Today’s Tag Teams: In the Hobbit chain, Mrs. E.B. Darcy projects what our hero may do in TH: There and Back Again • Ana Cris discusses a Maori ceremony Mr. Armitage witnessed in New Zealand’s mountains • In King Richard Armitage, fitzg guestposts at judiang’s on non-Richard roles for Armitage in a Richard III project • In fanfic, Jas Rangoon continues her modern N&S fic • Maria Grazia presents an interview with Cat Winchester and giveaway of her book, Northern Light • In freeform, fedoralady asks about our dream Armitage-narrated audiobooks • John Thornton wonders if anyone else could play him • Agzy discusses Heinz Kruger’s sartorial choices — and what’s underneath them! • In fandom, jazzbaby1 maps Armitage in the Tommyverse • Links to all FanstRA 3 posts appear here at the end of each day.
This post is inspired, but not exactly based on, Richard Armitage’s character in Between the Sheets.
Say what you want about Paul, that doesn’t really matter, because all we really care about are those peaches he has on such a marvellous display. Yes, even if we won’t admit it, we do like to admire his body in all its glory. (Even though I’m personally quite happy not to see the crown jewels. That would feel wayyyyy to awkward!) But then there’s the point of Paul potentially being unfaithful to his spouse, and that brings up a few interesting thoughts for those of us who are in steady relationships – and/or are married … Because as much as we love Richard Armitage, where does that leave our significant others? Time to come clean …
If Richard Armitage came knocking on my door wearing a cravat, offering me a single, red rose and a box of Thornton’s chocolates, and say he’d take me away here and now … well, aside from feeling deeply underdressed for such a momentous occasion (judging by my not-so-flattering appearance writing this), and wondering if my breath smells, and of course being so shocked I wouldn’t know what to say … I’d probably invite him in for a hot drink – because after all, what an opportunity to get to know in real life and have an actual conversation with him! – but would I put my shoes on, grab my keys and go?
No. No, I wouldn’t, and that’s something I’ve wanted to make absolutely clear for a very long time now.
I know I probably come across as a lusty fangirl at times, and while I can’t exactly deny the fangirl part, I will definitely dispute the “lusty” part. Just because I admire someone’s physical appearance doesn’t actually make me want to have sex with them. It would probably make me a lot happier if that was the case, but it isn’t.
I don’t want to get into personal specifics here, because this is a public place for everyone in the world to see, but in short, I’m terribly romantic person who appreciates beauty and other fine things in life (astrology fans out there: Taurus is my Moon sign). That’s why I’m a foodie, for instance. It’s also the reason why I greatly admire actors I find attractive … but it’s a sort of abstract pursuit.
Looking at a photo of Richard Armitage, I’ll look at it, at him, and appreciate his face and his body. I like the little lines around his eyes, the curve of his lips, the shape of his nose, the lines his body makes with clothing, and find it all very, very beautiful. More so because the man inside is even more beautiful than the outside. I’ll look at his peaches, finding them a great specimen of a pair of buttocks (there, I said it!) and find it all very visually appealing, and might wonder how they feel to touch … but I’m not picturing myself there, and I certainly don’t get aroused by seeing his bare backside.
Same goes for any actor I’ll be completely gobsmacked when watching and more often than not, gush over in a blog post. It’s kind of like having a particularly beautiful painting on the wall. I enjoy looking at it, admiring it for its beauty, loving every bit of it because it’s so gorgeous to behold … but that’s it. I would never imagine any of them while having sex, for instance. That’s not how I work at all, and if anything, I’d feel a little bit as if I was cheating, and that would be such a turn-off.
No, if anything, I’m a romance junkie, and that painting I mentioned? I’d be more inclined to want to cuddle up in its arms and having it reciting choice passages from Jane Eyre to me. Like the first 41 seconds of this clip. Sorry, it doesn’t have Richard Armitage in it and the film it’s from turned out to suck, but oh, Ken Olin à la 1997, reciting poetry in bed … wow. See? That’s what I’m talking about. That part is my idea of a fantasy, not the bit that obviously happened to make them both end up in bed together. I’m in love with ideas more than anything, I think.
But the one person who I love, not as an idea, but with with all my heart, body and soul, is the man I married, who gets referred to here only as “The Squeeze” and only when occasion calls for it? Should he be jealous that I find Richard Armitage (and Ken Olin, and others *cough*) attractive? That I collect DVD:s of shoddy films and TV-series just because they were in it? Depends on how you look at it, I suppose, but I think of them more as pretty paintings. I like to rest my eyes on them once in a while, but that’s all. The Squeeze is the one I snuggle up to at night, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Also, in all honesty, there is also something we could call “spun/exaggerated for entertainment purposes”, which I’m pretty sure we all do at one point or another. As in, we don’t literally swoon when we see JT kiss Margaret, do we? Nor do we actually drool when we see Lucas North getting out of a boiler suit. No, we just use exaggerated expressions to illustrate an emotional point. So if I’m gushing about how fantastically wonderful Richard Armitage (or anyone else) is, yes, I really do think he’s fantastically wonderful … but perhaps not to quite the same degree as it would seem.
Actually, bad example. Take any “fancying the pants off” (and similar) comments instead, that would be more appropriate: I have no wish whatsoever to get personally acquainted with what the man’s pants is hiding, no matter how gorgeous he is from the waist up. Truth be known, I’d rather have them with their clothes on, giving me a cuddle. Kissing. (I love kissing.) The rest is better left to imagination. Someone else’s, that is; not mine …
I love to love, and that’s my drug of choice. It’s comparatively cheap, money-wise, but can get a little emotionally exhausting at times. And I love the idea of loving Richard Armitage. But it’s nothing but a mirage. I have already found my real-life Perfect Man (who of course isn’t perfect at all, because no one ever is, and we love them despite their flaws), and if I was to describe a painting of what he would look like, I would give the description of someone tall, dark and handsome. (Preferably Irish.) That would be my image of the Perfect Man … but what I would see when I close my eyes and told to picture who my heart belongs to … unless he had walked me down the isle, it wouldn’t be Richard Armitage, put it that way … It would be my very own King of Hearts:
|Not Henry VIII, obviously! The Squeeze.
There just happens to be an uncanny
resemblance, especially in this picture.
(The Squeeze is the better looking one,
but this is as close as you’re gonna get.)
Ahh, I think I feel better now. Sorry for the post being really long. Just had a lot on my chest today.
Was it as good for you as it was for me? ;]