Joss The Beginning

Bec. 18. Australian. Fandoms include Whedon, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Supernatural, StarKid and pretty much whatever floats my boat. Confessed phantom reblogger and fandom whore. Feel free to leave me an ask if you're bored, chances are I'm bored too.

bakrua:

bewbin:

Why do people drink alcohol it tastes disgusting

you don’t drink it for the taste. u drink shit like apple juice for the taste. you drink alcohol to get rid of the bad taste that every awful person in your life has left

(via brotherlykisses)

itsraininbritishmen:

type40:

roachpatrol:

court-of-ocelot:

laureljupiter:

court-of-ocelot:

culturalrebel:

aka “Elitism is my middle name”

I like how Moffat would say that Reinette - a female character that he wrote into the show - is obviously a perfect match for the Doctor based on her level of ‘civilization’ and education.

As opposed to oh say…Rose Tyler - a lower-class girl who never went to university - whom the Doctor actually fell in love with and did settle down with in another universe.

This quote just has it all, doesn’t it?

- The elitism

- The dig at Rose Tyler and RTD, by extension

- The elevation of ‘his’ character at the expense of existing ones.

- The implication that Madame de Pompadour - one of the most powerful women in the country - would of course drop everything she had worked for to go and ‘settle down’ with a man who is basically a homeless spacehobo.

People who call Moffat a talentless hack are mistaken.  It takes some skill to cram that much fail into just three sentences.

Hah, excellent Moffat-criticism here. He is so petty, and so unequipped to write insightful sci-fi.

Like, okay, let’s pretend for a second that by “educated and civilised” he means “has a lot of knowledge and social insight” (which is a valid thing to look for in a romantic partner) rather than, you know, “rich, fancy and subservient” (which is what Moffat expects people to look for in a romantic partner).

… I really don’t think that an 18th century aristocrat has more understanding of science and society than a 21st person without A levels but with a working television. And in any case, if the Doctor was really looking for people who are Intellectual Equals, he’d surely look in the future, when people understand time travel, and have wikipedia installed in their brains, or whatever. Or AIs! I can’t imagine anyone more educated and ‘civilised’ than AI people!

Just, one thing I really loved about RTD’s Who arcs - which Moffat clearly didn’t understand at all - was that EVERYTHING the companions knew was useful - Harry Potter trivia! Game-show quickness! Fast typing! - and that the, like, real-world hierarchy of skills and marketability was always shown as less important than courage and compassion.

WITHOUT A LEVELS BUT WITH A WORKING TELEVISION

YES THIS.

I’m imagining the real Madame de Pompadour and how very unimpressed she would be by Steven Moffat declaring his ~admiration for her, but

wow

did this man just admit that he think the position of Companion is actually the Doctor’s maîtresse-en-titre?  Jesus wept.

That is exactly what this man thinks, and what he writes also. He thinks women are wired to ‘cling’ and men are wired to want to escape them, and the only way a relationship can be agreeable to both parties is if the woman accepts that they can only spend time together when the dude initiates it.

… Suddenly I am kinda surprised that Sherlock and Irene didn’t set up a long-distance relationship where she spends her days in an orientalist parody of a villa, waiting for Sherlock and passing the time taking luxurious bubble-baths and emotionlessly spanking female nobility.

Oh my god this is some sick shit— and really, really, really highlights how much Moffat doesn’t understand the fundamental heart of the show he’s fucking running. If the Doctor was so hot for intelligent, well educated, civilized women why the fuck did he ever leave his home planet? Why has he only ever had one Gallifreyan companion after he left his granddaughter to go her own way? Romana was foisted on him by the time lord ellimist, he didn’t go picking her out of a catalogue. 

The Doctor runs around with soldiers and schoolkids and teachers and sailors and students and journalists and shop girls and alien refugees and orphans and robot dogs and barbarians and private detective penguins and renegade archaeologists. If he wanted a slice of properly civilized girlfriend he had the whole universe to go pick one out from, and he never did till Moffat wrote him launching himself smooch-first at the lady in the fancy dress and historically inaccurate boobies.

Goddamn I am so mad. 

Oh my god. OH my GOD. If you even like moffat, just read this. WHAT A FUCKING ASS> I AM SO MAD

People who call Moffat a talentless hack are mistaken.  It takes some skill to cram that much fail into just three sentences.

(Source: badwollf, via trust-me-im-a-whovian)

spuffyspace:

drusillathekiller:

Headcanon: Drusilla had always desperately wished to see her reflection. As the decades wore by as a vampire she had forgotten what she looked like, forgotten that she even had a face at all. 
She smashed mirrors on multiple occasions, shrieking at the shards, sobbing "WHERE DID YOU HIDE MY FACE? WHERE IS IT? GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK!" 
She pounced on bodies of water- rivers, ponds, lakes, and the like- trying to attack the surface that refused to reflect her. Alas, all she achieved was getting soaked through, both by the water and her own tears. She tried to drown herself, unaware that such a end would be impossible, hoping that maybe if she sunk to the bottom she’d find her face there. 
Too many times Spike had to dive into the water to fish her out, mollycoddling and cooing at her until she stopped crying. He always wrapped his leather duster around her to help her dry off, even if that meant him freezing. 
Spike tried his hardest to make his adoration for her be her very own reflection. Everyday he’d wax poetic about how beautiful she was, how the moonlight hit her eyes, how her dresses hung off her lithe body, how enthralling her alabaster skin looked when covered in the blood of innocents. It was always the first thing he told her when she woke up, and the last thing he told her before she fell asleep. It helped her. But it wasn’t enough. 
So one night, Spike kidnapped a photographer, and had him take a photo of his sire. He presented the picture to his lover on bended knee, and Drusilla swooned. She didn’t mind the slight splatter on blood staining the middle. In fact, it was her favourite part. Then, naturally, they feasted on him together. 
Long after Spike became a champion of the human race and lover of The Slayer, Drusilla still kept the picture. The only difference is that before she left Spike she saw herself in the photograph, and now all she can see when she looks at it is him.

😢

spuffyspace:

drusillathekiller:

Headcanon: Drusilla had always desperately wished to see her reflection. As the decades wore by as a vampire she had forgotten what she looked like, forgotten that she even had a face at all. 

She smashed mirrors on multiple occasions, shrieking at the shards, sobbing "WHERE DID YOU HIDE MY FACE? WHERE IS IT? GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK!" 

She pounced on bodies of water- rivers, ponds, lakes, and the like- trying to attack the surface that refused to reflect her. Alas, all she achieved was getting soaked through, both by the water and her own tears. She tried to drown herself, unaware that such a end would be impossible, hoping that maybe if she sunk to the bottom she’d find her face there. 

Too many times Spike had to dive into the water to fish her out, mollycoddling and cooing at her until she stopped crying. He always wrapped his leather duster around her to help her dry off, even if that meant him freezing. 

Spike tried his hardest to make his adoration for her be her very own reflection. Everyday he’d wax poetic about how beautiful she was, how the moonlight hit her eyes, how her dresses hung off her lithe body, how enthralling her alabaster skin looked when covered in the blood of innocents. It was always the first thing he told her when she woke up, and the last thing he told her before she fell asleep. It helped her. But it wasn’t enough. 

So one night, Spike kidnapped a photographer, and had him take a photo of his sire. He presented the picture to his lover on bended knee, and Drusilla swooned. She didn’t mind the slight splatter on blood staining the middle. In fact, it was her favourite part. Then, naturally, they feasted on him together. 

Long after Spike became a champion of the human race and lover of The Slayer, Drusilla still kept the picture. The only difference is that before she left Spike she saw herself in the photograph, and now all she can see when she looks at it is him.

😢

(Source: picturesofbuffy, via shewhohangsoutincemeteries)

BIRTHDAY PANCAKES Y’ALL

disowns:

honestly i hate when people try to sugar coat shit like if you don’t like me or don’t wanna hang or don’t wanna talk to me just fucking tell me don’t keep ignoring me and expect me to figure out the hint like that’s such a bitch ass move i’d rather hear it from you than be ignored 99% of the fucking time.

(via iidelirium)