loki'd    
loki'd

yet another multi-fandom blog whoop!!!
(sideblog. I follow back on deadgenes)

gridbugs:

imperialgrunt:

pureironimpala:

tielan:

WHY DOESN’T THIS HAVE MORE NOTES?

I HVAE BEEN WITING FOR THIS GIF SET FOR NINE YEARS

I think people really underestimate what this means to Edna, though. She designed /all/ those costumes, and is painfully aware that those heroes died because of it. When she says ‘I never look back, darling’, she means it: if she focuses on the people who her designs killed, it would cripple her ability to move on.

DID YOU REALLY JUST GIVE ME FEELS FOR EDNA MODE

(via joynation)

the-strangest-love:

Patrick Jane conveniently explains Sherlock mystery to us.

P.S. - I wonder how many people would try it out. I know I did :)))

thedoctorandriver:

aurorinthetardis:

isilienelenihin:

goodandbeautifulperi:

The Encyclopedia Gallifrey is kept in bottles.

No but think about it—how often does the Doctor get to hear Gallifreyan?  No one speaks it anymore, no one but him.  So of course he hoards the words he has, bottles them up so he can open them up and listen to another person talk about his home.  He was always running away when he was young, so keen to get away from the Time Lords and their arrogance and stubborn refusal to change.  They’d seemed to constant then, despite everything he learned, despite the greatest rule—that the one constant in the universe is change, that even time itself will run out, that everything dies and everything ends.

Even the Time Lords.  Even Gallifrey. 

He keeps the words in bottles so late in the TARDIS’s night cycle, when his companions have wandered off to their beds, he can retreat to the silence of the library, close his eyes, and let the words wreath the air around him.  For a few moments he can almost smell the breeze blowing down from the mountains, feel the sunlight on his face.  For a few moments he is a boy again, in a field of red grass.

And then the words fade into the hum of the TARDIS and the image falters behind his eyes and he is alone, again.

get out

What if River can speak Gallifreyan though? She can write and read it. Why wouldn’t she be able to speak it? Jus’ sayin’

(via joynation)

high-functioningginger:

There is a trend in media for strong women who are outwardly so. They are witty, snarky, toned, and know how to hold a gun. The role model being pushed is that of the ultimate woman. It’s progress – I wouldn’t trade River Song for a hundred people from Hollywood’s past – but there’s a silent repercussion, a fortification of the idea that women have to be twice as accomplished to be considered half as good, to deserve this screen time at all. They are always extraordinary, always the one in a million. Importantly, there’s no variety – only one mould to fit ourselves into. A great mould, yes, but not if you don’t fit into it.

Molly Hooper is different. Molly Hooper is kind, thoughtful, always smiling, and intelligent in a way that you don’t really notice until you remember she’s a pathologist. She asks after people and cares about the answers, remembers little details because everything someone says is important. She probably still remembers how Sherlock likes his coffee. Her blog is pink, covered in kittens, and uses Comic Sans. She blunders her way through speaking, has serious foot-in-mouth syndrome, and can’t put on a pair of plastic gloves without making faces. She is one of the strongest women I have ever seen.

She puts up with what can only be described as “total bullshit.” You might say that makes her a bit of a doormat, but for people like Molly (like me), who like kindness and hate conflict, it takes serious guts to call someone on their behaviour and say you’re hurting me. It takes guts to carry that kind of unrequited love and still first and foremost be a friend, to ask what do you need? Molly Hooper makes Sherlock Holmes, a man who can barely articulate anything beyond the scientific, try to be kinder. In the end, Molly isn’t the woman who counts [like Irene Adler], but the friend.

^THIS YES THIS 1000 TIMES OVER

(via joynation)

fuckyeahchandlerbing:

eatstarsnsparkle:

boazpriestly:

osointricate:

boazpriestly:

demonsanddragons:

darcywho:

harlotstarlet-queenofconeyisland:

chasexjackson:

THE GOLDEN RULE OF TUMBLR

my god, we’re all Ross.

Excuse you.

image

Excuse you

image

image

image

So in conclusion, we are all the men of Friends, combined. 

Not just the men.

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

Phoebe is basically a walking night blogger when she’s got a guitar.  Admit it.

In conclusion, we are the show Friends. 

we all need this on our blogs

This is the most beautiful post on all of Tumblr.

(via joynation)

“Look at you pair. It’s always you and her isn’t it? Long after the rest of us have gone.  A boy and his box off to see the universe.“ 

(via gibbeux)

mydraco:

A part of my childhood died the same second as you took your very last breath. My thoughts are with your family and friends. You were a great actor and person. I hope you’re on a better place now, rest in peace.

Rest in peace, Richard Griffiths

31 July 1947 - 28 March 2013

(via dereksass)