Category Archives: robin hood

So Expressive: Guyday Friday

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Angry!

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Thoughtful . . . with a hint of smoulder.

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Alpha male intensity–verging on a smirk . . .

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Crinkles and concern.  So irresistible.

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Hopeful . . . questioning. *sigh*

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Suspicious . . . yet ridiculously hot.

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The smouldering smirk in the making.

Guyday Friday continues: Guy and Marian Vids, Art, GIFs

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If only she’d had the Good Taste Gene. Or better sight and hearing. Or been smarter. Oh, if only.

Marian, you’d have been his queen. Cherished, adored and very, very loved-up.  If you know what I mean . . . so stop trying to kick his arse and start–appreciating it. If you know what I mean . . .

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Oh, I love them both.

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Guy will always be my first RA love. But I do have quite a strong affection for a certain long-maned, soulful-eyed bearded warrior prince who also can be a bit prickly at times. And I have a big heart . . . and arms that heartily embrace both these complex, complicated, beautiful, regal, passionate creatures.

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Sir Guy: TOO Sexy for Nottingham?

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A continued Happy Guyday Friday to you all around the world (in some cases, I guess it’s Guyday Saturday, isn’t it?).

I went outside earlier and the sunshine was deceptive. It was cold–well, cold for here–and I got chilled. Got under the covers, have a heating pad and a cozy calico cat to warm me up. But thoughts of a certain TDHSBK also bring some heat–if you know what I mean. Sometimes he’s almost TOO sexy–not that I would ever change a thing!

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Guyday Friday: A dark knight, cream cheese and . . .

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“Ah, Ladywriter, it’s a special day tomorrow,”  Sir Guy said before taking an enthusiastic bite into a cinnamon raisin swirl bagel, generously smeared with brown sugar and cinnamon cream cheese spread. Not quite as good as one of those Cinnabon rolls, but pretty darned tasty.

Ladywriter took a sip of her coffee, which was generously laced with French vanilla liquid creamer.  Ladywriter has a tendency to trick things out.

“Yup. It’s–Groundhog Day. We’ll find out if we are going to have six more weeks of winter,” she said, looking at him through her lashes from over the rim of the over-sized mug.

Sir Guy, raising a skeptical brow, swallowed, giving LW an enticing glimpse of his bobbing Adam’s apple. Ladywriter loved watching Sir Guy eat. And since he could eat as much as he wanted and retain that lean, muscular physique (oh, the joys of being Loved into Being and So Not Dead!), she had ample opportunity to see that strong stubbled jaw in action . . . and never tired of it.

“I was not referring to that superstition about some furry creature seeing its shadow, Ladywriter.” The dark knight gave a manly sniff.

You know what tomorrow is, my lady,” he added in a reproving tone, a glint in those kohl-rimmed eyes.

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She smiled at him, a teasing smile, over the rim of her mug. “Doing research on the children’s book project, perhaps? We had a lovely meeting yesterday–”

Sir Guy gave an impatient toss to  his lustrous locks. “You may very well do some research and it may very well be Hedgehog Day–”

“Groundhog,” she gently corrected him.

Sir Guy folded his arms and gave her THAT look.

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“Ladywriter . . ” His voice rumbled in that silken tone tinged with a note of warning.

She set down her mug and raising her hands, bowed her head with a sigh. “I beg your pardon and humbly submit defeat, Sir Guy. Tomorrow is, in fact, my first blogiversary.”

Sir Guy’s mouth curled into a smirk of satisfaction. “Exactly. What you would call, I suppose, a–milestone?”

LW looked up at him with a grin. “Yes, indeed. A year’s worth of discussing, exploring and celebrating the amazing CReAtor and his cast of ChaRActers.”

Sir Guy gave a slow nod as he tilted his dark head. “And how will you celebrate this festive occasion?”

Her grin broadened. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, my dearest Sir Guy.”

He rolled his eyes and expelled a breath, cutting his eyes at her in a sidelong glance. “You know I do not like waiting.”

“Don’t I know it . . .”

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“I will say this, Sir Guy. There could be–cake.”

His eyes brightened. “Chocolate cake?”

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“What other kind is there, Sir Guy?”

Sir Guy’s lips curled into a smile almost as delicious as the mouth-watering slice of chocolate decadence he was envisioning.  “I am looking forward to that . . .”

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Ladywriter heaved an inward sigh of relief. Thoughts of chocolate would drive thoughts of a certain vertically-challenged hairy hottie out of his mind for a while. She had work to do . . .

Farewell to Guyday Friday with a little ‘Fever’

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I know it’s been miserably cold in a lot of Armitage World of late with snow and mind-(and body)numbing temperatures. With that in mind, Sir Guy and I hope to warm things up for you a bit as we prepare to bid farewell to Guyday Friday . . . stay safe and warm and toasty, folks! Talk it away, Peggy . . .

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Sir Guy weighs in on his ‘unmentionables’: Happy Guyday Friday!

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“You ladies have been having quite an enjoyable time of it discussing my–unmentionables, it seems.”

Sir Guy’s deep voice rumbled in Ladywriter’s ears that GuydayFriday morning.  He was lounging against one of the posts of the four-poster bed, his shapely lips curled into a mocking smirk.

He’d decided (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Ladywriter had) to change his attire for the occasion. No Guy S3 Marvel of Engineering Trousers and Floppy Black Pirate Shirt. Not even his S2 leathers.

The World’s Sexiest Knight was sporting a modern pair of sleek  black leather trousers, a dove grey v-neck silk T-shirt and a black leather jacket–suitable attire for the mild winter weather of Lower Alabama.

The leather looked buttery soft and supremely touchable. Well, to be honest, all of him did, from his artfully tousled dark mane  and designer stubble right down to those handsome black boots that almost begged to be tugged off–

“Ladywriter . . . have you gone into some sort of–trance?”

“Hmmm–what? Oh, no, just–thinking about–uhmm, stuff.” Ladywriter felt like smacking herself in the head.

That was a seriously lame response. 

Judging by the expression on Sir Guy’s face, he knew exactly what she’d been contemplating.

She cleared her throat, tossed back her less-artfully tousled blonde tresses and tented her fingers.

“We’ve–that is, the ladies and I–have come to the conclusion that, whilst wearing a replica of braies for the armor fitting scene,  your CReAtor would likely have typically worn a modern garment beneath his costume for convenience and comfort’s sake. All that running and horseback riding really would have required it.”

Sir Guy, his arms folded across his chest, nodded slowly. “That sounds reasonable. He would have needed something to come between him and his leathers.” He arched a single brow. “For convenience and comfort’s sake, as you say.”

The CReAtor may have sported something along these lines--a form-fitting mid-thigh brief--to avoid those dreaded VPL. and to prevent chafing during active riding/fighting scenes.

The CReAtor may have sported something along these lines–a form-fitting mid-thigh brief–to avoid those dreaded VPLs and to prevent chafing during active riding/fighting scenes. Mr. Armitage would, of course, look much better in them than this model.

He flashed a distinctly wolfish grin.

“No going–what do you call it? Commando?–as we ChaRActers sometimes do in your fanfics.” The grin grew broader as he unfolded his arms to grasp the metal post with one hand and lean in towards her.

Oh, heavens, he was in full Seductive Charmer Mode today.

“And have you noticed what some of these modern male undergarments are called?” Guy said in a silken teasing tone.

Bond's Guy-front men's trunks. Hot Medieval Henchman-approved.

Bond’s Guy-front men’s trunks. Hot Medieval Henchman-approved.

Ladywriter lifted her eyebrows and gave her favorite dark knight a smirk of her own.

“You wouldn’t be referring to the GUY fronts, would you?”

A deep chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I would . . . ”

“They weren’t actually named after you, you do know that, don’t you?”

“You have your little fantasies, LW, let me have mine . . .”

He’s incorrigible.

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And irresistible.

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And we like it that way. Happy Guyday Friday!

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“So, does your man wear Guy-fronts? They were named after me, you know . . .”

So what DOES the Hot Henchman wear under his leathers?

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Study this view carefully. Do you notice any tell-tale undergarment lines?

Study this view carefully. Do you notice any tell-tale undergarment lines?

Somehow the comments on a  recent post began to delve into the subject of men’s undies and what versions Mr. A favors, and then ventured into commando versus boxers vs. briefs and well–I think everyone was just giggling like a gaggle of schoolgirls by then.

The subject of just what our dear henchman, the glorious Sir Guy, wears under those rather form-fitting (and what a form!) leathers of his also arose. We certainly wish for our favorite baddie-but-not-really to have freedom of movement and be as comfortable as possible as he slinks through the castle corridors, rides his mighty steed and races (alas, in vain) to capture that deemed elusive Hood from the Vale.

We did actually get a glimpse of Sir Guy’s undies in the second season in that very memorable scene when Marian visits Sir Guy and discovers him trying on his shiny new armor in the candlelight.

In medieval times, men did wear braies as undergarments. Occasionally the show did get some historical details right.

In medieval times, men did wear braies as undergarments. Occasionally the show did get some historical details right.

Let’s take another look at them, shall we?

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I am trying to study the braies themself but find my attention keeps straying to the sculpted abdominals, the perky chesticles, the buff biceps . . .  what was I saying?

I’d better dress the man again.

BeFunky_rh206_114ffffHmmmm. Not sure that helped.  OK, back to Sir Guy trying on his armor. Let’s do a GIF this time, shall we? Click on Sir Guy!

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Hmmm. Let’s try dressing him again. In a GIF. Click on that slinky figure in black.

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OK, I think we need a frontal view GIF, too–for thorough research.

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Let’s see, where was I? . . . oh, yes. Guy. Leathers. Underwear. What fabric? Something really soft . . . wouldn’t want to chafe anything. And yet–supportive, too. Wouldn’t want any harm to come to the Gisborne jewels. Don’t suppose they had Ye Olde Henchman Jocke Straps back in the day.

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He doesn’t appear to be wearing one here . . .

What was I talking about again?

I need some sleep. And good dreams . . .

Oh, yeah. Happy Guyday Friday!!