The World Beyond BetterMost > The Culture Tent
London Spy: Ben Whishaw, dreamy lover/genius Ed Holcroft and sage Jim Broadbent
Aloysius J. Gleek:
LONDONSPYFANARTJO
http://j000000.tumblr.com
Woah, Very odd! Looks like a slash of London Spy and Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials--
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/His_Dark_Materials
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A6mon_(His_Dark_Materials)
Jo's 'Chibi' Danny and Alex now seem to have their very own dæmons--Danny has a silver fox and Alex has a little bunny--
Well, why not??
18th April 2016
Request from my friend again : D
My friend and I’ve got an idea about
sentinel/guide Danny and Alex.
Their spiritual animals are grey fox
and rabbit. X D Grey fox loves his
bunny so much so he always drags
him everywhere.
http://j000000.tumblr.com/post/143018602806/request-from-my-friend-again-d-my-friend-and-ive
Tags: london spy Danny x Alex
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A6mon_(His_Dark_Materials)
Dæmon (His Dark Materials)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
A dæmon /ˈdiːmən/ is a type of fictional being in the Philip Pullman fantasy trilogy His Dark Materials. Dæmons are the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner-self' that takes the form of an animal. Dæmons have human intelligence, are capable of human speech—regardless of the form they take—and usually behave as though they are independent of their humans. Pre-pubescent children's dæmons can change form voluntarily, almost instantaneously, to become any creature, real or imaginary. During their adolescence a person's dæmon undergoes "settling", an event in which that person's dæmon permanently and involuntarily assumes the form of the animal which the person most resembles in character. Dæmons and their humans are almost always of different genders.
Although dæmons mimic the appearance and behaviour of the animals they resemble perfectly, dæmons are not true animals, and humans, other dæmons, and true animals are able to distinguish them on sight. The faculty or quality that makes this possible is not explained in the books, but it is demonstrated extensively, and is reliable enough to allow humans to distinguish a bird-shaped dæmon within a flock of birds in flight.
Dæmons frequently interact with each in other in ways that mirror the behavior of their humans, such as fighting one another when their humans are fighting, or nuzzling one another when their humans embrace, and such contact between dæmons is unremarkable.
Form
In Lyra's world, every human or witch has a dæmon which manifests itself as an animal.[2] It is separate from, and outside its human, despite being an integral part of that person (i.e. they are one entity in two bodies).
Humans in every universe are said to have dæmons, although in some universes they are invisible. In our universe, the books suggest, dæmons are integrated within the person. They have a naturally occurring external physical manifestation in Lyra's universe and some others. Dæmons that are already physical, such as Lyra's dæmon Pantalaimon, remain external even when they visit universes with normally-internal dæmons, such as our own universe. Typically dæmons and their humans are conscious or sleep at the same time. However, the dæmons of witches and shamans—as revealed in The Amber Spyglass—can remain awake while their humans sleep, and it is implied in Northern Lights that cedarwood can have a soporific effect on dæmons that allows them to sleep even if their humans are awake.
"The worst breach of etiquette imaginable" is for a human to touch another person's dæmon; even in battle, most soldiers would never touch an enemy's dæmon, though exceptions can be made (such as between lovers). The physical handling of a dæmon causes vulnerability and weakness in the person whose dæmon is being touched, suggesting a sexual element to human-dæmon contact. Lyra Belacqua feels violated when doctors manhandle her dæmon into a machine intended to separate them, and later experiences a flush when Pantalaimon licks Will Parry's injuries while in an Irish wolfhound form to comfort him due to Will lacking a dæmon of his own. However, dæmons can touch other dæmons freely; interactions between dæmons usually accentuate and illuminate the relationships between the characters, and can also be used as a means of passing information between humans without being overheard.
A child's dæmon has no fixed form, and may suddenly change into another animal's shape according to whim and circumstance. This "shape-shifting" ability, and the fact that a dæmon disappears instantly upon its human's death, implies that dæmons are not completely corporeal. However, their bodies are solid, and they can interact fully with people and objects in the material world. In Northern Lights (titled The Golden Compass in the US) and The Amber Spyglass, it is noted that Pantalaimon has a heartbeat of his own.
As children develop their mature personalities, (during puberty), their dæmons "settle" into a form which reflects the person's personality. For example, a human with a dog dæmon may tend to follow authority—in Northern Lights it is noted that all servants have dog dæmons (although a maid was noted with a hen dæmon)—and likewise all witches' dæmons take the form of a bird of some kind. A person with a cat dæmon may be very independent. There is no mention that some extraordinary change in personality might cause a dæmon's form to later change. At the beginning of the trilogy, Lord Asriel claims that the act of settling triggers Dust to begin to be attracted to the person.
A person's dæmon is usually of the opposite sex to its human; however, very occasionally, it may be the same sex as the person. Pullman has admitted that the reason for this is unknown even to himself, and has agreed that it may also indicate some other gift or quality, such as second sight, or that the person is homosexual, adding "There are plenty of things about my worlds I don’t know, and that’s one of them".[3] The single reference to such individuals is in Northern Lights, where their rarity is established.
Mary Malone is taught that, with practice, it is possible to see non-physical manifestations of dæmons in her (our) universe of people who do not even know that they have them. The suggestion is that we all have dæmons, but we have not learned to recognize and display them.
Hans Holbein the Younger's
"Lady with a Squirrel" (1526-8)
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo
"La Jeune Fille au Perroquet"
c. 1758-1760
Leonardo da Vinci's "Lady with an Ermine"
(1489–90), along with two portraits by
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo and Hans Holbein the Younger,
helped inspire Pullman's "dæmon" concept.
Aloysius J. Gleek:
LONDONSPYFANFIC
FYI (something I never knew before)
RPF stands for Real Person Fiction. Fictional stories relating to the lives of the famous from movies, bands, etc.
As in a fictional story written about the interactions between ___(fill in the blank)___ cast members.
:o :o :o
Countess Olivia!
OMG, How did you even dare??
(Heh heh!!)
:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:A Kiss
in the
Dressing Room
A Kiss in the Dressing Room
By thecountessolivia
Published: 04-10-2016
http://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
http://archiveofourown.org/works/6502828?view_adult=true
Summary:
"I don't think you need to worry about it, mate. It was your first sex scene
and he's fit and nice and you're friends. Anyway, I reckon he's just one of
those people: everyone fancies him a little bit."
(With deep, deep, PROFOUND apologies from the author)
He is hugged and offered herbal tea. After that he tries not to grin too widely and stare, starry-eyed and stupid.
It's been months since he's seen that face in the flesh. It's well-rested and beaming, as strangely fluid and intensely expressive as he'd remembered. Even underneath that thick, unruly beard.
It's those eyes, isn't it? Those... really pretty damn extraordinary green eyes. They're everywhere. They fill up the small dressing room. Even as they greet and chat through their pleasantries, he's latching onto those eyes, soaking them up.
He's embarrassed by how hard his heart is pounding.
Goddamnit, get a grip.
---------------
He'd always been jealous of that face. Even as a student at Central Saint Martins, when he was already starting to suspect that his own oh-so-British good looks would typecast him as the posh or romantic type, he'd wished for that face in place of his own. Once, he went to the library with mates and watched, slack-jawed, a recording of that legendary "Hamlet" - the Old Vic one. He was awed and despondent in equal measure. He'd always had confidence in spades but afterwards he knew he'd never be anywhere near as good.
But then came his big break and he couldn't stop grinning, giddy with glee to be learning from and sharing screentime with someone like that: the greatest talent of his generation. He felt all that brilliance rubbing off. He felt confident in his abilities. And by the end he was beaming with pride at the work they'd done together as equals. He got rave reviews.
Edward Holcroft (left) and Ben Whishaw to star in London Spy
http://www.newnownext.com/ben-whishaw-lands-lead-in-london-spy/10/2014/
Final day of shooting: Ben Whishaw & Edward Holcroft filming London Spy, 15 February 2015
What he never expected was for his mind to get stuck in a weird loop. A year had passed since they shot those scenes together. They had a brilliant time. Tons of laughs. Went out and got pissed. And he can't put it out of his fucking head.
"It" what exactly? What is this?
It's not like he really dwells on it. He's busier than ever. The agent is practically hammering him with offers and, if he's honest about it, he feels kind of overwhelmed. On top of that, he's dating left and right. But then he gets the odd stretch of time to himself, on the tube, in the shower - Christ, even then - and he's back to that cozy little spot in his head. That shoot. The two of them, hanging out, chatting, him taking on sincere and useful advice. That one scene. Touching, pretending. Pretending so well.
He always thought he was the touchy-feely type - but he'd never met anyone whose tactility was such a natural extension of themselves. While they worked and went out together, he'd feel himself sort of wrapped up in that presence, in that that voice, in all that kind, kind touch.
And that face.
Blokes aren't his thing, never were. Married blokes who also happen to be fellow professionals are definitely not his thing. That being said, he's pretty relaxed about the possibility that he might not be as straight as he'd always thought himself to be. Hell, it almost comes with the job. It's just that he can't think of anyone else that has wreaked such havoc with his brain's natural order of things.
You do one sex scene and your brain turns to mush.
In interviews he barely held back on the gushing: "Kind. Fun. Generous".
Amazing and beautiful.
He was on the verge of questioning his own professionalism. He was on the verge of writing a song about it, for fuck's sake. "It", he finally savvied, was the novel sensation of pining.
In the end, he relieved himself to his best mate and, for a while anyway, he felt better:
"I don't think you need to worry about it, mate. It was your first sex scene and he's fit and nice and you're friends. And he's like your idol. You're starstruck. Anyway, I reckon he's just one of those people: everyone fancies him a little bit."
---------------
Over the past few months he'd send off the odd text or photo to say hello, squirming and hopeful each time he did. Sometimes he'd hear nothing in response, sometimes they'd swap back and forth a bit of matey banter that would trail off in time.
And now he's here. In New York. In a sparse-looking dressing room on 48th Street. He genuinely thought it'd be more... bohemian or something. It's got flowers, pictures of family and husband, boxes of herbal tea, not much more. It must be, he figures, that the energy of that wild-haired presence is decor enough.
He'd pretty much invited himself, claimed he was just passing through - which was true, except he'd had the tickets to the play sorted out months ago.
He's met like a proper mate, even gets a peck on the cheek. There it is again: all that - that kindness.
They sink to the sofa, arms cast about each other's shoulders, casual and friendly.
"So, so glad you made it." He's being smiled at, his knee squeezed fondly. "Seeing it tonight?"
"And tomorrow. And last night, fourth row."
There's that laugh he knows a bit too well, not in the least from the endless interviews he's watched: shy, short, somehow sly. Sparkly. Silvery. So sweet. His stomach twists a bit.
"Last night! I wish I'd known. Enjoyed it?"
"Mm. It's intense stuff. I don't know how you do it. I don't think I could."
"You definitely could. Definitely. I'd love to see you do more stage stuff."
"I did that thing earlier this year..."
"With Dominic and Janet, yeah, I know. I was gutted to miss it. They're lovely those two, aren't they?"
"They are. It was loads of fun. All that swordplay..."
Somewhere in the back of his head a bad pun rattles about and he almost coughs. He changes topics and unfurls his most charming grin.
"The beard is intense."
What the hell is he doing? He's reached up and given it the tiniest of tugs. He feels bad almost immediately, but the shy little laugh of response turns into a giggle. His stomach twists again, a bit more this time.
"I like it. I think I'll keep growing it. By the time the run is over I'll be rocking the wizard look."
He laughs but can't think of a clever reply. His stupid tugging hand retreats, but not without helping itself to a tousle of dark hair. After that, he follows the green eyes as they fall meaningfully to the wall clock. The bustle of the cast and stagehands outside the door has grown louder.
"Hey, I'd better let you get on. You know the BAFTA noms? We should celebrate. How about a pint when you're done tonight? If you're not too knackered?"
Shit.
But the eyes spark at him with another smile.
"I'd love that. But better yet, have dinner with us later this week. Did I text you the address? We're in the [West] Village."
"Us". "We". "Husband and I".
Shit.
What else can he do? He smiles and nods.
"Sure, that'd be fun. I fly back on Tuesday. Sometime before then, if you can."
Their arms unwind. His hands are squeezed - kindly - and he squeezes back a little more.
"Anyway... break a leg. I'll try not to pull faces at you from the audience."
He leans in for a hug goodbye and, somewhere along the way, fucks things up spectacularly.
Licorice. No, fennel. Or is it cardamom?
Is that what he's tasting?
They're sweet and so warm. When he's put them flush against his own those lips are so, so warm. His palms press over the beard, ticklish, surprisingly soft, thumbs slid over those cheekbones and, fuckshitgoddamnitall, seconds are rolling past, the crew are laughing and chatting outside - and he's still there. No, it's worse than that: he's brought himself closer, wrapped an arm about that slight waist, made a little noise of arousal. He's pulled those lips open and made them wet with his own.
A soft, steady breath warms his whole face.
It's so good his heart hurts.
There is no resistance.
And no reciprocity.
---------------
He's being given time to understand and eventually draws back of his own volition.
Silence afterwards is not what he expected. He thought he'd be told off. Or laughed at. Or they'd laugh together.
Actually, he'd hoped he'd get kissed back.
Instead, he's being looked at. It's a soft, serious look.
So he prattles out all the things he thinks he should have been told.
"Sorry. That was a bit much. I shouldn't have done that. You're married."
In the end, folded under the silence of that gentle green gaze, he gets it: he's being given a chance to explain himself. And, as much as he can, he does.
"Sorry. It's just... I think I'm a bit confused. You're so... I'm still thinking about you. A lot."
"Let's have that pint and we'll talk about it. We'll work through it. Together. Okay?"
Kindness. All that kindness.
"Okay, yes. Please. Thank you. Thanks, Ben."
Notes:
For all the filthy fiction I've written on here, this is the only thing I feel guilty about. Sorry.
A thousand times sorry for indulging a long-standing, private fantasy. I couldn't help myself.
*crawls under a rock the size of a planet*
Notes:
Category: M/M
Fandoms: london spy rpf, London Spy, British Actor RPF
Relationship: Edward Holcroft/Ben Whishaw
Characters: Ben Whishaw, Edward Holcroft
Additional Tags: Sexual Confusion, I'm Sorry, Unrequited Crush, Awkward Flirting,
A thousand times sorry, Surprise Kissing
Aloysius J. Gleek:
N Y L O N U S Y O U N G H O L L Y W O O D M A Y 13 2 0 1 4
for Nylon US
Magazine Nylon US
Talent Edward Holcroft
Photography Mads Teglers
Stylist Jeanie Annan-Lewin
Hair Marcia Lee @ Caren
Makeup Bea Sweet
Aloysius J. Gleek:
LONDONSPY_ED_HOLCROFTWHISKERS_TO_DIE
http://londonspyfan.tumblr.com/post/136352846511/edward-holcroft
http://starringroles.tumblr.com/post/134788075617/edward-holcroft-photoshoots-2
Aloysius J. Gleek:
LONDONSPY_ED_HOLCROFTWHISKERS_TO_DIE
http://starringroles.tumblr.com/post/134788075617/edward-holcroft-photoshoots-2
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