Found this on the net while browsing
I know of a few folks *looks over to* Lili and commorientes* that will appreciated this full length HQ picture
"But, what are you even DOING in this photo Harry?" Geraldine manages between bouts of barking laughter.
"The man told me I should try to be smoldering, Gerry,” Harry says. His cheeks are pinked with embarassment, but he still can’t help but smile at his wife’s clear enjoyment. “This wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for, I must admit.”
"Oh, darling, you know I am… well, yes, I’m laughing at you, but your smoldering face looks just like your Geraldine-please-don’t-make-me-sit-through-Alice’s-story-about-her-trip-to-the-zoo-again face." She kisses him on the shoulder as she passes. "It really is one of my favorite faces, you know."
"I just wish they’d told me the photo would be of more than my head," Harry sighs. "Else I would have ironed the bloody shirt."
God damn, Geraldine is a lucky woman.
Thanks, now all I want is another Vicar of Dibley series where Geraldine and Harry are taking care of their newborn baby (a total surprise - Geraldine hadn’t gone through The Change but frankly she’d always thought her mum’s talk about child-bearing hips had been to make her feel better, not actual truth) and Harry gets so sleep-deprived that he almost kills himself shaving one morning so Geraldine is like, “Just don’t shave until we’ve got the little bastard weaned; honestly I’m so angry with you for making me pop out the little bastard and taking away all my lovely sleep that I’m not going to kiss you for a few months anyway.” (Geraldine calls the kid “little bastard” because Harry, that big bastard, did some calculations the day she was born and it’s “statistically unlikely” that she was conceived prior to their wedding. Geraldine made him get up for the entire first week of feedings for that.)
So he grows a beard, although he does get a beard trimmer since those are slightly safer in re: throat-cutting potential, and they take long walks around town with Harry strapped up in the Baby Beorn and Geraldine could have sworn before now that the only single women in town were Miss Honkleton and Ms. Prowst who ran the dry cleaners (though Geraldine’s long suspected they had an arrangement of their own), but now every good-looking girl in a fifty-mile radius has somehow homed in on her husband and the little bastard and really, it’s not in the least fair.
“Perhaps the beard has some strange hypnotic pull on Generation X,” Geraldine muses, glaring suspiciously at Harry.
“I’m in Generation X, remember? You think I’d have heard about said strange, hypnotic pull,” Harry says, because he’s a prat and loves reminding her that twenty years ago she’d have been breaking the law shagging him.
“You’re about to be an ex, that’s for bloody sure,” Geraldine mutters, but when they get home she kisses him and decides that it’s actually quite nice, and. Well. With one thing and another, it’s some time before Harry’s allowed to shave the beard off.
Gus, I do not know why this made me tear up at my desk, but it TOTALLY DID, and OH MAN, I love thinking about their happily ever after.
(Also, at some point down the road, Harry notices a few silver whiskers growing in, and THAT IS IT, there will be NONE OF THAT, but Gerry keeps “losing” his razors because, while she likes to tease him about being a Distinguished Older Gentleman, now, and much more respectable for a Vicar of her stature, she secretly really fucking loves them. “How can I be both a cradle robber and into silver foxes?” she asks Alice one day at tea. “It doesn’t seem very weird to me,” says Alice. “I mean, don’t babies just look like wrinkly old men anyway? Same idea.”)
“Frankly, I did have the pick of potential husbands but I did ask for an older one - older than me that is. They told me Richard Armitage was 45. He was not! He was much younger, and when I found out I apologised to him for having to come to work and kiss an old lady every day. Mind you, he didn’t seem that bothered.” -Dawn French
Cutest! Also, Dawn has to be standing on a STACK OF BOXES in this photo, which is great.
reblabbing myself for Lavish, who said:
Wait, okay, no one told me he could rock the Classics Professor look, you guys.
welcome to class, bb.
God fucking damn it, Ricky, no, I don’t want to hear your feelings on Abelard and Heloise. Nor about your feelings on the digitization of the university archives. Yes, I know you love the smell of parchment, but I really just came here for you to take your shirt off.
Oh, you have a text tattoo from The Canterbury Tales? Yes, I can understand that that must have been a youthful indiscretion. No, I don’t know much about Chaucer’s rivalry with John Gower, but now is not the time, Ricky. I’m trying to fucking objectify you, sir.