a million colours in your mind

Amber Heard in The Danish Girl movie clip [x]

Sam Claflin for Wonderland Magazine by Ben Parks. [x]

Sam Claflin photographed by Joachim Mueller Ruchholtz for InStyle UK (November 2015) 

Sam Claflin durante los GQ Men of the Year 2015

The Riot Club

mrsamclaflin NY

[the peaky blinders au] famousattitudesofunconcern

Sam Claflin taking a break on set while filming ‘Me Before You’ in Majorca, Spain

The goblins of the city may hold committees to divide a single potato, but the strong and the cruel still sit on the hill, and drink vodka, and wear black furs, and slurp borscht by the pail, like blood. Children may wear through their socks marching in righteous parades, but Papa never misses his wine with supper. Therefore, it is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair. At least, one eats better that way. And morality is more dependent on the state of one’s stomach than of one’s nation.

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

Pyotr knows Chris’ history with the last tsar, and knows damn well that it does matter. He looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the casualness with which he manages to speak about these things. Pyotr’s never been properly in love before, but he doesn’t think he would be able to manage it. Maybe it’s just Pyotr, but the silence feels a bit loaded and awkward. He doesn’t want Kathy to ask any more questions about the nature of Chris’ relationship with the tsar; wants to spare him the pain, the indignity. So he jumps in with another detail, another story. “ One time when you were on a family picnic, you accidentally pushed the cook into a creek. You were the servant children’s hero for a little while after that.” He grins, warming up into the memory. “Until the next time you sneaked down to the kitchens and tried to steal a block of ice cream.”

Kathy is grinning, turning to beam at Pyotr. “Did I succeed? I bet I did. Stealing ice cream can’t be too hard if you’re there to eat the evidence.” She hasn’t had ice cream at the orphanage, but she’s sure that she has eaten it sometime. She makes a face. “That wasn’t very princess-y, was it?” She sounds too pleased about it.

Kathy stretches her arms out and assumes the position with a serious expression, her head high. “How’s this?” It’s impossible to keep a note of amusement from her tone, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Am I floating?” 

It’s a job. You can quit anytime. She is not your responsability.

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

Pyotr knows Chris’ history with the last tsar, and knows damn well that it does matter. He looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the casualness with which he manages to speak about these things. Pyotr’s never been properly in love before, but he doesn’t think he would be able to manage it. Maybe it’s just Pyotr, but the silence feels a bit loaded and awkward. He doesn’t want Kathy to ask any more questions about the nature of Chris’ relationship with the tsar; wants to spare him the pain, the indignity. So he jumps in with another detail, another story. “ One time when you were on a family picnic, you accidentally pushed the cook into a creek. You were the servant children’s hero for a little while after that.” He grins, warming up into the memory. “Until the next time you sneaked down to the kitchens and tried to steal a block of ice cream.”

Kathy is grinning, turning to beam at Pyotr. “Did I succeed? I bet I did. Stealing ice cream can’t be too hard if you’re there to eat the evidence.” She hasn’t had ice cream at the orphanage, but she’s sure that she has eaten it sometime. She makes a face. “That wasn’t very princess-y, was it?” She sounds too pleased about it.

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

Pyotr knows Chris’ history with the last tsar, and knows damn well that it does matter. He looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the casualness with which he manages to speak about these things. Pyotr’s never been properly in love before, but he doesn’t think he would be able to manage it. Maybe it’s just Pyotr, but the silence feels a bit loaded and awkward. He doesn’t want Kathy to ask any more questions about the nature of Chris’ relationship with the tsar; wants to spare him the pain, the indignity. So he jumps in with another detail, another story. “ One time when you were on a family picnic, you accidentally pushed the cook into a creek. You were the servant children’s hero for a little while after that.” He grins, warming up into the memory. “Until the next time you sneaked down to the kitchens and tried to steal a block of ice cream.”

- Andrea Gibson, Pansies

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”