reblogging for Artie
Goofing off with Grace on omegle. Wanted to be America but my wig still needs to dry from the wash it got. Will omegle on monday or sunday as America!
Got my jade wig in! It needs a lot of work to be ready for AN.
I had a bit too much fun with it.. xD…
Looking for something to fill that void while on your hiatus or hellatus? Join the Hannibal fandom!
p.s. The Merlin fandom can come too.
are you going to eat us
We only eat the rude
I am utterly terrified of the Hannibal Fandom.
Only eat the rude?
Have you seen Sherlock?
So are we going to be eating the dinner, or be part of the dinner? Hm, and do I want to join another fandom…oh god, yes.
Dear Hannibal Fandom,
We accept your invitation. But just be forewarned, you can try to us eat us but we know how to kill you.
The Supernatural Fandom
P.S. we’ll be bringing our own salt
- Edgar Allan Poe
three yards of space fabric, fifteen feet of ruffles, three spools of metallic thread (gold and silver for the edges of the ruffles!) and eight hours later, i have this. i designed it special for a friend!
… seriously the metallic edges of the ruffles are the best part.
omg this is the best thing
Mother of god this is pretty! I want all of my clothes to be this!
if tumblr was bought out for $1.1B and there are 60 million blogs that means each blog is worth $18.3
my blog is worth more than i am
Well actually it would cost anywhere between $5,000 - $250,000 to hire an assassin to kill you so chin up hun, you are worth so much more than $18.30
first the body parts comparison now the assassins thank you tumblr
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 angles 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.”
Ah, how i love the smell of being single in the morning.