Game of Thrones Season 4 Bloopers [x]

prouvaireish:

ready for that southern family reunion

weezly:

Perfect

wo-nderland:

JAMES FRANCO POSTED THIS AND I CANT STOP LAUGHING OH MY GOD

wo-nderland:

JAMES FRANCO POSTED THIS AND I CANT STOP LAUGHING OH MY GOD

teebusters:

Cumberbatch fans rejoice! 'Cabin Pressure Moments' limited edition tees & zoodies by cucumberpatchx on sale from tomorrow only on TeeBusters.com! July 26th - 28th only! 
“Like” this for 1 chance at a FREE TEE this weekend, “Reblog” it for 2 chances and “Follow” us for a 3rd chance! Best of luck ~ TB HQ :D

teebusters:

Cumberbatch fans rejoice! 'Cabin Pressure Moments' limited edition tees & zoodies by cucumberpatchx on sale from tomorrow only on TeeBusters.comJuly 26th - 28th only! 

“Like” this for 1 chance at a FREE TEE this weekend, “Reblog” it for 2 chances and “Follow” us for a 3rd chance! Best of luck ~ TB HQ :D

godotal:

omgbuglen:

How to use sand to freak people out

Imagine if some guy was tripping and saw the woman, runs up to help her and she just crumbles apart in his hands. That’s gonna take the trip south.

godotal:

omgbuglen:

How to use sand to freak people out

Imagine if some guy was tripping and saw the woman, runs up to help her and she just crumbles apart in his hands. That’s gonna take the trip south.

slytherinwithablog:

the-next-robin:

destielsails:

whitenerdyness:

Petition to get Misha Collins on Whose Line is it Anyway

I HAVE NEVER REBLOGGED SOMETHING SO FAST IN MY LIFE

YES THANK YOU

image

image

timestitcher:

MetroCon 2014 - The kid’s post

M. loved all the princess and Disney cosplayers.  A. was excited to see the fellow Assassins, including one that slipped him some gold coins as a welcome to the Brotherhood.  

Sadly, I don’t know who these fantastic cosplayers are, but I’ll tag them if anyone knows.

sup361:

justme12314:

the-goddamazon:

fil-egyptian:

jra16:

lord-quasimoto:

get the fuck out,no fucken way this is the most coolest thing i have ever seen on tumblr 

is this real?

Yup.

THOSE WHO CAME ~*~*~BEFORE~*~*~

TITANS

The first thing I thought was: TITANS. I FUCKING KNEW IT.

oh-my-godstiel:

moishacollins:

padacklespassion:

Wonderful family. They are perfect to each other

Forever reblog. This is priceless.

LOOK AT WEST

SO FUCKING BIG

Marvel’s biggest secret is how they make Robert Downey Jr. appear taller than he actually is…

thefuuuucomics:

mcdownies:

crimsonpoppyfields:

thefrogman:

RDJ is 5’ 8½”

Gwyneth (5’ 9”) and we know she is wearing killer heels ALL the time

image

Chris (6’ 0½”)

image

image

Problem solved.

[spelledjustlikeescape]

I think I just bloody died scrolling down and seeing rdj wearing heels.

always reblog rdj in his hooker heels

“HOOKER HEELS” OMFG HAHAHA

Fact: Toothless is the cutest thing ever, don’t deny it. 

snaps7:

snapslikethis:

queernymphadora:

snapslikethis:

riversnogs:

riversnogs:

That moment in your childhood when you realize that Diagon Alley is just the word diagonally….

image

And the Mirror of Erised is just the word desire backwards.

Didn’t even realize. Does that mean Knockturn Alley is nocturnally (dark/night)?

Yes, and Grimmauld Place is a play on grim old place. 

DUDE.

And Dumbledore is just a dumb old door

perlockholmes:

thelittlebitofeverythinggirl:

shootbadcabbies:

DID SOMEBODY SAY TEEN BALLET!LOCK/RUGBYPLAYER!JOHN??



Okay so I saw this wonderful piece by shootbadcabbies and my hand slipped. Like 12k slipped. But I figure I owe her for all the torment I’ve put her through with My Heart Is True As Steel, plus, look at how cute they are!! So, here is my attempt at ballet!lock/rugby!john. I’ll start at the beginning and then put a link to the rest at the bottom, as well as the top if you click through the title (which is the biggest cliche, I know, but, god help me, I couldn’t help myself).

Pas de Deux
Sherlock looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, a reassuring gesture even though he had already memorized the numbers.

221
16, 7, 3

He huffed, not quite enough derision left in him for another full-bodied snort. When he had said he wanted to be moved as far away from Andrew Hornigutt as possible, he hadn’t been speaking literally, but the secretary in the office had it out for him ever since he had revealed that her husband was having an affair with the barista at the local coffee shop, so she had simply clicked her red varnish and smacked her red lips and grinned at him with a poisonous promise that it would be taken care of.

Which was how Sherlock Holmes found himself walking to a locker at the very end of the Year 13 corridor in the sixth form section of the secondary school that amounted to a private wing where angels—or at least Year 11s like himself—feared to tread. Not that he was afraid, of course.

He hitched his shoulder bag up a little higher, checking the numbers again. They remained the same: Locker 221, combination 16, 7, 3. Surely it couldn’t be much further. Glancing up to his right, he watched as the odd numbers steadily climbed, focusing on the shifting digits instead of the curious eyes. Finally, he found it, and, after fumbling a bit and having to restart, flung open the black locker door, a small but present barrier between him and the whispers. It wasn’t that he cared what they said, but it did wreak havoc on one’s concentration when mutterings of your name kept pulling you out of your thoughts, and there were certainly plenty of mutterings. No more than usual, however—the typical politically incorrect slurs and jeers—and Sherlock, for the most part, put it out of his mind.

He swung his bag around to the floor in front of him, placing it over his polished shoes. Slowly, he began unloading the little he had needed to move from his old locker, taking care not to accidentally pull out the wrapped bundle as he removed his books.

“Hey,” greeted a voice from just the opposite side of his fortress wall, startling him into dropping the notebooks he had been preparing to stack inside. “Oh, shit, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“You didn’t,” Sherlock muttered, kneeling to the floor to begin gathering the books and scattered papers that had sprung loose from them.

A small chuckle drifted down to him, coming closer as the generator bent beside him on the floor. “So you just make a habit of dropping things when people say hello?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes down at his chemistry homework as he slid the sheet just inside the front cover of the blue notebook. “I find it often discourages further conversation,” he snapped, but the voice only chuckled again.

“And how’s that working out for ya?”

“At present? Not particularly…well…” Sherlock blinked, lips hovering open before he had the presence of mind to snap them shut and swallow hard, dropping his head again, because the boy kneeling down on the ground beside him, tan hands helping swipe Sherlock’s notes off the floor, was none other than John Watson. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, cheerleader-dating, straight-A-making John Watson, captain of the rugby team and of every girl’s daydreams.

Sherlock was going to tell the secretary about her husband’s previous affair with the nanny after all, he decided.

John ‘Golly gee willikers!’ Watson beamed at him, and Sherlock tried fiercely to overrule his brain’s command to his palms to start sweating. “Yeah, well, we all have off-days,” he shrugged, eyes sparkling. “Here.” He held out the pile of Sherlock’s papers—all out of order, but Sherlock wasn’t inclined to mention it. “Looks like some pretty hard stuff. What are you taking?”

“Separate Sciences,” Sherlock replied, a little softer than intended as he took the offered pages, tucking them away inside whichever notebook his hand found first, “and all the usual ones as well.”

John tilted his head, a puzzled crease forming between his brows, and then his face stretched with realization. “Oh, you’re from the lower school, yeah? Not sixth form?”

Sherlock nodded, John following as he pushed to his feet. He was not as tall as Sherlock had thought whenever he had seen him from a distance. Sherlock was actually taller, albeit only by a couple inches, but he was still growing. “Year 11,” he replied, not entirely sure why he was still indulging this conversation. He usually made his insults and then escapes by now.

John smiled again, and the decision suddenly made a lot more sense.

Read the rest

Read the fic, read the fic, read the bloody cute fic!