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Hi, I’m April. My tumblr game is old as balls. I’m a menace. var sc_project=9360824; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="a06f04e4"; var scJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://secure." : "http://www."); document.write("");

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  • 04/26/15--07:08: Photo

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    Props to Wasabi for being one of the few people in movies to ever cut a hole that is not a perfect circle

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    Jonathan Aris accepts our headcanons. Dinosaurs are real.

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    Since 1998, CABARET has asked over 2.5 million people to leave their troubles outside. by cabaretthemusical

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    Soap for Writer’s Block

    :: giggles a trifle hysterically, slumps back in chair ::

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    went into the Donald for Spider-Man tag and saw someone say how annoying it is to see Tumblr pushing for him to be Spidey when he is “already too old to play a teenager”


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    JCM lays on Hedwig Chalk Art outside the Belasco (4/26/15)

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    I’m not saying that when the control this place and Naomi had over Castiel broke the colors changed into the bisexuality pride flag, but


    Ok.  I’m usually the first guy at the head of the “you’re reading too much into that shit” line, and I still freely admit that it sure as fuck could be that we’re still missing the point.  But damn.  Um.  When we’ve been told by the set design staff to look for a hidden message in Naomi’s office windows in this episode, and when Cas’ love for Dean breaks through Naomi’s control in the same episode we learn he is in fact sexually interested in women and a sexual being the windows in her office change color abruptly into the bi pride symbol with no other apparent impetus and when it makes for ugly-ass and awkward lighting?  

    I give in.  That theory is definitely legit plausible.  

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    do you ever stop and be amazed at how many friends you’ve made because both of you just want 2 fictional idiots to kiss already?

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  • 04/26/15--17:28: Photo

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    I legit started to write a post-rapture/post-apocalypse type story with a few men of Sherlock. Like I don’t think it’s bad’s just pointless. I will never do anything with it. I should try to make it into an original thing really because i have an idea of what I want to happen in it….

    Sometimes I think I’m not really a writer and maybe I’ll never be a successful writer but I write a lot…just because it’s there in my head…and I think that’s a writer. At least to me.

    Blah de blah….here it is…


    And the skies turned dark. The shadows on the ground from the men standing there began their slow bend and ebb as they too were lost in the darkness. One man hands a flask to the other. The other happily drinks it down. Their journey is yet to begin even as the other is over.
    “Did you bloody ever think fucking….this?” Martin says. He waves a hand at the scene in front of them. The others turn to look down and see the town below them ablaze. Stood on this hill so very far away from the fiery devastation it almost seems like a scene from a film. One of them could have been shooting a scene there.

    “Never,” Mark says. “Though I suppose one could assume when –” Mark turns away. It’s too distasteful to keep looking.

    “Shall we gentlemen?” Benedict says. “We few. We happy…”

    “Shut the hell up, Cumberbatch,” Tom says then gives a soft smile.

    Benedict smiles in return and starts to walk. With Martin in lead and Benedict in rear Tom and Mark were hanging their heads. A few  years ago it could have, would have been so different for them all to be together like this. 

    “It’s a shame you know,” Mark said. “We’ll never know what happens next.”

    “I suppose that’s the way it is for everyone isn’t it though?” Tom says. He claps a hand on Mark’s shoulder as they walk further.

    They walk down the hill that was overlooking the glory of Hollywood. Once they’re on the street it’s Martin who seems to take lead next. There are lots of cars abandoned in the streets, parked askew, and so many slammed into the next. 

    “Suppose that’s what happens when people just float away,” Martin says.

    “No one floated,” Mark says.

    “Fine poofed away. Left, gone, abandoned the rest of us poor schmucks to this…this,” Martin shakes his head looks away, blinks back a tear and rolls his eyes and himself. His hatred for this situation is written all over his face along with a jagged scar across his forehead. No ones asked where it came from, but Martin most likely had it worse than the rest. At one point Amanda and his kids were here. The next she wasn’t. Mark lost Ian. Benedict lost Sophie. No man asked the other about these people. It was all understood. No one gave theories. No one wanted to discuss it further. Not yet. There would be time later.

    “What were you saying earlier, Martin?” Benedict asked Martin, giving him an out, a focus point. It was a kindness and everyone knew it, even Martin.

    “We need to find a way around right?” Martin said.

    “Right,” Benedict said. 

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    I trust you more than anyone else.

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    I’ve never been a big fan of Uptown Funk, but this mix with Seven Nation Army makes the whole song sound so… evil. I love it.




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    These little kids at MoMa were trying to recreate this piece of art and it made my life.

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    “No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can’t put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.”

    - Erin Bow (via observando)

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    This is my fucking favourite

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    *studies for 2 minutes*


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    “Don’t cry, Shopgirl. Don’t cry.”


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  • 04/27/15--14:01: Photo

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