Andrew Scott - Tumblr Posts - Page 3
Thanks to the lovely @sincericida we have a panorama of thespian talent on display. Hats off to those who provide us with stage and screen professional insight and delight us with their range of human emotions and portrayals of characters. What a year it's been and so much to look forward to in 2024.
ANDREW GARFIELD
moderating a screening of "All of Us Strangers" tonight in the UK with Claire Foy, Andrew Scott, and Andrew Haigh.
(source)
So very good that these two talents were cast in these roles. Riveting and I am so looking forward to the release. Insane to think that the original Orwell novel was published in 1949, 75 years ago and yet is just as compelling as it ever was.
RadioTimes.com has an exclusive 6 minute clip of Andrew Scott and Andrew Garfield from the upcoming Audible Original adaptation of 1984
Prepare to hear George Orwell's 1984 like you've never heard it before, with a new adaptation coming to Audible – and RadioTimes.com has an exclusive first listen!
Winston (played by Garfield) is in the torture chamber in the Ministry and is being put through a harrowing ordeal by O'Brien (played by Scott).
George Orwell's 1984: An Audible Original adaptation – Enter Room 101...
AND Damian Lewis.
Band of Brothers with:
Tom Hardy
Simon Pegg
Michael Fassbender James McAvoy
Richard Speight Jr.
Andrew Scott
I still don't understand "The Final Problem"
My mom: (idk what she was talking about here) “is tHAT IT?!” Me: Mother, you have just summed up my feelings for last night’s Sherlock episode (the final problem) in a sentence.
1917 (Dir: Sam Mendes, 2019).
A fact-based, fictionalised epic First World War drama from director Sam Mendes.
During WWI, Lance Corporals William Schofield (George MacKay) and Tom Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) must risk their lives crossing no man’s land in order to deliver a message to call off a planned attack on the German army. With field telephone lines down, news that the attack would jeopardise the lives of 1600 Brits, including Tom’s brother Lieutenant Joseph Blake (Richard Madden), must be relayed in person.
Read the full review on my blog JINGLE BONES MOVIE TIME! Link below.
#touch starved people of 2020
Morning After - Jim Moriarty
Pairing: Jim Moriarty x Reader
Warnings: insinuates a naughty night before :O
Summary: Short morning fluff w/ Moriarty + some angst
Author’s Note: I’m still upset over this show - Kelsie
Word Count: 447
Keep reading
Kerry Washington se Une al Elenco de 'Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mistery'.
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so, very soon, there will be a spooke month(!), so I decided to draw the corresponding art (*⌒∇⌒*)
It's been a while since there's been any work on Sherlock, right? I think so too, lol
Moriarty & the Priest
(This will contain spoilers for the second season of Fleabag)
So, I discovered the fic These Violent Delights by @pasiphile (and its accompanying stories) last year and it was incredible. I have loved Andrew Scott’s Jim Moriarty since the freaking pool scene and just devoured the world that @pasiphile has created. Truly spectacular. It’s canon as far as I’m concerned.
Then I saw that Andrew Scott was playing a character in the show Fleabag so I watched a clip on youtube from the show (of him and Fleabag making out by a confessional) and I thought, “I have to watch this show.”
So, I watched it. And it was beautiful. Bittersweet. I started watching the second season again and this thought popped into my brain (and I can’t have been the first to think this):
What if, after Jim “died,” he spent the ensuing time (before his resurrection) becoming a priest?
(Now, I like to consider myself to be a fanfic reader of discerning taste. In any crossover fic there has to be a believable reason for the crossover. I’m pretty good with the whole “expansion of disbelief” thing, but there are limits.)
So, here’s how it would work:
Jim “kills” himself on the roof of the hospital and he needs to lie low for awhile. He needs to distance himself from Seb because while the rest of the world may be ignorant of Seb’s existence, the criminal world is rife with information (all rumors and hearsay because Jim is nothing if not thorough) and they can’t be seen together (or even rumored to be seen together) until Jim’s ready for the next stage of his plan to commence. What’s he gonna do in the interim? He’s not going to be himself, that’s for sure. And a priest is pretty far removed from consulting criminal, so why not go to seminary?
He’s ordained and is sent to a perish and that is where we enter the Fleabag universe (yeah, we might be getting a bit timey-whimey, get over it). One thing he forgot was how Seb helped ground him in reality. Without him (and his Web) it is easy to get lost in a character. He’s molded himself into this foulmouthed priest and people are drawn to him - they can’t help themselves. Jim’s magnetism is a lot harder to hide, easier to do for smaller characters, and he makes it work for the priest. He meets this woman, this beautifully tragic woman who doesn’t fit in with the rest of the world - her resonance doesn’t quite match up.
(I love that, in the show, the Priest is the only one who notices Fleabag’s 4th wall breaks. That is such a Jim thing - after all, the Priest may not be Jim but Jim is the Priest and he can never fully turn off his brain. Of course he’s going to notice someone slipping away here and there.)
Jim loves chaos, he thrives in it - it’s never chaotic for him - and he revels in the chance to see what chaos this woman will cause. He reads her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness - it’s intoxicating.
(At the dinner scene in the restaurant, when Fleabag asks if he is a real priest, she surprises him. He can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. But Jim is Jim and his mask stays up. Yes, he is a real priest. But, darling, he doesn’t say, I’m so much more.)
Jim enjoys making her fall in love with him, pretending to be so vulnerable and so human. It’s beautiful and, despite being predictable, it’s the most fun he’s had since before the trial - before he began to lose himself in Rich Brook and before he started distancing himself from Seb. And for a moment Jim’s irreversibly furious at Seb for turning him into such a romantic idiot. But that’s the Priest, not Jim. Jim doesn’t love. Jim owns.
(When their drinking G&Ts in his garden and he tells her they’re not going to have sex he knows he’s lying. He also wishes that he could convince her to drop it. He doesn’t really like sex - this stint as a priest is hardly his first go of celibacy. [Seb is the exception, of course, but that had more to do with Seb than Jim.] But then he get’s a bit bored and messes with his own plan and has her bear her soul to him in the confessional. For a second he’s Jim Moriarty again, commanding his subjects to kneel. He can see how uncomfortable this makes her, how vulnerable she is. And he almost laughs. But instead he drags the Priest back up and the Priest kneels before he and kisses her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing to the ground.
In the end, they do have sex. Of course they do. Even she knew they would. And it’s…not his worst sexual experience. She’s not Seb, so the emotion she’s practically suffocating him with is uncomfortable. But she’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with him. Interesting…and a bit disappointing.
He notices it at the wedding. Her resonance is not quite as off as it use to be. She’s a bit less out of step with the everyone else around her. And he’s so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now. But he knew it would end like this, of course.)
He leaves, pretends to be heartbroken about it, pretends to love her, even manages to shed a few tears. But he has an empire to get back to, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all.
He leaves, because that’s what people do.
So, I decided to write the fic myself
I mean, it was half written anyways
You’re thirty-three when you shoot yourself in the head on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital. You’ve been holding London by the balls for almost ten years. Rich Brook may have been the (temporary) downfall of Sherlock Holmes, but he did more damage than you anticipated.
Seb has been picking up the slack over the last two years. He thinks that you can’t see the consequences of your obsession, but Seb can be so annoyingly human sometimes. You see everything. It was always going to end like this. But you didn’t anticipate the effect it would have on Seb. He’s surprised you again. Despite everything, he still loves you. He can be so annoyingly human sometimes.
The story can’t pick up again for another five years. You need to distance yourself from your kingdom. The stories of your reign need time to become legends. And you just know Seb is going to hold a grudge about this, he always did have trouble seeing the whole picture.
So, you have five years to spare. Five years to disappear into somebody else, somebody less. It’s all planned out, you’re going to Allen Hall. Maybe you should leave London, but people are so boring and this is the last place they’ll look for you. Seb won’t want to stick around and someone needs to keep an eye of things. Even if it is the distant eye of a broken man determined to change his life by going to seminary and becoming a priest. That really is the last place anyone would look for you.
You enter seminary and it quickly becomes a bit of a game. You’re thirty-three, older than the other prospective priests but you’re used to being an outsider. So, you push boundaries. You never paid them any mind before, why should you start now? You swear more than is acceptable, you talk about your alcoholic parents, you even make up a pedophile brother. (Seb would love that one. You’ll have to tell him about the silence that follows whenever you drop that tidbit). But like all games, you grow weary of this one. Everyone is so fucking predictable. You wish you could just sleep through the next five years.
At long last you're ordained. You do your six months as a deacon and every day you contemplate stabbing the priest in the face. He’s an old fucker. Probably wouldn’t live much longer even if you weren’t there to speed things along with a touch of aconite. He had a weak heart an no one questions the heart attack he suffers the week before your parish assignment comes through. Asking you to take over is only logical.
Things get a bit more interesting after that. Pam really keeps you on your toes, she’s always there when you turn around – you contemplate getting a little bell for her to wear around her neck. The parishioners are a bit of fun. You revisit your game from seminary – push boundaries just to see how far you can push them. And then this batty woman comes and ask you to be the priest at her wedding to the father of her godchildren. You leap at the chance to join them for dinner and that’s when you meet her. There’s something just a bit...off with her. She’s resonating at a different frequency than everyone else – an outsider, like you but not like you.
When you meet her at the restaurant she asks if you’re a real priest; she surprises you. You can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. Yes, you say, I’m a real priest. But, darling, you doesn’t say, I’m so much more.
She’s good, but no one is as good at wearing a mask as you. You read her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness – it’s intoxicating. The chaos she brings would be a work of art, were it intentional. You want to harness it, own it, teach her to wield it like a knife. But that won’t work. She doesn’t mean for any of it to happen – it’s her sister who had the miscarriage, obviously, and the ensuing violence simply the result of sisterly affection. But, God, who gives someone a voucher for counseling? (That’s another thing you’ll have to tell Seb about – that list is starting to get long.)
There are these moments when she slips away. You don’t know where she goes, don’t see the destination. That intrigues you more than it should. It’s more of a testament about your life these last few years than it is of her. But where is she going? It infuriates you that you can’t figure it out.
You have time, and you know how this ends, but everyone else is so very boring; you don’t care that she’ll be just as boring afterwards. You’re exile is nearly over and you’ve missed making the world dance for you. She falls for you easily, so ready to believe how vulnerable and how human you are. It’s so predictable and so beautiful and so fun – the most fun you’ve had since before the trial. (Before you began to lose yourself in Rich Brook and before you began distancing yourself from Seb.) You know how this ends, but why shouldn’t you have your fun?
You’re not going to have sex, you tell her in the back garden, drinking those disgusting canned G&Ts from M&S. That’s a lie, but you almost wish it weren’t. You don’t really like sex – this stint as a priest is hardly your first go at celibacy. Seb is the exception, of course, but that has more to do with Seb than you. And if there is anyone to blame for this mess, it’s Seb. You find yourself furious at him for turning you into such a romantic idiot. You’re Jim Moriarty – you don’t love, you own. But you’re not Jim Moriarty – Jim died almost five years ago and it’s not yet time for him to return. Right now, you’re the broken priest with the broken girl falling in love with you. It’s as hilarious as it is annoying.
And maybe it’s out of spite, or maybe it’s out of boredom, but you’re starting to get a bit tired of this charade. You pry a bit too much, pick at the wounds she tries so hard to hide, and kicks you out of her little cafe. It won’t last, you know, and it doesn’t. She’s runs back to you later the same night. You act the tipsy fool and convince her to bare her soul to you in the confessional. You tell her to kneel and for a second, you’re Jim Moriarty again – back on your throne with genuflecting subjects before you. You revel in her discomfort and to stop yourself from laughing you kneel down and kiss her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing down to the ground.
You fuck her a few nights later. It’s not your worst sexual experience, but she’s not Seb. She’s suffocates you with her emotions and you’re honestly surprised you can even perform under these conditions. She’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with you. And isn’t that interesting? And just a tiny bit disappointing?
You notice it at the wedding – she’s still out of step with everyone around her, but it’s a bit less obvious now. And you knew this would happen, but still, your so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now.
You leave, pretend to be all heartbroken about it, pretend to love her. You even manage to shed a few tears. But you have an empire to reclaim, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all.
You leave, because that’s what people do.
“They all want me. Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex.”