“I don’t know where people got the idea that characters in books are supposed to be likable. Books are not in the business of creating merely likable characters with whom you can have some simple identification. Books are in the business of creating great stories that make your brain go all like i>[unintelligible noises]”—John Green (via prose-titute)
That awkward moment when you're an American BBC Sherlock fan and you want to buy the soundtracks only to find that the Season 1 soundtrack is going to be released in March while the soundtracks for both seasons as well as all the DVDs have already been released in the UK.
So, I’ve been meaning to do this for quite some time. I’ve never seen Doctor Who. Rather, I’ve seen five minutes of it, and there was a picnic and someone blowing the Doctor to smithers, and then the aliens came and I lost the will to live, so I turned it off. (I have no intention to ever watch it because I am terrified of anything alien, though I’ve heard and know it’s amazing. I saw the actors at Comic Con and fell in love with them. Adorable!)
However, I’ve gathered an opinion and a skewed understanding from Tumblr, and I thought it’d be funny to share what Doctor Who is from the view point of someone who is an honorary Whovian. So here we go: My gathered understanding of Doctor Who.
You know how Moffat and Gatiss always talk about that conversation on the train when they decided to produce Sherlock? This is the secret transcript of what REALLY happened.
"... and then it'll turn out all those little clues were just red herrings and the dead Doctor is really a giant robot. Oh and I'll probably kill off Rory a few thousand times just for the heck of it."
"That's genius Steven. You're the King of Trolls!
"I wish I were, but we all know that title rightfully belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle.
"True! The killing off Holmes and then bringing him back... masterful villainy. I suppose someday somebody's going to modernize Sherlock and torture all the fans with his death and then he'll be King of Trolls instead of you."
"I can't let them do that! I AM THE ONLY TROLL IN BRITAIN!"
"Maybe the Americans would do it."
"Nah... never. *pause* OMG MARK WE SHOULD DO IT!!"
"We'll make a brilliant groundbreaking first series and force everyone to fall in love with Sherlock and John!"
"THEN WE SHOULD MAKE THEM SUFFER THROUGH A REALLY LONG HIATUS!"
"YES! Then in series two we can kill Sherlock off in the most heart-wrenching hour of telly ever created and everyone will hate us!"
"We'll have to make sure that the actor playing Sherlock is really attractive and has a strangely symmetrical face so the fangirls will never stop wailing and plan to murder us in their spare time!"
Because I am a massive Wholock-ian. Also I saw your question on the askmollyhooper blog about Les Mis, which I am also a massive fan of. And your blog seems generally clean, which is always a nice relief :-)
Ah yes. I try to make sure I edit out all serious language when I do reblogs, and don’t reblog the stuff with f-words in the original blog name. Personal beliefs aside, I have younger siblings who follow my blog, so keeping it clean is something I spend extra time on.
Aren’t those RP blogs cool? XD They’re pretty much spot-on with their characterizations, save the occasional slight slash innuendo that I don’t think is accurate.
Words on a page, alone and lost, on a computer far away; forever alone, they languish in a deep, dark folder.
Sheer accident left them there, and naught in the world can bring them back. I shall forever be angry with myself for not copying my files after class on Wednesday onto my wonderful steampunk flash drive. I had to make a decision. My three options were: get someone else to log into my account and email the file to me; use up nearly two gallons of gas to drive to college; or rewrite it from scratch.
I chose the latter, believing it to be the easiest and most cost-effective of the three.
However, I quickly discovered that there is nothing more infuriating than being forced to rewrite two hundred words of an assignment you were extraordinarily happy with! It grates at the mind; wearing at the sanity until one is tempted to bang one’s head into a firm brick wall. In fact, I must find a brick wall somewhere near very soon to relieve my mental suffering.
I shall never forget this slight against my intelligence, self-inflicted as it was.