It's All Tom's Fault.

Ahoy, new followers!

Feel free to submit how Tom ruined your day/week/month/year.

What the hell did Tom do now?

Feel free to blame him for anything and everything!

New Years Eve. I spent it with my family. Now they all think I’m crazy. WHY? Your god damned face, Tom, THAT’S WHY. It just kept popping into my head, so while you were #dancinglikealoon I was smiling and giggling to myself like a loon, every time I thought of it. Are you happy now?!! You Fucking Bastard.

All my house plants are dead. They died a horrible death, over many weeks, starved of water and attention and love. And all because I was too busy looking at your fucking perfect face on tumblr, Tom, to water my poor fucking dying plants. I used to love my plants, and now they’re dead, and it’s your fault. I swear to god I hope in the next life you reincarnate into a ficus and your owner neglects you horribly while she swoons over Edward Cullen.

I don’t have issues, I swear! It’s just Tom Hiddleston!

Once upon a time, I was a normal little fan and I wrote normal little fan things about actual characters. But no. Writing about two characters having sex just ISN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU IS IT, TOM? You have to go and be adorable and smile and touch your co-stars in totally just-friends ways that my brain turns into PORN. AND YOU KNOW WHY? Because you just make it sooooo easy! You and Hemsworth and Evans and even freaking McAvoy sometimes. YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER EVEN BEEN IN THE SAME ROOM AS JAMES, HAVE YOU TOM!? BUT YOUR STUPID FACE WILL JUST GO SO PERFECTLY WITH ANYONE, RIGHT?

 I haven’t written anything but you and your Britishness for ages! Me writing so much sex and cute crap isn’t helping me practice my skills, Tom! IT’S NOT AND THE REASON I STILL SUCK SO MUCH IS BECAUSE OF YOU.

Go fuck yourself, Hiddleston.

Or better yet, go fuck Chris Hemsworth.

Hey, guess what, Tom?

It’s 4:30 am.
I was going to sleep, but no. I’ve been reblogging you and your perfect damn face and your perfect damn self for hours, instead. You know that life I had before you so rudely interrupted? No, I don’t remember it either. 

I have no self-control when it comes to you, Tom. I have exams to study for, and what am I doing? Sitting here looking at you and your fucking perfect face in your fucking velvet suit and bow-tie, swooning. 
If I fail, I am without a doubt blaming you. 

Just sitting here in the fetal position with my stomach in some kind of sexual frustration knot from Tom and his beard at the War Horse Premiere. ITS STARTING TO HURT, AND ITS ALL TOMS FAULT. starting…to…get…dizzy…

I have SO FUCKING MUCH HOMEWORK — all of it due tomorrow.

AND I’M OVER HERE SWEARING AT FUCKING TOM.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

Every night I promise myself I’ll go to bed earlier so I can be a functioning member of society come morning. Then I get to my room and I see my asshole computer, and he’s like “hey I bet there are some new pictures of Tom Hiddleston on here” and every time I have to check. And by check I mean spend the next three hours looking at pictures I’ve seen dozens of times before yet can’t peel away from. Now I can barely get up in time to eat breakfast. I’m going to starve, Tom. It’s the most important meal of the day, Tom. But what do you know? All you eat is fucking pudding.