Dreaming about Armitage | Armitage en rêves

It’s been awhile since I’ve dreamed about him. The last time it occurred was a few days before I broke up with the Photographer, aka my ex.

I never really paid much attention to the dreams in which Mr A appeared, because first I barely dreamed about him and second those dreams were way too inconsistents to be shared here, with the exception of the kiss. And then there was the one I made ​​last September.

I’m sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of a room without furniture. It’s uncomfortable. I try to move my hands but they’re tied behind my back. Slowly but surely, panic creeps into me.

« You’re awake »

A male voice, deep and rich. I recognize him immediately. I look up and hardly make him out in a corner of the room. Richard is leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, half bent. He doesn’t look at me. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, a black leather jacket, denim and leather b oots. An outfit in which I often picture him in my fantaisies. But something i soff. It feels wrong. I have this visceral sensation, this alarm … My discomfort keeps growing.

I can’t remember exactly what he says then to me, but the main idea is : he knows I want to end our relationship, and he can’t accept it, he won’t accept it. There’s an underlying threat in his words.  I try to convince him he’s wrong, that he’s imagining things, while trying to undo my bonds, but in both cases my efforts are in vain. And I think I should have broke up with him sooner, if only I’d had the courage to make this decision, I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be afraid. I would be safe.

That’s when I notice we’re not alone in the room. There’s another man. Dressed in a dark suit, he looks like a mortician. With his huge hands and his sinister-looking, he reminds me of a henchman. What he is, without a doubt. I’m paralyzed.

Noticing my reaction, Richard smiles, amused. He explains in a few words, with a detached tone, that he’s hired this man to hurt me. I can’t believe him. Paralyzed by the fear that overwhelms me, I’m unable to speak, my lips refusing to move. He stands up and leaves the room, completely indifferent to my fate, leaving me alone with this henchman.

And I wake up.

As I’ ve explained in the previous dream that I shared with you, I have very strong physical reactions to my nocturnal wanderings, even once I’m awake. And this was also the case for this dream -or should I say nightmare . I have long felt this anguish, this dull terror, even while viewing pictures and videos of Mr A ! ^^ But this dream did me good. Two days later I broke up with the Photographer. Richard was only the messenger of my anxiety and not the cause, making me realize how much I was trapped in this relationship I didn’t wanted anymore.

Did I ever tell you that when I dream or fantazize about him he’s speaking in english (so am I) ? For non native english speakers, what about you ? Is he speaking in your native language or good old english ? 🙂

 

 

Cela fait un moment que je n’avais pas rêvé de lui. La dernière fois que c’était arrivé, c’était seulement quelques jours avant de rompre avec le Photographe, autrement dit mon ex. 

Je n’avais jamais vraiment prêté beaucoup d’attention aux rêves dans lesquels Mr A s’invitait, déjà parce que j’ai peu rêvé de lui et parce que c’était des rêves foutraques et décousus, à l’exception du baiser. Et puis il y a eu ce rêve, fait en septembre dernier.

Je suis assise sur chaise en bois, au milieu d’une pièce dépourvue de meubles. C’est inconfortable. J’essaye de bouger mes mains sont attachées dans mon dos. Lentement mais sûrement, la panique s’insinue en moi.

 » Tu es réveillée »

Une voix masculine, grave et profonde. Je la reconnais immédiatement. Je lève les yeux et le discerne difficilement dans un coin de la pièce. Il est est adossé contre le mur, les mains dans les poches, à moitié voûté. Il ne me regarde pas. Il porte un t-shirt noir, une veste en cuir noire, un jean brut et des boots. L’un des ensemble dans lequel je l’imagine le plus souvent. Quelque chose cloche. J’ai cette sensation viscérale, cette sonnette d’alarme… Mon malaise s’amplifie.

Ce qu’il me dit ensuite est assez confus mais j’en retiens l’idée principale : il sait que je veux mettre un terme à notre relation, et il ne peut pas l’accepter. Je tente de le convaincre qu’il se trompe, qu’il se fait des idées, tout en essayant de défaire mes liens, mais dans les deux cas mes efforts sont vains. Je me dis que j’aurais dû le quitter plus tôt, que si j’avais eu le courage de prendre cette décision, je ne serais pas là, je n’aurais pas peur. Je serais en sécurité.

C’est alors que je remarque que nous ne somme pas seuls dans la pièce. Un autre homme est présent. Vêtu d’un costume sombre, on dirait un croque-mort  Avec ces mains immenses et sa mine patibulaire, il me fait penser à une homme de main d’une mafia quelconque. Ce qu’il est, sans aucun doute. Je suis tétanisée.

Voyant ma réaction, Richard sourit, amusé. Il m’explique en quelques mots, d’un ton détaché, qu’il a engagé cet homme pour me faire du mal. Je n’arrive pas à le croire. Paralysée par la peur qui m’envahie, je suis incapable, de parler, mes lèvres refusant de bouger. Il se redresse et quitte la pièce, complètement indifférent à mon sort, me laissant seule avec cet homme.

Et  je me réveille.

Comme je l’avais expliqué dans le précédent rêve que j’avais partagé avec vous, je garde des sensations très physiques de mes divagations nocturnes, même une fois réveillée. Et cela a été le cas également pour celui-ci. J’ai longtemps ressenti cette angoisse, cette terreur sourde, et ce même en regardant des photos et des vidéos de Mr A, alors que qu’il n’y est pour rien ! ^^ Mais ce rêve m’a fait du bien. Deux jours plus tard je me séparais du photographe. Richard n’était que le messager de mon angoisse et non la cause, me faisant réaliser à quel point j’étais piégée dans cette relation  que je ne désirais plus. 

Est-ce que je vous ai déjà précisé que lorsque je rêve ou fantasme à propos de Richard, c’est en anglais ? Du coup je suis curieuse, qu’en est-il de vous, les non anglophones ? Est-ce qu’il parle dans votre langue natale ou bien en bon vieil anglais ? 😀 

Kisses and dreams

Or how, until my last kiss study, my laziness makes me export an article from tumblr. But, please, still on the kiss thematic. You’ve learned by now that I’m quite fond of kissing scenes. But this one is far from being my fav because of the bitch Sarah Caulfield (and because there’s a real lack of alchemy between these two…. everything feels wrong and forced between them  * le sigh*)

The shark attack

If I’ve decided to gif it tonight it’s not because I’ve changed my mind but because of a dream I’ve had whilst I was still on drugs (thanks sickness). Being an admirer of his for the past 7 months, I’ve never dreamt of Richard. Ever. Whereas Michael Fassbender has been invading my dreams a little too much for my taste XD. Getting back to the dream, I find some its elements  in that kiss, the brusqueness, his way of forcing her into this kiss, the awkwardness.

I remember little, only a scene, but what a scene ! and especially the feelings and sensations, so strong and overwhelming !

We’re in my hometown, in a street, just outside a bar. The cold bites my cheeks. I try in vain to warm my hands by blowing on them. He’s facing me, a smirk on his face. I can’t explain why,  but I know we’ve been spending the evening flirting. I want him. I want him so much it’s almost painful, crushing me whole.

We’re chatting mindlessly, and every time his gaze shifts from mine, my stomach and heart are twisting in fear until his eyes fall on me again. I feel so alive when he looks at me. And then all I want is to disappear as his beauty seems suffocating to me. His feminine ways, his elegant gestures. His bright eyes opened to the world. His dazzling look that pierces me, disarms me.

One moment we’re talking, the next is on me, against me, his lips crushed against mine, his right hand intertwined with my hair, forcing me into this kiss, his body pressed against mine, almost hurting me with his brusqueness. His free hand is out to discover my body. I choke under his embrace, his kisses, gasping for air and having this strange tingling sensation in the palms of my hands, light headed, legs weak at the knees. 

So I cling to him as if I were drowning, I’m melting into him, blending in him, my nails driven into his neck. His stuble scrapes my face, my mouth but I don’t care. I’m devouring him as he’s devouring me. It’s good and awkward. Soft and passionate, spicy and fragrant. The urgency of the freezing weather is pushing us to embrace each other, to warm us up. This heat is so real.

And I woke up

I don’t know what this dream says about me. It’s interesting that my subconscious,  when I never fantasize over a physical intimacy nor dream of him, throws me into Richard’s arms so violently in a kiss more than passionate.

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I’d love to/ J’adorerais

Cela me brise le coeur de savoir que je ne le connaîtrai jamais réellement – Original can be found here

I’m not one to be interested into celebrities private life. Moreover, the fact that Mr Armitage’s is so private is not to displease me. I’d hate to find his whereabouts spread all over a tabloid. What interests me in a band I like is their music. What fascinates me in a novel is the way I feel while reading it. That’s why I’m always surprised to discover in an article the face / life /age of a person I admire because in general my curiosity is limited to their work and not to themselves.

Mr Armitage is the exception that proves the rule. I’d barely finished watching North and South that I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to (and still does) know the real him. Who is he ? How is he when there’s no camera ? What makes him laugh ? What does he like ? What is his favorite color/book/dishes ? What was his childhood like ? How is he with his friends/relatives ? I would love to know his foibles, his mannerisms, the nuances of his intonation betraying what he really feels, how he is when he’s tired/angry/amused. All those little details that make us who we truly are. It reminds me of an another richardarmitageconfession, one about just being his friend and hanging out together. I’d love to.

But sometimes, my fanaticism of him, – because I‘m a fan(atic) let’s face it -, pushes me to question my sanity – thus this blog second title. It’s like the ebb and flow of the sea. Sometimes my feelings and sensations are so overwhelming that it almost becomes scary. At other times, I distance myself so much that I’m able to tell myself I could stop everything and no longer feel the urge to talk and write about him. And then I see a picture of him, a gif, I hear his voice and the cycle repeats.

I’m leaving tomorrow for London for a long week-end, so no new post until at least tuesday. I have a few things on my mind, and after being such a masochist by studying Lucas, I will treat myself (and you 🙂 ) with something nice. The idea popped in my mind while making these gifs. Next on the french armitage army, a kiss study in 3 acts ! 🙂

Je ne suis pas du genre à m’intéresser à la vie privée des célébrités. D’ailleurs, le fait que celle de M. Armitage soit aussi privée n’est pas pour me déplaire. Je détesterai retrouver ses déboires en une d’un tabloid. Ce qui m’intéresse dans un groupe que j’aime, c’est leur music. Ce qui me fascine dans un roman que j’adore, c’est ce que je ressens en le lisant. C’est pourquoi je suis toujours surprise de découvrir au détour d’un article le visage/l’âge/la vie d’une personne que j’admire, car en général mon intérêt se limite à leur travail et non à leur petite personne.

M. Armitage est l’exception qui confirme la règle. A peine avais-je fini de regarder Nord et Sud que je voulais en savoir plus sur lui. Je voulais (et veux toujours) connaître le “vrai” lui. Qui est il ? Comment se comporte-t-il quand il n’y a plus de caméras ? Qu’est ce qui le fait rire ? Qu’aime-t-il ? Quel est son plat/livre/couleur préféré ? Comment était son enfance ? Comment est-il avec ses amis/famille ? J’adorerais connaître ses faiblesses, ses petites manies, les nuances de son intonation trahissant ce qu’il pense réellement, comment il est lorsqu’il est fatigué/énervé/amusé. Toutes ces petites choses qui font de nous ce que nous sommes réellement. Cela me rappelle une autre richardarmitageconfession, une à propos d’être simplement son amie et d’aller boire un verre ensemble. J’adorerais.

Mais mon fanatisme pour lui, car oui, je suis une fanatique il faut le reconnaître, me pousse parfois à remettre en question ma santé mentale, d’où le sous-titre de ce blog. Il est comme les flux et reflux de la mer. Parfois, les sentiments et les sensations que je ressens sont tellement puissants que cela en devient flippant, à d’autres moments, je prend tellement de recul que je me dis que je pourrais laisser tout tomber et ne plus éprouver le besoin de parler et d’écrire sur lui. Et puis je vois une photo de lui, un gif, j’entend sa voix et le cycle recommence.

Je pars demain à Londres pour un long week-end, donc pas de nouveau post avant au moins mardi. J’ai plusieurs choses à l’esprit, et après avoir été une telle masochiste en étudiant Lucas, je vais me faire plaisir  (et vous faire plaisir) en étudiant quelque chose d’agréable cette fois. L’idée m’est venue tout en faisant ces gifs. Prochainement sur the french armitage army, une étude en 3 actes de baiser ! 🙂

Fantasies / Fantasmes part 2

Comme toujours, en français sous « lire la suite « 

Following the excellent article by Servetus, I have slightly delayed the publication of this one because I felt the need to develop certain aspects of my thinking. What I found particularly interesting in her article is that she conjures different characters played by Mr A in her fantasies. Richard as himself, or at least as she sees him, only came later, when she allowed herself to fantasize about him. Personally, I’ve never fantasized about one of his character, ever. I understand the attraction they may have for some, but not for me. Only Mr A as himself takes part in my fantasies, because as I said during the 30 day RA challenge , my favorite of his characters is his public persona,  therefore it’s logical that he’s the hero of my scenarios. Why should I be embarrassed to admit this ? The vision I have of Richard is as fictional than the one I have of Guy or Lucas, so I see no reason to police what I say.

Richard Armitage at the Hobbit press conference, the only protagonist of my fantasies

After my childhood fantasies, the one that makes me endure my job when  it exhausts me or when there’s a tension with le BF is Richard. I only have two fantasy about him, and only the most recent (and most powerful) interests me here. This is a not a writing master piece, I’ve simply tried to summarize the scenario I play with so do not expect a work of art! 🙂

Journalist for a magazine, I’m on my way to the Hobbit press conference for the movie promotional tour in Bordeaux (even if it’s a major french city, it’s far from enough to attract the Hobbit but… fantasy :)). I’m dogged by misfortunes, the tram I’m in goes down  and I have to finish the journey on foot. It starts raining and my shoes hurt. I wanted to be a « real woman » by wearing heels,  but now I regret it. I always have a pair of flat shoes in my bag, so I changed, keeping the other pair in hand, and resume my route. I finally get to the hotel, drenched and exhausted, only to realize that I missed the conference.

The Regent Hotel in Bordeaux, one of my fantasy scenery

Annoyed, I’m about to leave , thinking about my boss’ future scolding when I see two men coming off the hotel bar. I know it’s him. His back is turned to me, accompanied by his publicist, but I’d recognize him amongst a thousand. I know I look miserable, hair dripping, mascara probably streaming on my cheeks, heels in hand, but I can’t miss this opportunity. I approach him but his agent is standing before him, putting a distance between us. He tries to push me away, but I insist. Richard intervenes, interrupting  his agent to let me speak, staring at me from head to toe, which makes me even more self-conscious of what I look like. I’m mortified but gathering my courage, I quickly explained my situation, begging for a few minutes of his time. Something in my words or my attitude makes him took pity of me because he accepts my offer, much to the chagrin of his agent. I ask him how long he can give me. 15 minutes. If he gives me 10 more, I take him to a pub next door to be out of the Hobbit madness . A pint of beer is an excellent argument because once again he agrees. Follows an idle chatter on the way.

The Charles Dickens pub

I keep for myself the questions I’d ask him  because they change depending on my mood – and they’re too dear to me. The interview goes well, I’m professional, I don’t fangirl, which might embarrass him, and I even managed to gain his trust despite a difficult start. I’m especially interested in him, I try to capture him in the time allotted to me. Some questions are very specific  other completely anecdotic. He’s sometimes elusive, but he avoids no questions. I’d be lying if I said I don’t flirt a little with him, but it’s not what this whole fantasy is about. Mr A isn’t famous in France, not yet, so we aren’t disturbed in the pub or on the way.

Once the interview ended, I pay for our consomations and accompanies him to his hotel. On the way, an idle chatter again. I ask him if he had time to visit Bordeaux since his arrival. No, their schedule is too tight so they have no time for sightseeing, to his chagrin. I stop and stare at him. Without even thinking, I suggest, if he wishes to and if he has time, to give him a tour of my city. Polite, he smiles and replies that he’d love to but can’t. I interrupt him by saying that it’s okay, I understand. He laughs again and goes on, saying that if I want him to, he can join me once his obligations fulfilled. A stupid grin on my face, I scribbles my number on a piece of paper and hands him before I leave.

Parking Victor Hugo

Does he call me ? Yes. Do I give him a tour of my beloved Bordeaux ? Yes. Another pub that I love (  beer+me = the perfect equation), a wine bar whose main room is built around a huge fake real-looking tree, a parking with a car giving the impression of to be about falling into the void, the narrow streets and crooked places crawling with restaurants and nightlife, a huge square with a massive fountain, the ruins of a Roman arena, the quays of the Garonne and « Le miroir d’eau » for a final evening walk. It’s adorable, funny, moving. In one word,  perfect. Does he kiss me or more ? No. I touch his hands, his face, he does the same. Nothing more, nothing less. But there is this connection, just this once, just once, for one evening. And that’s all.

This fantasy is deeply rooted in reality. I’m not nice with myself, on the contrary, I’m in trouble (rain, tram going down). I try to take an exacerbated femininity that isn’t mine (the shoes). As a child I wanted to be a writer. Growing up, I told myself  journalist would be a good financial alternative. Adoring film critic, it’s a job I’ve considered for long. In the end, I took a different path but it’s something I could have done. As in my real life, I’ve just started my job and I suffers from pressure from my boss. I see Richard as a case study I want to dissect and solve his mystery. I take him to a place where I feel comfortable, I control the setting if not the effect he has on me. A pint of beer always helps ! What I want is to see the world through his eyes and let him see the world through mine, hence the proposition to visit my town.

Le Palais Gallien, ruins of a roman arena

aside

I’ve always have this fascination with what happens in people’s head. We all have a different way of seeing, feeling and thinking, and I find it extraordinary.The differences are further exacerbated between two people from different cultures and languages. The language we speak and the words we have shape our thoughts, so I’m often frustrated when I speak/write in English, because words fail me and therefore my thoughts are not as precise as I’d like. I always have in mind this example of Inuit languages with about thirty words for « snow ». Thus an Inuit succeed to think and express nuances that I would be unable to seize, as French.

End of aside.

By paying the bill and proposing to give him a tour, keep control while remaining independent. I take the lead, leaving him my number, but doesn’t ask for his because he has to come to me. If he wants to see me, let him come. I’m definitely proud. But by leaving the choice to call me or not, I leave an opening that prevents me to suffer the full brunt of rejection. My insecurities. In real life, I’m in a relationship, but not in my fantasy. However, nothing happens between me and Mr A. Not because unconsciously I refuse to « cheat » on le BF, but because it’s not what I want. I’m looking for this connection, the communion between two minds, just once, just one night. Nothing more, nothing less. Therefore an autographed photo will never satisfy me 😉

Le miroir d'eau

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Fantasies / Fantasmes (part 1)

La version française de cet article se trouve sous « lire la suite » 😉

One topic I’ve wish to discuss here for a while now : the fantasies that we can have as a fan. I should say immediately that I will not talk about sexual fantasies, not that I deny their existence, on the contrary because, admit it or not, I’m sure half of us has fantasized about Mr A.’s intimacy at least once. There’s nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of, although I understand that it’s about something very private, and that talking about it can be misunderstood by some people.

The main protagonist on my fantasies : the man himself and his lovely hands

So what is a fantasy? After a quick search, here’s my definition : imaginary scenario including the completion of a conscious or unconscious desire. I emphasized the word unconscious because it seems to be an important part of fantasies, and  as I always say, what we feel, what we think, and now what we fantasize reveals more about us than  about Richard.

What do we do when we fantasize ? We play and we change the reality so that it bends to our desires. This doesn’t necessarily mean  that our fantasies are always positive, it may happen that certain desires or rather unconscious fears are expressed through our fantasies. Ultimately, a fantasy is a way of deceiving ourselves we all use. We lie to ourselves, we delude ourselves in it.

How one can resist this smile ?

I’ll obviously talk about mine and the part they have always had in my life. But what interests me more specifically is what type of fantasy Mr A. causes. I know where I stand, but what about you ? Are the situations you imagine realistic or completely fictional ? Are your fantasies platonic or on the contrary pg-17 ? Are you an hopeless romantic wishing a happy ending like Margaret or Geraldine ? Do you picture Mr A as himself – or at least his public persona – or is it  one of his characters that has your favors ? Is it the same scenario that you play again and again ? Or do you have a whole gallery of fantasies ? And you, how do you picture yourself ? Do you hide behind an alter ego, an improved version of yourself perhaps, or are you you ? I could go on  like that for hours :).

Personally, fantasies have always been a part of my life. I’m an only child, raised by a single mother who worked hard, thus I spent much of my time alone which developed my imagination. I read a lot, which allowed me to experience many adventures, and at one point I started imagining my own. My fantasies have grown with me, evolving along with my desires. For example, I often imagine a situation I had experienced but differently, replaying the scenario in my head several times, each time changing a tiny detail until it suits me.  This mecanism helps me get better and handle certain situations that otherwise I couldn’t deal with in reality. My fantasies hold me together, they helped me.

I’ll stop here for now, this post is, again, much longer than what I expected. Tomorrow will  be the « me-part » of this topic where I’ll analyze a fantasie of my own 🙂

 

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