Me as the leader of a group project..
The most accurate thing ever, oh my god.
Additional:
(Source: longdaysofrain)
my mother must be so proud of her lazy, rebellious, anxiety-ridden, depressed child
your mother must be so proud of her strong, smart child who lives each day dealing with anxiety and depression and still holds on
oh man wow
I was just checking on the people on my blog and this happened.
Are you ok?
Do you want me to send help?
Omg.
Okay so we were just hanging out in the back of the festival and a golf cart just drives by with Austin the the back. And my friend goes “You’re Austin Carlile!” And he threw his hands up and says “HELL YEAH I AM”
How many tears did The Doctor cry?
A River.
Was it enough to fill two Ponds?
(Source: mishasteaparty)
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.
I feel like yahoo is our new stepdad and we don’t like him yet
(Source: jamesfrancos)
