hahaha I love this
Nerdfighter Benedict? Or just failed Vulcan?
As far as I can tell, there are eight possibilities here. (I’ve spent a fair bit of time thinking about this.)
1. Benedict Cumberbatch is a hardcore nerdfighter and when Martin Freeman threw up a gang sign, Cumberbatch was like, “I have one of those.”
2. Cumberbatch, who obviously has a relationship with Star Trek, just naturally changed the Vulcan sign (pulling in the thumbs, turning the palms inward, crossing the arms) in precisely the same way that I happened to change the Vulcan sign when I first made the nerdfighter sign in the halcyon days of 2007.
3. One of the interns on set who has gained the trust of Benedict Cumberbatch was like, “If you do your hands like this, the Internet will get really excited.” And so he did.
4. BBC, in their infinite wisdom, staged the entire photo and Cumberbatch was taught the nerdfighter sign (I MEAN LOOK AT THE PERFECTION OF HIS NERDFIGHTER SIGN! He seems so comfortable and confident in it, almost as if it is muscle memory, almost as if he has flashed it to his laptop screen on hundreds of occasions in the past, but I digress) and this photograph was staged to get people psyched for Sherlock, although what tiny segment of nerdfighteria is not already psyched for Sherlock? Also, if this is the case, who is Martin Freeman trying to advertise to? Residents of the West Side?
5. Benedict Cumberbatch has a relative or a friend who is a nerdfighter and so he is passingly familiar with nerdfighteria and liked what he has seen and wanted to make us all very happy.
6. The nerdfighter sign also happens to be the hand sign of some obscure English gang with which I am unfamiliar called like The East London Wanderers or The Slightly Intimidating Liverpudlians or whatever.
7. Nerdfighteria actually figures in the plot of the new season of Sherlock. Perhaps a nerdfighter has been (wrongly no doubt!) accused of a murder.
8. Benedict Cumberbatch was playing some kind of British version of Rock Paper Scissors against two invisible opponents, and he went double scissors (as any smart person would).
WHOSE BUTT IS THIS?
I thought it was Jeremy Renner’s then someone else posted it as Tom Hiddleston’s and I just saw that it belonged to Jensen?? EXPLAIN.
I AM IN THE SPN FANDOM
I KNOW THAT ASS
I KNOW THAT BLACK WATCH
THAT IS JENSEN ACKLES BOOTY
ghurl thats tom hiddlestons butt
same plain black shirt and watch
that my good friend, is jensen’s ass
I did a thing to help us
it’s Josh Hutcherson’s butt….
its my butt
I searched google by uploading the image and all the results were tied between JENSEN ACKLES AND JEREMY RENNER.
And almost every single one of the articles said they’re weren’t sure who’s butt it actually is.
The people that say it’s jeremy’s said they’re pretty sure it’s not his, and even the jensen ackle’s people can’t say for sure either.
There is no original poster i could not find a full picture.
We have nothing to go on except the evidence before our eyes.
Ladies and gentleman, before me are two pictures. Only one of these is the mystery butt.
look at the watch though it’s totally Ackles booty
If you actually pay attention to the rest of the body, you’ll see that Renner’s arms are more muscular and have a vein popping out. Jensen’s elbows are softer and his arms are thinner, making the booty in the picture actually the property of Jensen Ackles.
Love, the Sherlock Fandom.
someone add the equation of jensen’s ass
THERE IS SO MUCH ASS IN THIS POST JFC
I consider this case closed.
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 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