necessary-sass:

jacklesonmymind:

thursdaysangel-tuesdaysdemon:

carryonmywincestsounds:

tardisex:

krypto-the-hellhound:

believeinwinchesters:

That’s the exact spot where I realized that she played the mom on suite life of zack and cody

thats the exact moment i realised sam had no idea what a ‘mom voice’ was

who gave you the right

Sam didn’t have a mom? Excuse me,

Let’s not ferget the parenting skills he displayed with a baby, we can only assume he honed those from when he took care of Sam:

this was funny, then sad, and then kinda heartwarming. awesome

always reblog mama dean

THAT MEANS DEAN WAS AS YOUNG AS FOUR WHEN TAKING CARE OF BABY SAM

HOLD ME

I think one of the worst parts of mental illness is when you can recognize you’re being irrational and your thoughts and feelings have no logical source….but you still can’t help it.

And then people cap it off by telling you you you’ve got no reason to feel a way.

Like “Yeah thanks I had no idea…”

I wrote this for thescienceofjohnlock. Sorry it came out a bit more smut then fluff.

Country Christmas – Out in the country for a case, Sherlock and John aren’t going to get home tonight.

teaser below the cut

John leaned against Sherlock’s shoulder, arms folded and nodding off. The train station was cold, but the case was solved and Baker Street awaited them. Sherlock’s fingers danced over his mobile. John couldn’t be arsed to care, looking forward to his warm bed.

Suddenly Sherlock was on his feet, tugging John up. Yawning, he let himself be pulled. “What is it?”

“The train is delayed until morning. We’ve got a room nearby.” Sherlock took his hand and led him out of the empty station.

John couldn’t help but smile, still getting used to the comfortable sensation of the gloved hand in his. The cold shocked him awake as the door opened, snow chasing their heels.

“You never dress warm enough,” muttered Sherlock, pulling his scarf free and wrapping it around John’s neck. It smelled like the detective and John couldn’t help but smile against it.

It was a short walk, stars twinkling overhead in a way they never could in London. Sherlock let go of his hand to go to the counter, returning after a moment with a key. John followed him up the stairs and into a small room that had little more than a crackling fireplace and a large bed.

Sherlock grabbed the front of the scarf and pulled John into a kiss, licking the lingering cold from his lips. John moaned, the rest of his body heat rushing decidedly south.

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