imagine visiting tom in county lock-up &…

imagine visiting tom in county lock-up & explaining to him that “Oz” was a fictional place & doesn’t exist anywhere in real life, “White Boy Rick” is not an instructional how-to documentary on how to be successful on “the street,” & how urgently he needs to score another film role before he gets shanked in jail by the crips.

via @ladytron2000

imagine being at home with tom when the LAPD…

imagine being at home with tom when the LAPD knocks on your door, “good evening, ma’am. we’re looking for moki, we were told he lived here.” they show you a photo of a wall graffitied with a giant picture of mexican loki, signed by the 18th street gang & tom hiddleston.

via @ladytron2000

All Good Nuts Must Come to An End: Part 1

largebeeffriedrice:

As usual Tumblr,

I must implore you to go follow the @terribletomimagines blog!

Plus its creator: @lyingtom !

Thank you,
LargeBeefFriedRice



Title: All Good Nuts Must Come to An End – Part 1
Based on/inspired by: #1, #2, #3, and some wonderful Tumblr fun that I’ve been tagged in. 
Warnings: Dating Anxiety, Nutting, and vomiting. Also, mentions of police chases, oranges, workplace violence, trophies, and cosplayers.



Or you can read it here on AO3!



6:50 PM
Friday

Shoes. Shoes? SHOES!?

You were positive that you had left them next to the door specifically so that you could be ready for your date with therapist Jonathan Birch. Who, by the way, is not Tom Hiddleston. Surprisingly.

Unsurprisingly, it seemed said actor had clearly moved shit around in your house when he had visited earlier. Not only had you found your phone wedged behind a bookcase, but your keys had somehow ended up in your laundry basket, and now your shoes were conspicuously missing from your foyer.

It was getting too close to time for you to do a third sweep of the house for the newly lost items. You were going to have to settle for a different pair.

Ugh. Tom was not allowed back into your house ever again.

Wait.

What the hell are those little black things on the floor?

Are those ants?!

“FUCK, TOM!” you screamed out to no one in particular; but your shoes shift just a little from their hiding spot over top the fridge.

Keep reading