Fandom, oh bless you.
So I love George. George of Vikings and Versailles.I dunno, I just like him. He's a wee woobie in real life and an attractively hurtable monk and an hilariously pissy monarch onscreen and oh why not?
Dear little George. He’s so goddamn SWEET. He is dearly earnest and wonky and comely too and O so, so sweet. At least, until the ravening fakeness-varnishers of big fame will suck all the wonky charm out of him. Don't do it, George! Don't pose too hard!
I must be such a sentimental old lady but it’s hard to resist true sweetness. There’s the wickedly compelling hurtability of an Athelstan of course. Great wallopings of soulful eyes and clear skin and tousled hair and sensitive eyebrows and grabbable ravishable ass. He was perpetually written to be wantonly injured and forgiving of it, to stand tinily beside large bearded men who gaze at him consideringly, and it all winds me in so that just now I’m a paid-up fan, mid-season 3. Currently having a viewing pause, to contemplate misfortune to wee Athelstan. I am a happily sadistic sentimental old lady.
(Coming late to a fandom is always awkward. So much already hashed out, squeed over, poked and speculated. All the work already done. Character already killed off, lamentations beginning to fade. Pinterest boards jammed full. Memes and in-jokes grown stale. But oh well. I am happy to lurk, really. God knows I haven't got the spare time I had when I was single. If I can emit a single fic in this fandom I will be fucking happy.)
Then there’s the amusing pissiness of George’s little king Louis, snapping stolidly at his court: what a resolute, blue-shaved chin he has. And firm brisk stomping through mirrored halls! There is something to be had out of George in a sweaty nightgown. But I can't say I am really beguiled by that George. I hardly recognise him, so pursy and so kingish!
Anyway, so, yes. My cherishing of George is made of three parts:
Athelstan, in canon and the nicely debauched fic I've been reading. Yes I ship Ragnar/Athelstan. Ragnar/Athelstan/Lagertha. Hard to go past. More on this in a moment.
George in RPS though there is little of it. Azryal00's 'Despoiled' however (George/Travis Fimmel; warning: very adult content) was what got this WHOLE FIRE BURNING. I'd totally forgotten what it was like to get a shot like that. Fuck ME it was good. I may have actually said OOOF.
And the Internet of George, whereby (somewhat more than in my day) George provides a ready supply of adorability. George sings and plays guitar! George plays piano ballads written by women! George films himself going for jogs, doing ice-bucket challenges, and a whole series of dozens of vlogs of him adorably riding his bike around London and Yorkshire. I am so sadly gone that I was thrilled for a whole hour from watching George change a bike tire. It's enough to make me rethink whether social media really is the end of civilisation as we know it, or only MOSTLY the apocalypse of the civic discourse, and at least good for enabling perving on apparent private life of apparently willing celebrity crush object. Maybe George will rescue me from fogeydom!
I cherish his daggy earnest conscientious domestic goofiness, the Wii dancing and the diligent interview answers and the pleased-smile red carpet pics and him saying ‘Wow’ in a French accent wearing his specs and an old hoodie, and his love of his girlfriend (er, now ex?) and his adoring of his castmates in everything, just enjoying so much being in the gang; his cheerful pursuit of social media activity and the two incomparable pleasures of the music videos and his cycling vlogs, both things of such intense kindliness, intimacy and relaxedness that they have literally made me want to learn guitar and go for a ride, just so I can be a mite as happy as George seems to be in his charming London young-man's life, and as George makes me in my little friendly crush.
I am now so elderly and so lacking in embarrassment that I will even link to a songvid. Because it is naff and correct.
Super duper cute.
Dear little George. He’s so goddamn SWEET. He is dearly earnest and wonky and comely too and O so, so sweet. At least, until the ravening fakeness-varnishers of big fame will suck all the wonky charm out of him. Don't do it, George! Don't pose too hard!
I must be such a sentimental old lady but it’s hard to resist true sweetness. There’s the wickedly compelling hurtability of an Athelstan of course. Great wallopings of soulful eyes and clear skin and tousled hair and sensitive eyebrows and grabbable ravishable ass. He was perpetually written to be wantonly injured and forgiving of it, to stand tinily beside large bearded men who gaze at him consideringly, and it all winds me in so that just now I’m a paid-up fan, mid-season 3. Currently having a viewing pause, to contemplate misfortune to wee Athelstan. I am a happily sadistic sentimental old lady.
(Coming late to a fandom is always awkward. So much already hashed out, squeed over, poked and speculated. All the work already done. Character already killed off, lamentations beginning to fade. Pinterest boards jammed full. Memes and in-jokes grown stale. But oh well. I am happy to lurk, really. God knows I haven't got the spare time I had when I was single. If I can emit a single fic in this fandom I will be fucking happy.)
Then there’s the amusing pissiness of George’s little king Louis, snapping stolidly at his court: what a resolute, blue-shaved chin he has. And firm brisk stomping through mirrored halls! There is something to be had out of George in a sweaty nightgown. But I can't say I am really beguiled by that George. I hardly recognise him, so pursy and so kingish!
Anyway, so, yes. My cherishing of George is made of three parts:
Athelstan, in canon and the nicely debauched fic I've been reading. Yes I ship Ragnar/Athelstan. Ragnar/Athelstan/Lagertha. Hard to go past. More on this in a moment.
George in RPS though there is little of it. Azryal00's 'Despoiled' however (George/Travis Fimmel; warning: very adult content) was what got this WHOLE FIRE BURNING. I'd totally forgotten what it was like to get a shot like that. Fuck ME it was good. I may have actually said OOOF.
And the Internet of George, whereby (somewhat more than in my day) George provides a ready supply of adorability. George sings and plays guitar! George plays piano ballads written by women! George films himself going for jogs, doing ice-bucket challenges, and a whole series of dozens of vlogs of him adorably riding his bike around London and Yorkshire. I am so sadly gone that I was thrilled for a whole hour from watching George change a bike tire. It's enough to make me rethink whether social media really is the end of civilisation as we know it, or only MOSTLY the apocalypse of the civic discourse, and at least good for enabling perving on apparent private life of apparently willing celebrity crush object. Maybe George will rescue me from fogeydom!
I cherish his daggy earnest conscientious domestic goofiness, the Wii dancing and the diligent interview answers and the pleased-smile red carpet pics and him saying ‘Wow’ in a French accent wearing his specs and an old hoodie, and his love of his girlfriend (er, now ex?) and his adoring of his castmates in everything, just enjoying so much being in the gang; his cheerful pursuit of social media activity and the two incomparable pleasures of the music videos and his cycling vlogs, both things of such intense kindliness, intimacy and relaxedness that they have literally made me want to learn guitar and go for a ride, just so I can be a mite as happy as George seems to be in his charming London young-man's life, and as George makes me in my little friendly crush.
I am now so elderly and so lacking in embarrassment that I will even link to a songvid. Because it is naff and correct.
Super duper cute.