Tag Archives: lucy griffths

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



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 . . .







One last post for a while . . . guess who?


OK, I do need to get some shut-eye. And Photoshop needs to rest. It’s on the cold side  here  this morning and I need to snuggle under the covers and warm my aching bones, muscles, ligaments, et al.  Thoughts of this fellow generally warm me up (see Sunday’s warm-up post).  I have some ideas for future posts generated by some of the comments made today–perhaps a poll, for one thing. Anyway, hope Monday morning/afternoon/evening go well for you all.

Phrases from the Bard: Marian illustrates “Love is Blind”

Valentine Rescues Silvia in The Two Gentlemen ...

Valentine Rescues Silvia in The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree as Shylock, painted ...

Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, stage actor and manager, as Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. Courtesy Wikipedia


Will Shakespeare coined the phrase “Love is blind” and used it in several of his plays, including The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Henry V and The Merchant of Venice.  It can be used in a positive light–love can help overlook the flaw in those we love. But it can also bar us from recognizing serious issues.  Such as the fact your “love interest” is a cockaloram and gloryhog with a bow fixation who lives in the forest with a lot of other smelly men has and will continuously use you to further his own ends and then go into a jealous snit whilst playing Peeping Tom.

Marian preferred Hoodie, aka Forest Boy . . .

Over the tall, dark, toothsome, sexy-as-hell man who adored her and never once compared her to a weapon.

Yep, she could have had HIM . . . Hot Intense Male!

Alas, she rejected this tall, sexy, smouldering black leather-clad Adonis who would have made her his queen . . .

Instead, she chose a medieval boy band reject.. *sigh*

Clearly, Shakespeare had it right. Love is blind sometimes; and sometimes, it is also deaf and dumb.   And lacking in the Good Taste Gene, forsooth!


Beautiful photo manip of Sir Guy in his black leather glory by Karima.

This poem is from Maid Marian’s POV. In spite of her assurances to Robin it is otherwise, she is, in fact, more than a little curious and stirred by Guy. She finds herself imagining what the master-at-arms is like beneath all that black leather . . .

Beneath the Leather

What lies beneath the leather?
She had often wondered
Beneath his buttery-soft black armor;
Beneath his second skin . . .

Strong arms to embrace her,
Capable hands to cup her face?
Broad chest to touch, to kiss,
To lie against in the velvet black night?

Sinuous legs to wrap round her,
Strong thighs to claim her as their own,
That hidden part so unknown to a maiden,
Ready to enter her, to join them as one . . .

What would she find, she wondered,
If he shed his leather shield,
And came to her, naked and ready,
To make her a maiden no more.

What lies beneath the leather?
She had often wondered,
Beneath his buttery-soft black armor,
Beneath his second skin . . .

Don’t forget, Fastrav3 continues!

Oh, what the heck, more Sir Guy. “Beneath the Leather”

The Dark Knight by “Firelight” (Daily Dose of Guy)


She has spurned him in a most grievous way,
rejecting him at the altar, running away with the man
He most despises.
His handsome face bears the scar of her betrayal.
Cut by the very ring he had slipped on her finger.

He hates her; he loves her.
He wants her to hurt as much, as deeply as she has hurt him.
“Beg!” He commands, the anger contorting his face,
Eyes turned dark with emotion, rage in his deep voice,
His words, his gaze, cut right through her as the flames arise.

She thinks she can toy with him, tease him,
With beseeching eyes and honeyed words, the softest caress
of his arm; it gave him hope, it brought him light–
But “a man like me” will endure her games no longer.
She has rejected him before the world; she will fool him no more.

And yet she does not give up, this high-born lady.
She has a mind of her own, a stubborn will;
No constraints on her freedom will she accept,
Chafing at the unseen shackles now placed upon her,
A captive in a castle, a prisoner in Milord’s cage.

And so she comes to his home, wrapped in the cloak of night,
With beseeching eyes and honeyed words, and is surprised–
For she sees the well-knit man free of his leather armour
The fair, smooth skin burnished in the firelight;
She does not know until now a man could be—beautiful.

“Friendship,” she offers, extending a near-trembling hand,
her heart hammering in her chest as he draws closer to her.
“Freedom,” he answers with a twisted smile, his eyes—those eyes!
Boring into her very soul as his broad hand clasps her small one.
“Friendship—is impossible now. You’ve made that clear.”

Let there be no bad blood, she has said; let bygones be bygones . . .
He hates her; he loves her.
“Have you heard of the power of firelight?” A husky rumble.
“While the fire burns, time stands still. What happens is secret.
Words and deeds, all that occurs, remain hidden to the world . . .”

He draws her closer to the fire, to the flame, ever closer,
Until they both kneel before it, skin bathed in its glow,
“Tell me of your dreams, milady, and I will tell you of mine . . .”
And as she begins to speak, slowly and hesitantly, her guard drops
She leans against that broad shoulder, and sighs.

As he talks of the pain and losses of his past, she looks into the fire
And sees a boy looking back out at her, miserable and alone.
She did not know how much he had suffered; she had never asked.
“I have no one,” he says simply, quietly, with a shrug.
And at that moment, the proud lady’s heart breaks just a little.

She extends her hand again, and takes his, and bows her dark head.
Speaking not a word, she tenderly presses her lips to his hand,
And when she lifts her head, he sees the glistening in her eyes . . .
“I fear I have—misjudged you in some ways, Sir Guy.”
And there is hope and light again for him.

He swallows hard, his fingers seeking out her tousled raven curls,
His touch, gentle, as he rises and lifts her to her feet.
“It is late, milady, and you must return to the castle . . .”
He clasps her hand tightly in his own, eyes beseeching her;
“Will you come back, and visit—in the firelight?”
She smiles. “I shall.”
His heart sings.

(Screencaps from RANet. Poem inspired by the beautiful film Firelight, and the chemistry between Richard and Lucy as Sir Guy and Marian. If only . . .)

A Guy post a day–keeps the blues at bay.


I don’t just do these for Carla, my delightful Milanese friend, of course. It is no secret that I love Sir Guy of Gisborne, the character who introduced me to the magic that is Richard Armitage.

My first novella fanfic featured Guy and Marian in an AU version of their story, Dangerous to Know.Practically everyone in the story seems to have a crush of some sort on Sir Guy, which seems perfectly reasonable to me.  I turned a character Lucy Griffiths played in one episode of the paranormal drama Sea of Souls into multi-chapter fic Night Falls.  Lucy and Richard looked so good onscreen together I just had to give them stories that allowed the sparks we saw turn into a fiery flame. Judging by the tons of G/M fanfic out there, many others felt the same as I.

At any rate, my deep affection and admitted lust for the character has lead me to produce prose and poetry, fanvids and blog entries about the Nottingham’s Finest, the Sultan of Smoulder and Swagger, the Deep, Dark, Delicious Knight–the one and only Sir Guy. He is also the first chaRActer Ladywriter Loved Into Being.

 “You will always love me the best, Lady Writer,” Guy rumbles, flicking back a stray lock of raven hair as he gives me a distinctly smug smile, arms folded across his broad chest.  I shake my head and sigh. “Yes, you incorrigible creature, you. I always will.”