Bex-La

Not dedicated to anything specifically, just stuff I happen to like. Maybe you like the same things. (Picture done by thiskindoflife)

thisdorkyblogthing:

either Loki legitimately loves the color green or there was one time when he was ten where he mentioned kinda liking his green shirt and Frigga just fucking rolled with it and at some point he just gave up

(via elly-hiddlesherloki)

everything-is-stickers:

How old is this photo.
Because it’s set up like Grandpappy sitting on the rocker telling the youngin’s about his youth.
But at this point in history it looks like one old guy took the only chair and made the rest of his elderly friends sit on the pavement because he’s the senior senior.

everything-is-stickers:

How old is this photo.

Because it’s set up like Grandpappy sitting on the rocker telling the youngin’s about his youth.

But at this point in history it looks like one old guy took the only chair and made the rest of his elderly friends sit on the pavement because he’s the senior senior.

(Source: gueasan, via phedrebelle)

geronipond:

so i saw aaron tveit (enjolras from the les mis movie) in hairspray on broadway a long time ago and it was during my tom boy phase and I waited outside the stage door and i was wearing a hat and when he got to me, he said “hey little dude” and i looked up and he just goes “not a dude”

(via gerardbutlersleghair)

rogue-halfling:

green-eyed-rising-demon:

a-cumberbatch-of-cookies:

cloudwatchingangels:

fionapondwilliams:

prends-la-vie-comme-elle-vient:

Asylum Waiting 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

OH MY GOD IT GOT BETTER

I needed this…

rogue-halfling:

green-eyed-rising-demon:

a-cumberbatch-of-cookies:

cloudwatchingangels:

fionapondwilliams:

prends-la-vie-comme-elle-vient:

Asylum Waiting 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

OH MY GOD IT GOT BETTER

I needed this…

(Source: lestranqe, via maybesamwinchester)