In case anyone wanted to know the exact moment I started sobbing
#we got like 2 seconds of the boys looking at the cars#remembering bobby #being kids #hiding out in the junkyard #rebuilding the car#coming here every time they were in a pinch #this is still a home #but they’ve moved out and onwards but it’s impossible to forget your childhood homes it just ugh
S9 Sample Posters a.k.a. Ways CW can promote S9 in a non bullshit way: 1/∞ ; Angels + Their landing sites
yahoo is deleting every blog with less than 100 followers
CEO quoted as saying “I hate nerds”
Is this a joke??? Like what the hell yahoo?? That is not okay! We aren’t nerd because we don’t have 100 followers. You aren’t a nerd for being on tumblr. Our nerdiness has nothing to do with tumblr, so leave us the hell alone.
I think this is fake
I mean in that case people couldn’t make new blogs anymore
This has to be fake
THAT’S JENSEN ACKLES
EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRY
it’s jensen ackles…… he’s so hot *sobbing*
WHERE IS THIS FROM?!?!?! I NEED TO KNOW!!
WHERE IS THIS FROM
DARK ANGEL I THINK
prends-la-vie-comme-elle-vient:
AsylumWaiting Room of the Big Three.it’s funny because it looks like the sherlock fandom are sane here
Sherlock bustled about the kitchen, throwing a cupboard door open and pushing aside a box of nicotine patches to retrieve two mismatched mugs. A kettle whistled plaintively in the background, like it had been trying to draw attention to itself for a while now. Setting the mugs aside, Sherlock absently pulled the kettle off the stove, poured tea into the two mugs, and carried them into the living room.
Doctor Who was sprawled over the same chair it had collapsed into last night, when it had appeared at the door muttering inanely about lost regenerations and knackered navigations systems. It made a whining noise as Sherlock tucked the shock blanket it had thrown off in the night back around its shoulders.
Supernatural was in similar straits, curled up on the floor with a throw pillow and a tattered trench coat around its shoulders and alternating between sobbing and muttering about domesticity potential.
A thudding on the stairs indicated the ruckus had finally awoke Merlin, who poked its head into the room, hair sticking up at all angels as it tied its scarf around its neck. Blinking blearily at the mess, it seemed to realize what had occurred when it picked up a discarded bow-tie from the floor, holding it between forefinger and thumb, “Is it that time already?”
“It was bad this year,” Sherlock whispered, trying not to exacerbate the already fragile fandoms under its care.
“I remember what that was like,” Merlin muttered, running a hand through its hair and pulling a cape off the nearby coat rack, “I’ll go to the store. We’re out of milk again. May as well pick up some fish fingers, custard, and salt.”
Supernatural gurgled something quietly.
“No, I won’t forget the pie.”
I SWEAR TO GOD TUMBLR NEVER FUCKING CHANGE
