dendritic-trees:

frrancesc:

“What would I give for a playboy who couldn’t keep it in his pants, and who runs through women? What I have is a son who shows no interest in them. What you do at night with your boys, after your show of skirt-chasing, is a disgrace.”

#his acting in this scene #just #just this alone #oh my god #the way you can feel every single emotional punch his father lands on him #and how he still tries to keep it together#not let the tears fall #don’t let him see #how he grits his jaw #that little spasm #an he’s about to roll his lips into his mouth but doesn’t #just breathe #breathe breathe breathe #it fucking murders me #every time #your talent blows me backwards #you’re such a gift #im forever thankful that you”ve graced my screen

nonasuch:

Someday— possibly someday soon— Sebastian Stan’s agent is going to call him with a script.

“What’s the role?” he’ll ask.

“Well,” Sebastian Stan’s agent will say, “he’s the closeted son of a politician, struggling with PTSD after his military service.”

“Uh-huh. What’s he named?”

“Theodore Roosevelt O’Toole, but—”

“I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to read the script first?”

“No. No need. This is the role I was born to play.

"Do I get to kiss boys and cry about my fucked up life and choices?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Where do I sign?