Eleanor Tomlinson

Oh, you’re acting your thin disguise All your perfectly delivered lines They don’t fool me You’ve been lonely, too long

You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees

My mother (via raysofthesun)

“I’d describe doing Ross and Demelza’s passionate scenes as like ‘dancing’ together – I’m forever telling Aidan where to put his hands!”

Still i’m pinned under the weight, of what i believed would keep me safe Show me where my armour ends, show me where my skin begins

faerodrick:

“The hospital. God, it was awful. Place was crawling with annoying people. I didn’t think you could fit that many assholes into one place but they did a hell of a job proving me wrong.”

“Ach, aye, confinement brings out th’ worst in people. At least ye did not kill anyone and get caught, I hope.”

clydexvasile:

“I just can’t win here, can I? Dully noted so I totally give you permission to tell me off if I somehow spit that out.”

“Nae, I could never tell ye off. Ye are yer mother’s son, after all.”

His fingers slid across her lips, down the slope of her jaw to wrap around her throat, “There is a dark thing in you,” he whispered, “It brings out the monster in me.”

Love Potions Gone Wrong, or Short Stories Yet to be Written pt. 2 [a.m.b.] (via agniezzka)

mila-romanova:

“Why would I call you that? Whore’s just a job description and slut’s just a girl who likes a good time. Hell, I’m a slut, I have a t-shirt that says so. In fucking glitter. I have no proof you’re stupid, alone, suicidal, or arrogant, so I’d hardly go with those. Just going with what I see, firecrotch. Dude, that is some shit logic right there. I could say all gingers are bad in bed, and if you argued that, say, Ewan McGregor was a stone-cold fox that could go all night, I could just say he wasn’t a real ginger. By your logic, only Irish assholes are real Irish people. Seems kinda fucking selective. I mean, c’mon, step up your game here, Lucky Charms.”

“Ach, and a c--t is just a name. Aye, thon’s me meanin’ -- only assholes and c--ts. Thought ye wanted t’ make personal comments, lass. Ye must try makin’ assumptions, or at least try harder.”

mila-romanova:

“I don’t think that’s true. I think that’s just something assholes say to cover the fact that they’re assholes. You know who’s Irish? Colin Farrell. He came to one of my gigs. Super fucking polite, thanked me for doing the show, gave me a fucking tip, told me if I was ever in his neck of the woods, let him know. You? You’re just sad and old and tired and probably fucking immortal, cuz I swear to God, it makes bitches like you ten times worse. You wanna know why? Cuz you know it’s just gonna get fucking worse. You’re gonna get more and more miserable, and there’s not even death to look forward to. So like, feel free to be a cunt, I can’t stop you, but don’t denigrate the homeland of one of my favourite actors while you’re at it, ‘kay, sugar tits?”

"Well, ye seem t’ have put in a good effort, so fer that, I’ll give ye an A. But ye’ve left out a few key bits there. Slut or whore is a popular one, and ye forgot t’ mention me arrogance, lack o’ intelligence, and...oh, yes, th’ fact that I must secretly be alone an’ suicidal. Yer man, if he’s honestly good, is one o’ many, and no example o’ true Irish folk.”

mila-romanova:

“See, that’s just uncalled for. I mean, I could make all kinds of personal comments about you, like calling you a pissy-ass ginger bitch who clearly has an icicle up her twat and needs someone to fuck it out of her, but I don’t. Because I have manners.”

"Thon’s yer issue, lass. I’m Irish. Rudeness comes with th’ territory. An’ I’m afeared none o’ yer comments were very personal, as I’ve heard thrice worse from me own kin. I’d offer t’ let ye try again, but I doubt I’d end up impressed.”

mila-romanova:

“Are you gonna be all needlessly bitchy and Irish? Cuz if you’re gonna go down that road, I’m gonna need to be a lot more drunk.”

“Aye, and aye, until yer voice an’ self-obsession no longer grate upon me.”

mila-romanova:

“Well, obvs, I’m amazed this town manages to survive without me at all. It’s really curtailed my drinking schedule. On the plus side, it has given me a whole lot of great ideas about how to get around the new rules. Necessity is the motherfucker of invention and all that.”

“Never a wiser thing have I heard...nor a louder gob.”

“Aye, lass, t’was yer absence that sent us int’ this regime.”

“Man, what is with this curfew shit? This town is a friggin’ powder keg as it is. I go to one show in Toronto and it all kicks off!”

matildahunt:

 Matilda gave a light chuckle as she hung up her coat before leading her into the rest of the house.  She didn’t really have much of a plan on what to work on. she figured they would just wing it and see what worked for them. Matilda’s house was nicely decorated with bright and warm colors. Her fire place in the living room seemed to be keeping the whole house warm perfectly. 

 Matilda’s studio was actually a separate dining room off to the side of the living room that she just turned into her studio. She had just cleaned it up so it wasn’t a huge mess when Nesta came over. Her paints and supplies organized neatly on shelves with drawers. There were some paintings set off to the side leaning against each other now that she was finished with them. She had two easels set up so Nesta had one to work with. Her desk had her sketch book which was open from her sketching earlier this morning. A cup of coffee half empty sat next to the color pencils she had been working with. In all the room seemed a bit too clean. 

 “ I figured we could do whatever” she said with a smile at her. “ we can set up a still life, we can paint, sketch, really it is whatever creativity takes over. “ she said. “ my sutdio isn’t normally this clean. But I didn’t want my mess in the way” she said with a simple shrug. 

Winging it was not Nesta’s specialty. She was a planner, a calculator, an opportunity-taker. So she observed the house, the furniture and layout, the setup of the studio. It was a bit more spotless than Nesta’s while she was mid-work, but she rarely did care about cleanliness until it was done.

“I do appreciate th’ effort,” she said, sweetly but genuinely. “Though I hope ye didn’t overexert yerself.” She didn’t care at all. “Have ye oil paint? “It’s me preferred medium, though I haven’t had th’ chance t’ work with watercolor in weeks.”

Advanced Finger Painting