Some days the only Richard Armitage fantasy
Going back to the original point of the blog: why is Richard Armitage on my mind so much?
You’d think after all this time, but no; or in this atmosphere, but no. Still on my mind. All the time.
And I guess it comes down, in the end, to the basic fantasy.
Sometimes when everything is too dumbfounding to be true: me, in bed, head on pillow, lying on my side. Fantasy Richard Armitage, half spooning, half covering me. He’s weighty and warm and he presses me into the mattress as I fall asleep and because he’s there, I can’t be lost.
If I’m honest he still gets me through the bad days as he has done for all these years now. Not the same fantasy but the idea that he is “out there”. I find that a comfort.
Me, too, Teuchter.
it’s a very comforting idea.
I feel/agree the same way you do, Teuchter, about Mr. Richard Armitage.
His superpower, comforting.
or he’s a mirror against which I project my own capacity to comfort …
Hm, I think I’d always fall short.