IM SO PAINFULLY LONELY. I JUST WANT ANDREWS PETER. MY FAVORITE SINCE HIS MOVIES FIRST CAME OUT. HES ALL I NEEEEDDDD.

listen people are starting to realize tumblr isn’t dead we all need to be as cringe as possible for the next few months, it’s vital to our survival

I love that op said “be as cringe as possible” and my main man Tumblr replied with giffs of Superwholock in that exact order. I love you all so much.

starting a show that isn’t recent is annoying because i’m looking around like “why isn’t everyone talking about this???” and it’s because it came out like three years ago

The nice thing about SuperWhoLock is that that rule doesn’t apply

DW is still airing

The Sherlock fandom is more death repellent than Sherlock himself

And Spn gets trending every time something completely unrelated happens in the world

petition for ao3 to allow us to leave kudos on each chapter

if Stephen were allowed to curse he would never stop

And instead of “Scooby-doo this crap”

It would be “Solve this shit “ 

"You fucked this up so now you fix this shit or get lost!...Please"

Monochrome version of Good Omens Cold Open portraits.

Remember when Sherlock did this and the entire fandom collectively lost their minds?

Well... It was a decade ago.

The Reichenbach Fall (15th Jan 2012).

why’s this site so weird about horses? they’re just horses.

Are you sure

this was so wild

Someone explain

The first sentence says 32 and 13 implying that the speaker is 32 years old and their girlfriend is 13 years old, which is both highly inappropriate and illegal. The next sentence reveals the speaker was talking about their game levels, not their ages, which is perfectly okay.

In their reply to the audience they then say they are picking her up from middle school, again implying that their girlfriend is underage, but quickly state she’s grading papers letting us know she’s a teacher, definitely an adult, and there no reason to be upset.

The rollercoaster gif portrays how switching from upset and worried to relieved in such a short period of time feels emotionally.

The next meme shows the guy panicking from misunderstanding, then feeling relieved and calm realizing the truth, only to panic over the next misunderstanding and then calm again when hearing the end.

the above explanation is followed by a picture of data from star trek with a speech bubble's tail coming out of him, implying he's the one saying all of that, which is humerous because the above text is written in a style similar to his speech patterns, and with a subject matter he would enjoy

This is the worst website ever and I love it.

The soft screams of the light, and the high delusions of the night - a TSoT fic written by me.

(There will be more coming soon, I promise :) )

SHERLOCK

Needles pricking your skin, poisoning you with the elixir of life.  Bubbling mixtures and compounds adorning the kitchen table, varying in colour and strength. You’rve hit rock bottom, though it seems there’s always a new low waiting for you. Biding its time, fangs gleaming, ready to pounce at any sign of weakness. And now… now you kneel at its feet. 

Coat-tails flying, mind ablaze, Sherlock Holmes staggered through the streets of London, taking no notice of the people walking past him, staring at him before hurriedly tugging their children away. Why would he? They weren’t him, weren’t his saviour, his everything, his reason to stay clean.

He could barely see them anyway. His vision seemed impaired, the edges of his sight blurring and melting together into myriads of greens and greys. None of it registered to him, not the backlit advertisements that would usually hurt his eyes, nor the wheezing, honking cacophony of late-night traffic, held up by drunk partygoers. It was all there, of that Sherlock was certain, but it had the same effect on him as the knowledge of the solar system did. Unnecessary. 

An incessant nagging sound took up lodging at the front of his mind. Thoughts as thin as paper and translucent as glass were nudged aside, allowing the rushes of wind and thudding of footsteps to properly hit him. 

There was someone in front of him. 

“Got any change to spare, sir?” 

Deductions flew up almost immediately, the tapping and squeaking of chalk around the woman’s scarved head landed like miniature bullets on the back of his skull. He swiped them away, looking almost wistfully at the space next to him.

Has grandchildren. 

Widowed.

Drinking problem.

Familiar. 

“Any change at all sir, just a penny?” She looked up at him pitifully, but with something else, too. Sherlock’s brow furrowed, trying to understand the implications behind the intensity of her gaze. Passer-bys stared at this strange interaction: a formally-clothed man, clearly on some kind of drug, squinting at a homeless woman? How grotesque, they must have thought. How grotesque, indeed! 

“No, no, I don’t have any money on me,” Sherlock mumbled, tripping over himself as he clattered up the street to Baker Street and freedom.

Dear God, he thought - or would have thought, had his mind been capable of forming complete sentences then. What have I become without you? 

Please leave feedback! Hope you enjoyed :))

PART 2

I'm so sorry I didn't post more of this, I kind of... forgot it was there? I ignored it in any case, which makes it annoying that this part is so short but the next bit should be written by next week so pleaseplease chase me up on this! Thank you so much, I hope you like it :)

JOHN

All in all, the wedding had been… well, it had been… a bit of a wreck. A near homicide during the best man’s speech? But at a wedding with Sherlock Holmes there, John reasoned, he didn’t know what he’d expected. But now everything seemed resolved. The music was pumping, disco lights making everything in the hall seem unreal, a fever-dream induced haze. The smell of wine and floor wax created an unfamiliar scent, but with the claire-de-la-lune and Mary’s body in his arms, John could pretend that nobody else was there. She glowed, the multicoloured light ricocheting off the sequins of her dress, her smooth, cool hands on John’s shoulder and in his hand, his dark, curly locks, pushed against his chest. His voice, rumbling and low, sending shivers down to John’s very core when he says his name. 

“John?”

"Hm?" John's eyes snapped open, being pulled from a reverie of dancing with- with someone other than his wife. "Sorry, I was miles away. What's up?" 

"Nothing, just wanted to wake you up." Mary grinned, tracing her finger around his shoulder. She sighed contentedly and leaned onto him, their heartbeats out of sync in an 8-beat of entwinement. They swayed to generic waltzes, John desperately trying to keep a hold of the thought of Mary, Mary, Mary, his wife, his soon-to-be mother of his child, his emotional confidante for two years. 

But why had he needed an emotional confidante, he asked himself. There it was again, the despicable, scratch-marked part of his brain that always tried to wave the truth in front of him no matter how much the rest of him protested. Why did you need a confidante? Whose death couldn't you get over, whose loss brought back the nightmares and the limp and pain, who have you been infatuated with since the beginning, long before Mary came? 

No, he thought, unconsciously gripping Mary's hand and hip tighter, not on my wedding night…

The music seemed to warp out of tune, the disco lights becoming blinding and erratic. The chatter of the guests amplified tenfold, filling John's ears with a dragging buzz not unlike television static. The room was wrong, the people, the lights, the woman with his ring on her finger and his child in her womb, they were all wrong.

But then what was right? Who kept him right?

What a year this week has been.

It’s Monday.

It sure as hell is.

The earlier in the day Monday you reblog the funnier this gets

Lmao its 1am monday lets go

procrastinate. panic. perish 

this whole taylor swift joe jonas sophie turner thing is just. so funny to me. like imagine you’re taylor swift and you’ve just released a song from eleven years ago that publicly calls your ex boyfriend at the time a cheater and drags his name through the mud for picking up other girls the moment after he dumped you in a 25 second phone call, and HIS WIFE who is YOUR FRIEND loves the song enough that she shares it on her instagram story with the caption ‘it’s not NOT a bop’. can u imagine being joe jonas having to listen to your wife play your ex girlfriend’s song abt how you were a piece of shit boyfriend in your own house eleven years later. i would cry

Natasha: Why is Scott running towards us?

Maria: Oh shit I think Sam’s chasing him!

Scott, running past them: LET’S GO LESBIANS, LET’S GO!