❝ ✰✰✰ — HELLO. MY NAME’S ROSE. THAT’S A SORT OF PLANT… WE MIGHT BE R E L A T E D. — I’M TALKING TO A TWIG. ❞
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Game of Thrones Daily

shark vs the universe

izzy's playlists!

titsay
tumblr dot com

★
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
art blog(derogatory)

Andulka

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

bliss lane
Show & Tell
ojovivo
Mike Driver

@theartofmadeline
Today's Document
Cosimo Galluzzi

oozey mess
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from Australia

seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia

seen from Australia

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Italy

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@ablondeinunionjack
❝ ✰✰✰ — HELLO. MY NAME’S ROSE. THAT’S A SORT OF PLANT… WE MIGHT BE R E L A T E D. — I’M TALKING TO A TWIG. ❞
❝ MY NAME’S ROSE. THAT’S A SORT OF PLANT… — WE MIGHT BE RELATED. ❞
talkstotwigs:
❝ my name’s rose. that’s a sort of plant… — we might be RELATED. ❞
❝ my name’s rose. that’s a sort of plant… — we might be RELATED. ❞
❝ my name’s rose. that’s a sort of plant… — we might be RELATED. ❞
.
I’m so, so sorry. I love you zillions, superstar.
❝ my name’s rose. that’s a sort of plant... --- we might be RELATED. ❞
okay since i have an actual issue with this and it need to be addressed since it happens to me sometimes and it completely ruins my muse for a thread. talk to me in the tags. i have to say that being ignored when you try and talk to someone in the tags is one of the most uncomfortable things in the world. i’m not asking you to tell me about your life but at least making fun comments or interacting with writers is the biggest enjoyment of this place. i will not write with you if you don’t talk to me either in the tags or on skype. it won’t happen. it’s a really uncomfortable thing since i love reading tags or looking back in a verse tag and reading the conversations we have about things.
Send “You could be so much more y’know...” to try and corrupt my muse
positivity detectivesergeantiisms
positivity meme ❤ detectivesergeantiisms
I actually don’t follow Kayli on her Ellie blog ( which I will def rectify after I finish this ), but I do follow her on her Rose Tyler blog ( ablondeinunionjack ), so I’m probably going to end up talking about her Rose more than her Ellie, but from what I can see she takes great care with the both of them.
I’ve been an admirer of hers for a really long time. I think she’s the only Rose I follow? Her writing is really lovely, and Rose is such a complex & great character. I’m looking forward to following her Ellie now as well because I know it’ll just be more of the same.
We actually haven’t had a chance to interact yet ( WHICH IS SUCH A SHAME ), but I’m very much hoping that we can do something soon on either ( or both!! ) of her lovely blogs.
( Eggsy. )
“Actually, it’s pretty boring,” he lets on. “S’just short for Gary. Or, well, longer for Gary, I guess. Dunno how, ’course. You’ll have to ask my mum, think she was the one who started calling me it. Or it might’a been my dad, I don’t remember. It stuck, though. Nobody really calls me Gary ’less I’m in trouble, see.”
He always thinks that story’s so underwhelming whenever he tells it. Which, well, it is. Because it isn’t really a story, is it? It’s just actually, it just means Gary. It’s fucking boring. He’s going to have to come up with something more exciting.
“How many guys try the rose for Rose thing, then? Most?”
And she’s tossing him a tongue-in-teeth grin (it’s practically trademarked, by now, really: the Rose Tyler Grin), delivering her comment just before she pops a chip into her mouth --- “Wha’, like Spongebob’s snail?” ( Rose can probably think of a better one, if she’d spent longer on it, but SEE? It’s not just her, surely --- something like this was bound to get annoying, especially so when repeated by every bloke ‘round. )
“Most,” she agrees, a slight curl to her lips as she tries for a better estimation -- “ ‘Bout three outta five? Had t’ do some Shakespeare, though, during my GCSEs, an’ there was a boy in class who’d recite the line outta Romeo an’ Juliet t’ me as often as he could -- the bit ‘bout how ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’; reckon he didn’t have the slightest clue what it meant, but, well. S’just a bit silly, all of tha’, isn’t it?”
They smile weakly against her hair, thin fingers absently skimming across her back. It’s soothing, the feel of her warm skin under their fingertips, signifying that she is in fact alive and well in their arms. They open their mouth hesitantly to answer, but then close it, unsure of how to answer, brown eyes staring at her in confusion. It’s not that they don’t feel well, but a day off would be nice anyways. They’d just had one of their particularly worse rounds of nightmares (although not the worst ones– not the ones that left them gasping for breath and in the throes of panic attacks in the middle of the night) and they really didn’t want to leave her side. So they’re a bit caught. They don’t want to lie and say they’re sick, but they also, don’t really want to leave the bed today. So instead of replying, they just duck their head back in again, closing their eyes. Maybe she won’t pressure.
The angle’s not quite right, what with the way they’re still embracing her just a fraction too tightly, but she manages anyway, digits moving to bury themselves in the other’s bedhead as soon as they decline to answer. Then she’s caressing their hair, momentarily suspended in that cozy state between sleep and wakefulness as the motion grows idle; mechanical. She doesn’t quite know why they’re being like this -- only that the both of them won’t seem to be attending work, today. This goes on for a few minutes, the blonde very nearly slipping back to sleep herself before she catches herself -- right. Her hand moves down to cup their jawline, instead, her gentle grip imploring them to meet her gaze -if they’re receptive, at all- as she tilts her own chin upwards, deliberating something as she eyes them. It just might be a bit contrasting, then, what she has to say next, with her gentle gestures taken into consideration -- “Shove over.” It’s delivered in a soft tone, but she’s telling them to budge, anyway, and give her space to move, mainly so she can retrieve her mobile from the side table -- “I’ll go leave Pete a message; tell him t’ not expect us today, yeah?”
ablondeinunionjack?
positivity roll call!!
ablondeinunionjack
ROSE MOTHERFUCKING TYLER WAS MY FIRST FAVOURITE CHARACTER OF MY TEENAGE LIFE. Also since I was like 8 but whatever. Seeing such a good Rose on my dash makes my heart leap to be honest because I really love them and I love seeing them and everything they do is so in character it’s amazing. I moved away from the Doctor Who fandom after RTD left because the writing and characterisation declined so fast but Rose will always remind me of the golden years of new!who and I am actually really grateful to this blog for keeping that alive for me.
As limbs slowly become more entangled, Mark says nothing even as he feels Rose’s hand tap on his knee. He refuses to admit just how much he enjoys the tender gesture, it having become a novelty that he was yet to be used to again. He’s comfortable and that is what matters to him, his left arm around her and her right around his, it’s nice even if he won’t quite utter the words just yet.
“God only knows why he was so confused. Try explaining it to him three times, but he wasn’t just getting the point of it. Might have cleared up a little when I showed ‘im just how much was down there. Can’t say it’s the most pleasant job I’ve done, eh. Shit, I’m used to, but condoms are way off the normal.”
While speaking, Mark continues to brush his thumb against her side, pulling her in slightly tighter to his side. He knew it wasn’t the room that made him feel so comfortable, but the woman he was with. He always felt his best when she was at his side, a strange phenomenon for him after months of being alone.
“Do I ‘ave to make sure you’re not putting anything wrong down the loo? Don’t think you’d be too happy if I had to be in there pulling up all the tiles. Wouldn’t be a too bad of a job if I had the company though.”
Evidently, the idea doesn't sit well with her, either, because features twist into a grimace - "Won't dispose of anythin' down the loo tha' 'm not supposed to, promise --- s' tha' enough of a reassurance, then? Mum would've killed me ages ago if I'd had, anyway." Blimey, this conversation was getting a bit off-track, wasn't it?
As odd as the route of conversation might've been taking, she's not showing any initiative to shut it down --- mainly so because that would involve the pair of them shifting apart, something she's not quite ready to do yet, on a lazy afternoon spent indoors. She's enjoying this - enjoying relaxing, for once, and not having to concern herself with a strenuous workload of her own ... it'd been why she'd come to Broadchurch at all, really -- to catch a break from day after day of alien-this or foreign-that with Torchwood -- Rose Tyler finding herself enjoying somebody else's company had been an unplanned luxury: one she’d gone far too long refusing. “Will I get a discount? If I ever do need a job done -- do I get a discount?” She’s teasing, and the fact’s prominent in the tongue-in-teeth grin she tosses Mark’s way --- pressed to his side, they’re practically joined at the hip now ( both figuratively and literally ), but somehow, she finds a way to scoot in closer, anyway, cheek pressed to his shoulder as she makes herself comfortable. It’s... she’s not too sure what they’ve got going here, but to be honest, she’s content with where they stand now, label or no label. “-- Know I’ll get a free lecture, ‘course, but y’give those to everybody, don’tcha?.”
“Cheers, love.”
Plenty of people just tell him to fuck off, so this is a nice change. He takes a chip and pops it into his mouth with a happy, little grin and then wipes the grease off on his jeans. A moment later, he offers out his hand for her to shake, deciding to be nice and pleasant, as she’s been to him.
“I’m Eggsy. Nice to meet ya.”
She checks, first, that it’s not the same hand he’d used to grab the chips with ( it wasn’t ), not that it made much of a difference -- her own fingers were undoubtedly greasy, too, now, the thick wad of paper napkins at her disposal aside, rendering the quick and subtle observation useless... but it mattered a little bit, alright? Somehow. ( Let her be; she’s tired. ) “Rose. Wha’ sort of a name is Eggsy, anyway? I mean, Rose is bad enough, considerin’ the amount of blokes who reckon they’re geniuses for making the connection an’ tryin’ t’ give me the flowers, like it’s impressive ... Eggsy, though -- gotta ‘ave a story behind that, yeah?”