Death by Fandom

THE drowley scene of all time

being obsessed with a character is so fucking embarrassing like I'll be getting dressed in the morning like "I bet the 12th doctor would wear these socks" bitch shut the fuck up

some of you MUST be making up guys.

Idk who gort is but bertie wooster is a character from a tv show. I think he was the one with the valet named jeeves?

GORT??? GORT FROM THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL GORT????? IS THIS YOUR MAN??????

I get it, we're in a... pretty macho line of work. But you'd be surprised how accepting most people are.

#This man is gay

Martin casually matching his socks with wardrobe/tie/pocket square color will always be the cutest thing ever ❤️

You blew up your halo? Ooh, Hell won't like that.

The picnic - (2023)

"Aww, You see! Isn’t a picnic a good idea ? And this linen shirt I gave you Iooks absolutely lovely on you."

"Argh...I don't know...I guess! Not sure about the shirt, though: it's not really my color."

The little snake with the heart🥰

Chris Pine attends the Los Angeles premiere of "Poolman" celebrating Chris Pine's directorial debut at Vista Theatre on April 24, 2024 in Los Angeles, California.

when men roll up their sleeves and show their slutty little forearms i wither away like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time

reblog to give somebody a fucking hug because we are all struggling to get through it. solidarity in this tough ass world.

Gen X: [raises hand] Can... can we also maybe not get worked to death?

We remain latchkey kids.

Gen X: quit telling everyone we're dead

absolutely everyone: sometimes we can still hear their voices

I know exactly how this bear feels

Mood

saturate (v): to cause (a substance) to unite with the greatest possible amount of another substance; to charge to the utmost, as with magnetism; to imbue thoroughly or completely

not now mom i’m wasting my life on a website the entire internet believes to be dead

Whumpril 2024

-25- Eyes Rolled Back

What Harry told him: Adam was screaming. Harry brought him back to his flat. Harry lay with him until he fell asleep.

What Harry didn't tell him: Adam at the club was agitated, and it was only because Harry was stronger than him, bigger than him, that Adam gave way to being half-carried outside. The crisp air roused him, but only slightly, and he walked under his own power for a while, stumbling, trying to sit or lie down on windowsills and low walls, and Harry had to persuade him to keep going. Harry, willing himself steady from his own dissociated high, was nauseated and his head spun; he swallowed back vomit as the tube lurched them toward their own post code. The motion of the train rocked Adam into semi-consciousness, and he passed out heavy-slumped against Harry's side, mouth half-open so Harry felt a wet spot forming on the sleeve of his shirt.

They were on the pavement under the streetlights, walking slower than normal because Adam needed to be guided, supported, practically carried, and Harry was exhausted with numbed-out arms and legs making it hard to coordinate his own movements, let alone manage Adam's. A weird gurgling noise made Harry turn his face, and what he saw were the whites of Adam's eyes--all white, only white--and his lids fluttering, and his head jerked awkwardly on his neck as he fell. No movie-star swoon, falling backward into Harry's waiting arms; Adam fell straight down, legs crumpling awkwardly, and Harry thrust out his knee and reached with both hands and somehow managed to keep Adam's head from smacking the tarmac as he went. As Harry tried to gather him up--ragdoll soft and sandbag heavy--he said his name, loud then louder, tried to hold up his lolling head, smacked and pinched his cheek.

And all the while Harry was staring at the rolled-back whites of Adam's eyes, and thinking that he was at fault for offering him that bump of whatever that was, and that Adam was lovely and Harry really liked him and now he might be dying on the pavement in the dark.

"Adam." Patting his cheek. "Adam." Dragging him upright to half-sit against Harry's chest with an arm around him to keep him in place. "Adam! Wake up!" Harry jostled him, rubbed his knuckles in a hard tight circle against his chest because he'd seen it on the telly, in shows about hospital emergency rooms.

Whether it worked or something else changed, Adam's eyes closed in a purposeful way, and he groaned and took control of himself just enough to lean away and vomit onto the pavement, eventually on hands and knees, retching and spitting, coughing and letting go another low, miserable moan.

"We're almost home," Harry told him, and rubbed his back, and started to stand. "Can you walk? Here, I'll help." Adam took his hand and got to his feet; Harry tucked himself under his arm and held close to his side as they walked.

Adam mumbled about his mum and dad, broken glass, blue lights in the bedroom. By the time they were in the lobby, he was crying, and so was Harry, from fatigue and frustration and no small amount of relief that Adam was upright and alive. They leaned against the wall of the lift and Harry could not but watch their reflection, Adam clutching him with weak arms, Harry's hands at his waist and neck, holding each other up.

"Thought I'd lost you," Harry told him as he pulled off Adam's shoes. "Sorry I didn't do such a good job looking after you." He arranged the blankets, half-undressed, lay down behind Adam, put an arm around him and pulled him to his chest. Adam was wracked with juttering sobs, hard to hold onto, difficult to sooth. Harry kissed the back of his neck and murmured by his ear. "It's all right, now. You're safe at home. I've got you." Hushed him, kissed him. "You can go to sleep. I won't let anything bad happen to you."