes through at the end, he always does, but he’s distinctly human, recognizing which social habits are unacceptable in company, dressing smart, trying to impress a girl. He’s in love, and he forgoes his ability to roam around free throughout time and space because he’s found a tether, a lifeline of sorts, and when he loses it, he’s devastated. He fills the gaps the only way he knows how, drifting and lonely until he finds someone who’s willing to connect with him while still mourning for Rose. His emotional negligence drives away Martha, and he finds a fantastic friend in Donna, only to lose her as well. The realization occurs, in the end of all things, that everyone he interacts with becomes a soldier, just like he was, and that knowledge nearly breaks him.
Oh, but that’s not all, of course not. There was the one glimmer of hope, the Master’s return, the I’d-dare-not-have-hoped possibility that there was another Time Lord left, that he hadn’t caused the utter devastation of his race, that there was someone who might understand the kind of life he led. And so he allowed it, a year in captivity for the sake of knowing that his once-friend was still alive and well, even if he had to undo the damage, even if he had to use the power of humans (still always humans) to reverse time itself. And he cried when the Master died in his arms, begged him not to go, but as always, he was left behind. So he buried him and ran, only to find that burial hadn’t kept him down and even still he tried to reason with him, tried to make him understand that they could lead a life without the perpetual loneliness that plagued him, the constant guilt that might have been alleviated just a little to know that there was someone of his own kind that he may have been able to help, and that disappeared too. So he gave up. He gave up his life for the love of a friend who wouldn’t remember him, for Donna, because her grandfather was the dearest person left in her life. He left that life behind to turn into this, what you see above.
What you see above is Eleven. He’s the man who thinks he’s a monster, who is his own worst enemy. This is the Time Lord who is the stuff of his own nightmares, who is plagued by every guilt imaginable, whose only solace as a dying man was a little ginger girl that refused to stop believing in him, the only one he hadn’t done wrong by. Rule number one: The Doctor lies. And most of the time, it’s for your own good.
(Everyone should take time and read this.)
I think the differences between Colin Morgan and Bradley James can be entirely described by the fact that Richard Wilson was Colin’s role model on Merlin, because of his acting experience, and that Anthony Head was Bradley’s role model, because he was on Buffy the Vampire slayer and allowed Bradley to sometimes borrow his pink Nintendo DS.
There’s something broken in nerd culture.
There’s something broken, and painful, and wrong, and if we don’t correct it—hell, if we can’t at least learn to see it, to recognize it in ourselves, to notice when we’re being this ugly—we are going to spoil the very things that we cherish. The things that misguided posts like these are, however clumsily and cruelly, trying to protect.
Who ever told you that your fandoms belong to you?
I don’t care what it is. A band, a book. A television show. No matter what it is, at some point you stopped thinking about it as “a thing I like” and you started thinking about it as yours. And there’s nothing wrong with that, so long as you remember that it’s a feeling, not a fact. So long as you remember that that feeling is best, is most powerful, when it is shared.
How dare you, OP on the bottom right. How can you say—scream—"no, it’s not allowed to be your thing, go away" of fucking The Perks of Being a Wallflower? Have you READ Perks? Because far as I can tell, that novel (and movie!) is all about the intimacy and necessity of inclusiveness. It’s about how we’re all broken inside, all desperate, all searching for a family to call our own. For people who will love us for our jagged edges; people whose own jagged edges fit against ours like puzzle pieces. It’s about finding the beauty in mediocrity, in discovering more in people than you ever thought they could give you.
How dare you tell anyone they don’t get to be a part of that? How dare you tell them that because of what they like—flower crowns, Instagram filters, a pair of broken shoelaces and a caption in Helvetica—they’re somehow lesser, different, not allowed. Cut off.
How dare you make yourself gatekeeper?
What makes you think you’re worthy?
So you’re right, OP on the top, who in a fugue of almost self-awareness tagged your post “this makes me angrier than it should.” Because bow ties don’t belong to the Whovians, they don’t belong to anyone, and they don’t because they’re fucking bow ties. They’ve been a menswear accessory staple for a decent few centuries. Matt Smith has been the Doctor since April of 2010. It doesn’t belong to you; it’s not yours. And you don’t get to call anyone a fuckwit for putting a decorative piece of silk around their neck just because they think it makes them look dapper.Because lord knows you can’t just like the way something looks. Lord knows you can’t just like something. You have to be in The Club.
Didn’t you join these fandoms because you were sick of other people telling you you couldn’t be in The Club?
Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your Joy Division shirt was out of stock because of other Joy Division fans, and not because some ~mindless wannabes~ decided to ruin your day?
Has it ever occurred to you that maybe instead of policing why other people like or attend movies, you could actually turn a critical eye to the movie itself? That you can and should taste your media with your whole tongue, so you know just what it is you’re swallowing?
Has it ever occurred
to any of you
that if you walk up to someone who doesn’t seem to know her way around and you say “Hey, I notice you’ve only highlighted that one quote, y’know, the one about being infinite, and I was wondering why it spoke to you? And do you want to talk about the other parts?” you might
make a fucking friend?
Somewhere along the line, someone handed you a book. Someone sent you a playlist. Someone forced you to sit down on their couch and watch something with them, because they knew you’d love it. And that act, whatever it was, gave you a sense of completion and home. Absolutely, you have a right to that feeling.
But what on earth gave you the impression that you have the right to deny that feeling to someone else?
Out of all the comments my post has gotten, this is my favorite.
Really, Tumblr users have some of the weirdest superiority-inferiority complexes I’ve ever seen.
And because I always like to remind my fans, especially after that one incident with the douchebag a month or so ago who claimed that two women couldn’t watch my show without understanding comics, Atop the Fourth Wall is for everyone.
The evolution of the paparazzi message.
1: Scarlett Johansson Reminds Us Just How Creepy Paparazzi are by having nothing better to do then following celebrities around.
2: Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield take that scuminess and use it to advocate for charity in 2012.
3: Benedict Cumberbatch reminds the paparazzi that there are more important things to be taking pictures of then him making amazing TV.
All in all, these four stars are brilliant examples on how to handle paparazzi and show just how classy they are and how aware they are of how fame isn’t everything.
I’ve got a joke: What walks on 8 legs until it’s one year old, 4 legs until its twenty years old, and then 2 legs for the remainder of it’s life?
WHY WOULD YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT PLEASE IF THIS IS A JOKE IT’S NOT FUNNY