#when you can so clearly tell it's a fake humphrey head. when they walk 'through' the wall

[natjennie]

when robin is listing herbs and casually drops deadly nightshade and pat cap julian and thomas all go "deadly nightshade?!" like a cartoon.... I love you ghosts.

[waltdisneyscokeaddiction]

Now Hiring

INT. OFFICE LOBBY - DAY

MARK, an insecure, 25-year-old post-grad who is dressed in a light blue button-up collared shirt with a dark gray blazer sits next to a row of empty chairs. CANDICE, a 23 year old, receptionist. She appears indifferent about everything around her.

Candice: “The office manager will see you now. Right this way”

INT. MANAGER’S OFFICE - CONT’D

Enter office. At the desk, sits the OFFICE MANAGER (43) a plump, jolly man with a thick handlebar mustache with visible mustard stains on his shirt sits across from Mark.

Manager: “Please have a seat”

Mark: “Thank you”

Candice exits. 

Manager: “Great. Thank you for coming today. Before we get started, let me first ask you, are you comfortable working with all groups of people?”

Mark: (Enthusiastically) “Yes, course”

Beat.

Manager: “Are you absolutely sure? Even handicap people?”

Mark: “Absolutely, I think interacting with diverse groups is what really makes a workplace thrive”

Manager: “Right. Well let’s move on then.”

The manager checks a big box on his notes with a red pen.

Manager: “So, what did you think?”

The manager makes a motion with his head toward the office receptionist.

Mark:(Confused) “Think about what?”

The manager continues to gesture to his receptionist outside with his head aggressively. His pupils are pointing at the corner of his eyes.

 Mark doesn’t appear to illicit a reaction.

Manager: “Okay, neverminded. Next question.”

Manager: “If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be and why?”

Mark: “You’re asking what kind of tree I would be?”

The manager silently nods his head with a deadly serious expression across his face.

Mark: “I guess I would have to be a redwood because…”

The manager picks up his desk phone amid Mark’s response and yells into the handset directed towards the secretary.

Manager: “Candice,”

He whispers, palming the phone with his hand.

Manage: “I’m so sorry about this”

Manager: “Candice, please hold all phone calls and clear my schedule for the rest of the day until I am through with interviews”

There’s no response from Candice.

The manager slams down his office phone. Mark notices that his office phone isn’t connected to the wall.

Manager: “Anyway, where were we? Oh right: What are some traits you look for most in an ideal employer?”

Mark: “I think the foundation of any great organization begins with solid leadership. I strongly believe the ability to empower your employees with the fortitude and clear-sight to set goals…”

The manager interrupts Mark again.

Manager: “Okay sure, but tell me what kind of characteristics do you look for? You know, like physically?”

The manager attempts to describe the question more thoroughly by proceeding to gesture the shape of pretend breasts up and down. 

There’s a peal of uncomfortable laughter from Mark.

Mark: “I’m happily married, actually.”

Mark raises his left hand indicating the wedding band on his ring finger. 

Manager: “Yeah, I wouldn’t get too used to that thing. Just wait until you see the types that work around here.”

Manager: “We can come back to that question. How about we move onto an exercise?”

The manager scribbles down some notes on his notepad. 

Manager: “Okay, let’s see here…”

The manager makes raspberry noises with lips to fill the silence. The manager opens a briefcase and pulls out a folder containing documents.”

Manager: “Here we go. I’m going to show you a series of photographs and describe to the best of your ability what you think of them. And be honest, I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying. Simple, right?”

Mark: “Yeah, I think so.”

Manager: “Alright, here’s the first one”

The manager pulls up a black and white photo and slides it in front of Mark. It’s a headshot of himself wearing a trench coat and a trilby hat, attempting his best serious Humphrey Bogart impression. Upon closer inspection, Mark notices that the manager is completely nude beneath the beige trench coat. However, it is clear that he is much more of a grower than a shower.

The photo perturbs Mark. He appears hesitant about his next words.

Mark: “Oh. Wow.”

Mark says, trying his best to sound genuine. 

The manager slides him another one.

Mark: “ Are these all...you?”

Manager: “Here’s a few more. And please, take your time.”

Mark tries to look at them at the desk, barely touching them. The other photos contain the manager in various poses, one with him as a barista in thick bold glasses with a (fake) full beard, another one with him holding an overly large wrench and a paperboy hat, and the last one in a white wig with makeup wearing an elegant dress and prosthetic breasts. 

Mark is entirely speechless.

 Beat.

Mark: “Well, I uh, I think that - I think that these are some really interesting character choices with a lot of potential.”

Mark attempts to offer a compliment, unintentionally phrasing it as a question.

Uh, the use of lighting really compliments your complexion?”

There’s a long moment of silence as the manager holds up his photographs and scrutinizes them carefully himself. 

Manager: “Yeah, I suppose I can see that. I have an audition this weekend. The play is called Scarlett Kiss and I will be reading lines for the role of Seductive Maiden#3”

He continues. 

Manager: “You know, just like theater, I tried requiring all applicants to include headshots with their applications, but HR was all, ‘That strictly goes against the Discrimination in Employment Act and we could be sued,’ and this and that and blah, blah, blah.”

Mark struggles to break up the quiet awkwardness in the room. 

The Manager slips him a wallet-sized photo. It’s a headshot of the manager with no eyebrows or mustache in a Cleopatra wig.

The manager whispers to Mark.

Manager: “You can keep this one for yourself”

Mark: “I brought in a copy of my portfolio, would you care to review it?”

Mark places his portfolio in front of the employer, however, the manager maintains strict eye contact with him.

Manager: “Let me ask you a question Trevor”

Mark: “It’s Mark”

Manager: “Let me ask you...Mark -  If you were in my position right now, and I was in yours, what would you want to know?”

Mark: “Perhaps I would ask you about what kind of skills or experience you have to offer that makes you qualified for this position or what are some of your strengths and weaknesses in overcoming challenging obstacles?”

The manager looks intently at Mark, thinking carefully.

Manager: “Yes, that’s really good. I like it. I’ll have to use that on the person after you.”

Mark: “Um, thanks?”

Manager: “I like you Trevor”

Mark: “Mark”

Manager: “F.Y.I., I was the one who personally scanned your resume through our applicant tracking system, and according to the algorithm, it said I should be really impressed with yours.  We’re a growing company, but I think I could see a place here for you at Hammerstein & Brookshire.”

Mark: “Don’t you mean...Barnes & Noble?”

Manager: “Right. Just tell me one last thing. Why do you want to work here?”

Mark: “I’ve heard really positive things about the...management here - at this store, and also the life-work balance and the sense of autonomy amongst employees.”

Manager: “ Lastly, any questions for me?”

Mark: “When should I expect to hear back from HR regarding the position?”

Manager: “Really? Is that all you want to ask?”

Mark nods, respectfully.

The manager takes a deep sigh. He crisscrosses his fingers and places them on the desk in front of him.

Manager: “Here’s the thing Mark, you criticized my headshots, you couldn’t seem to finish any of your sentences throughout the interview, and worst of all, you rejected all my advances. I think it would just be best if you take your portfolio and leave.”

Mark: (Cont’d) “On second thought, go ahead and leave your portfolio.”

Mark’s incredulous expression speaks volumes. He gets up from the desk and begins to storm towards the door.

Manager: “ Hey, Mark, before you leave,”

There’s a short beat before Mark stops and turns back toward the manager.

Manager: “Be honest,” what did you think of my first attempt at an interview? Did I seem nervous to you?”

Mark, frustrated, closes the office door and walks back towards the desk. 

Mark: “Truthfully? I think you’re a sexist, pugnacious bigot, who is not only a self-indulgent narcissist, but seemingly couldn’t care less about the well-being of this company. I frankly don’t know how you became a manager, but the bigger mystery remains to me as to how someone has yet to report you to HR for your total lack of professionalism and integrity.”

The manager’s face is visibly flushed.

Manager: “You got all that from our short interview?”

Mark starts towards the door.

Mark: “Applying here was clearly a mistake.”

The manager clumsily stands up from behind his desk.

Manager: “Wait! Wait! Can you start on Monday?”

END OF SCENE

[lostinfic]

The Girlfriend Experience | Part 2

Trope: Sharing a bed Author: Lostinfic Word Count: ~4000 Rating: Mature Summary: Hardy asks Hannah to show him the Girlfriend Experience in preparation for a blind date. 

Beta: @fadewithfury <3 Part 1 | Masterpost | AO3 | 12 Tropes AO3 Collection

For the blind date, Hardy’s sister had given him nothing but an instruction to look out for a woman with a yellow carnation, and an address.

He assumed it was the address of a restaurant.

He should have known better than to assume his sister would do the normal thing.

It was a train. Not a normal train either, but a “romantic railway adventure”.

His stomach twisted in a knot at the mere thought of getting stuck in there for hours with a complete stranger. But backing out didn’t sit well with him. Standing up someone was cruel. Anyway, as Hannah had said, his sister wanted what was best for him. Whoever Helen had set him up with would, at the very least, be a decent person.

He sighed thinking of Hannah. Considering how she’d encouraged him to go on this bloody blind date-- even after he all but confessed his feelings for her during their fake date-- it was clear it was never going to happen with her. He had better move on and start looking for someone else.

Easier said than done. 

As much as the memory of their fake date made him cringe because she’d rejected his advances, it also came with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. Her laughter, the teasing hint of bra, standing close in the bookshop as they flipped through novels. Paper and cherry blossoms. And feeling all right.

For years, he hadn’t questioned his friendship with his younger sister’s flatmate. Even when Hannah became an escort and moved out, they stayed in touch. When they hang out, times flies, and that was enough for him. Nothing more.

Not until recently.

With the divorce and her visits, he noticed how much they had in common now after years of all-consuming careers, heartbreaks and successes. She had grown and so had he. And once he began seeing her as the strong woman she had become, he couldn’t go back to thinking of her as just a friend. But he had to.

Enough about Hannah.

Hardy straightened his tie and jacket. From the platform, a sign indicated the Bar & Lounge coach, and he headed there.

The train company had hired Helen as their art director— it’s how she’d obtained a pair of tickets-- and she came up with the idea of a 1930s theme. The staff wore stiff burgundy and gold uniforms. Inside the wagons, varnished wood gleamed in the halo of fake oil lamps. Patrons sat in plush leather seats around art deco furniture.

Hardy made his way through the couples gathered inside. Many had embraced the vintage theme, others had dressed more casually. Thankfully for him, a suit worked for all occasions and eras.

The train stirred and swayed forward. He had yet to find his date. Every time he met a woman’s eyes, the twist in his stomach tightened.

Someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey you.”

He recognized that voice. His heart skipped a beat. He turned, and his jaw dropped. Hannah stood there, wearing something vintage and silky, like she’d just stepped out of a black and white movie. Ruby red lips framed a beaming smile.

“What are you doing here?” he stammered.

“I have a date.”

“My sister set you up too?”

“No, another one of our friends. Gemma, you met her I think at the garden party.”

“Yeah.”

“So yours is tonight too? They got a group deal on the train tickets or what?” She looked over his shoulder. “So where’s the lucky lady?”

“Haven’t found her yet. I don’t even know her name, Helen didn’t want me looking her up in the police database. Seen anyone with a yellow carnation?”

“Like this one?” She showed him the flower she was holding. “Looks like Gemma and Helen are in cahoots.”

Hardy gaped at the flower. Hannah was his blind date. She laughed, but he didn’t think it was funny. Not at all. What was his sister thinking? He’d never said a word to her about liking Hannah. Was he that obvious?

Regardless, now Hannah was stuck with him when she no doubt expected someone more charming and younger. Basically, not the kind of person who needs a practice date with a prostitute.

For the first time since they’d met, the prospect of spending an evening in her company filled him with dread. What if she thought he was behind all of it, not just his sister?

“Sorry, I didn’t know she would do that,” he groaned.

“Yeah, no, me neither.”

She laughed, and it was too high-pitched for genuine amusement but he reciprocated with his own nervous titter. He tugged at the knot of his tie.

“I don’t know what made her think I’d want to— that we were a match.”

“Right.” She crossed her arms, rubbing her shoulder. “Look at his this way: you won’t  have to worry about small talk.”

They ordered drinks and sat at the bar.  An uneasy silence stretched between them as they pretended to listen to the piano player.

He rang his sister to berate her, but she wouldn’t answer her phone-- on purpose, he was sure. Hannah looked at him with a tight-lipped smile.

“If you’d prefer to, ah, mingle...” He indicated the other passengers, but they were clearly all paired up already.

Hannah shrugged, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as him.

 The maître d’ announced supper, and passengers moved to the restaurant cart.

A waiter assigned them a banquette. Tea candles decorated the table, their flames made the crystalware sparkle.  

“This is nice,” Hannah commented, smoothing the white tablecloth.

He nodded absentmindedly, pretending to peruse the menu when in fact he was observing her. Hard to tell how she felt about being stuck with him for the evening. Granted, she’d enjoyed herself last time but it had been work for her, to help him.  He glanced at her over his menu, their eyes met, and both quickly looked away.

A waiter took their orders, leaving them with nothing to do. Hannah swirled the wine in her glass.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, “I know this escort, a man, he’s real awful, don’t know how he’s still in business.”

Where was this going?

“Anyway, we should set your sister up with him, you know, to get back at her.”

Hannah grinned mischievously and Hardy chuckled. They talked about all the unpleasant people they knew and made up devious plans to deceive Helen. They laughed so much, patrons at nearby tables glared at them for disrupting the quiet romantic atmosphere. Of course, the irony didn’t escape Hardy: they had such fun thinking of revenge plans that it proved Helen had been right to play this trick on them to begin with.

After supper, Hardy reclined in his chair, rubbing his full stomach. He hadn’t had such a good meal in a long time. He was usually prone to motion sickness, but this train moved slowly. It crawled across the rail, allowing passengers to admire the pastoral landscape. He couldn’t tell their location or destination; fields, forests and suburbs looked the same across England as far as he was concerned. Perhaps, if he’d paid closer attention a sign would have given him a clue, but all his attention was diverted towards Hannah.

A waiter filled their cups with tea, and announced the train would stop soon for “entertainment”. They disembarked at a disused train station turned into a theater. An old-fashioned marquee announced the show’s title: “On the road to love.” On stage, two rubbish actors pretended to fall in love to the tune of 1930s jazz songs.  Throughout the first act, Hannah and Hardy exchanged eyerolls and stifled laughter.  When the actors began tap dancing, they barely kept it together.

At last, the intermission came, they were the first out the door. They bypassed the bar and headed straight outside.

The brisk night air was welcome after a heavy meal and a stuffed theater. Hands in pockets, Hardy leaned against the wall and stared at the silhouette of a town beyond the rails and bushes. Hannah imitated his position, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“We could get out,” he said. “Walk over there. Find a ride. End it here.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“Do you?”

She shrugged and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Hardy smiled to himself. She didn’t seem to hate being stuck with him tonight after all. And so far neither of them had brought up what happened at the end of their fake date; there was hope their friendship would survive.

“I suppose it’s not so bad,” he said.

“Yeah, not bad. Tell you what though, we can stay at the bar during the second act.”

A few other couples had the same idea. Show tunes could still be heard through the wall. The bar design recreated a prohibition-era speakeasy.

For a moment, Hardy entertained the idea of personifying a character. Someone cool, a la Humphrey Bogart. He wished he had a cigarette. As they stood at the bar to order drinks, he gave Hannah the old once-over from her black heels to her smokey eyes. But as soon as she caught him looking, he lost whatever cool he’d mustered. She bumped him with her shoulder, lips curling in a playful smile. He didn’t stand a chance.

Once sat at a corner table, they sipped a dram of whiskey and reminisced. She ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass, eyes focused on the circular motion. After a moment of silence, she said: “You know, I used to fancy you, when I lived with Helen.”

She said it with a giggle, looking at him through her eyelashes. He remembered a time when she would ceaselessly flirt with him. With her, he could never tell genuine feelings from teasing. Except a few times, lingering hugs and gazing in each other’s eyes. But he’d had to ignore that because back then he’d recently married so he wasn’t interested. Ironic, that the roles were now reversed: he fancied her-- more than fancy-- and she wasn’t interested. Bad timing.

“I knew you did,” he said.

“You did! How?”

“You weren’t subtle. I was scared every time my sister left the room.”

“Scared you’d give in to temptation?” she joked.

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“No, I know. You’re one of the good guys. Too good.”

“Too good for what?”

“For girls who are outrageous flirts.” She winked.

Hannah dropped her shoe and slipped her toes under the hem of his trousers. He’d seen women do that in films, but had never experienced it for himself. Although, he couldn’t explain why, he enjoyed it. His cheeks heated up, and his pulse quickened. He forgot what they were talking about. She’d always loved to make him fluster.

The show ended, and the spectators loudly walked out, disrupting the moment.

Back on board the train, a staff member approached them: “If you would follow me, I will show you to you sleeper car now.”

Hardy and Hannah exchanged a surprised look, neither of them knew this lasted overnight. His only experience with sleeper cars involved bunk beds. But of course, a “romantic railway adventure” didn’t have bunks. The man opened the door on a cozy compartment with a double bed taking up most of the room. Hannah asked if they have another room available, but all compartments were occupied tonight.

At least, the train company had the foresight of selling overnight essentials such as toothbrushes. But no pyjamas, of course.

“Lend me your shirt,” Hannah demanded. “I can’t sleep in this dress.” She tugged at the material over her ribs, wincing in discomfort.

“What about me?”

“You can’t sleep in this dress either.”

“And what am I supposed to sleep in?”

“Your pants. Unless you’re going commando.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“I’m not— ugh. Alright.”

He hooked his tie and jacket behind the door, and removed his shirt with his back to her.

“You’re such a prude. I’ve seen you in a much worse state than this.”

“When?”

“At Helen’s, after your divorce.”

“Yeah, I looked worse, but I’m sure I was fully dressed.”

“Well, you’d better get undressed while you look good.”

Was she joking or flirting?

When he turned to hand her his t-shirt, her eyes lingered on his chest, and she bit her bottom lip.

She put the shirt over her clothes and shimmed the dress down her body to pull it off. More wiggling and she extracted her bra through the top.

“Tadaa!” she said like a magician.

It was his turn to linger. His shirt was just long enough to cover her bum, showing off her legs. He always liked her legs.

She looked expectantly at his trousers. There was no point in putting it off.  As soon as he popped the first button, Hannah wolf-whistled.  Without thinking, Hardy rotated his hips, and she bust out laughing.

“I can be funny too,” he mumbled.

“I know.” She smiled at him then cocked her head. “I thought you’d be skinnier.”

“I am.”

“Yeah, but there’s, you know, meat too.”

What was that supposed to mean? He crossed his arms to cover his chest, but it left his crotch uncovered, so he crossed his leg.

“Oh, just get in the bloody bed.”

Hannah smirked, but charitably held back another quip.

In the silence, he noticed it was raining, its pitter-patter on the metal roof echoed through the compartment. Hannah turned off the main light, leaving just the flame of an electric candle by the bed.

They looked at each other, then at the bed, then at each other again.

He hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Tess. The last few years of celibacy and loneliness caught up to him all at once. He yearned for it, physically ached for it, to lie in bed with Hannah, hold her in his arms until morning.

“Well, I--”

“There’s something…” he began.

“Hm?”

“Something you said I should do at the end of the date.”

He gulped, hoping she understood what he meant.

“Kiss me goodnight?”

“Yeah.”

This time, he wouldn’t chicken out. She stepped forward and his mouth went dry. She caught him by surprise, pecking his lips. It happened too quickly. By the time he opened his eyes, she had slipped in the bed.

Well, there was only one thing to do now. Nothing left to delay the inevitable. He had to get in bed. With Hannah. She patted the space beside her, and he prayed she couldn’t hear his hammering heart.

Lying in bed, neither of them spoke. Every muscle in his body was stiff. The train’s wheels clattered on the tracks and raindrops splashed on the roof. And just when he thought he couldn’t take more of this tension, Hannah giggled.

She turned on her side towards him. Some light filtered through the curtains, just enough to illuminate the outline of her face.

“This is a bit weird,” she whispered.

His whole body relaxed, and he turned to face her too.

“I can think of worse,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Imagine if it’d been a real blind date, with another woman, and I’d be stuck with her.”

“Maybe you would’ve liked her.”

“I don’t think so.”

How could he possibly like another woman when he had such feelings for Hannah? And right now, this moment was everything to him. He scooted closer, just a smidge. She folded her legs and their knees touched.

“So what, you’ll stay single forever? Tess really did a number on you.”

“I’m waiting for the right person.”

She searched his face, and he wondered how obvious he was, surely she must see the affection in his eyes. She blinked and looked down. A strand of hair caught in her eyelashes, and he gently swiped it behind her ear.

“What you said about after my divorce.” He continued to whisper although there was no reason for it. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that. For checking up on me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Her toes tickled his ankle and quite naturally, as though they’d been doing it for years, her leg slid between his.

“You know, I wanted to check up on you when you were in Broadchurch too.”

I would have loved that, he thought.

“I worked a lot,” he said.

There must have been more to say, things to explain and confess and profess, but not now, not when the moment was just right.

When he lost Tess, it wasn’ther betrayal that hurt the most, but losing that one person who knew him better than anyone else. It seemed impossible to build this level of intimacy and familiarity with another person in his lifetime. But maybe he didn’t have to start from the ground up, he and Hannah already had a foundation. All he had to do was add bricks and hope it didn’t crumble down.

“Han?”

“Yeah?” she mumbled sleepily.

“I-- I would’ve liked that, you visiting in Broadchurch…” He took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? “I thought about you.”

“Good.”

He chuckled at that. He kissed her forehead, and her eyes drifted shut with a smile.

They slept, a deep slumber despite the noisy train and unfamiliar surroundings.

Hardy woke up with one side of the body decidedly warmer than the other. Not just warmer-- heavier. And as the last fog of sleep cleared from his mind, he realized two things: Hannah had hogged all the blankets and she’d snuggled up to him. An arm around his waist, a leg across his thighs, and her head on his chest. And it appeared he’d reciprocated the snuggling. A hand rested on her ribs. High up on her ribs.  A confused debate of semantics and physiology took place in his mind, and he came to the conclusion that the area his hand rested on was more breast than side; he’d tried to cop a feel in his sleep.

Hardy cracked opened an eye. As far as he could tell, Hannah was still sleeping.  But if he moved his hand now, he risked waking her up and appearing more guilty than he was. He also became aware of another embarrassing situation: she had twisted in her sleep and buttons of the shirt had come undone, revealing the swell of her breasts. Of its own accord, his thumb moved, stroking the curve of her flesh, right along the underside. Before he could make himself stop, her nipple visibly pebbled under the cotton on the shirt-- his shirt.

A small noise, suspiciously close to a moan, escaped Hannah’s lips. She snuggled closer, and the hand on his stomach drifted lower. Hardy drew in a sharp breath. His arousal became more prominent. Embarrassing flashbacks from his teenage days made him cringe. He could put it all down to a physiological response, but he knew damn well it was Hannah’s proximity that caused the blood flow to his groin.

His groan made Hannah giggle.

“You’re awake,” he accused.

“Barely… sorry.”

She tried to roll off him, but he automatically tightened the arm around her. She looked up at him, eyes full of questions.

Stay. Don’t go. But his mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“I can’t tell what you want,” she said.

“Can’t you? Don’t you know?”

It was all so serious suddenly, so real and raw in the morning light. No place to hide.

“I asked you to kiss me, and you kissed my cheek,” she said, eyebrows knitted in a frown. “I turn out to be your blind date and you’re unhappy about it. I flirt with you all night and you-- I don’t know.”

Possibly, he hadn’t been as transparent as he thought.

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure. When you flirt, I just assume you’re taking the piss, so...”

“Sometimes it’s easier to joke than, I don’t know, open up.”

She picked at the bed sheet. He rarely got to see her so vulnerable,and it made his heart capsize. He would protect her from the world if she let him.  

“But you’re so-- and I’m…” He sighed. “You can do better.”

“It’s not for you to say.”

“I suppose not.”

He relaxed his arm around her, and she propped herself up on an elbow, keeping her other hand on his chest.

“I like you, Alec.”

“You used to, it’s what you said.”

“I still do. A lot. But I’m…” She let out a shaky breath. “Our friendship is really important to me.”

“Right. So… you only want to be friends?”

“I’m just saying I don’t have the best track record with relationships.”

“Me neither.”

“You were married for almost 20 years.”

“Exactly!”

She chuckled, and that sound made his heart soar. He covered her hand with his.

“As I’ve said: I can wait for the right person.”

“You meant me?”

“Of course.” He caressed her cheek. “Looks like there are a few things I need to clarify. Beginning with this...”

His fingers drifted to her hair and, as he raised his head, he brought her mouth to his. He wasn’t content with a peck this time. He moved his lips against hers, slowly, savouring the kiss.

“That alright?” he asked in a breath.

She nodded and pressed forward. She deepened the kiss as he reclined. They kissed to their heart’s content. Whenever they broke for air, and she smiled at him with heavy-lidded eyes, he had to remind himself it wasn’t a dream. He couldn’t wait to hold her and kiss her again tomorrow and the day after and all the ones after that for as long as she would let him.

Hannah straddled his legs. Her long hair tickled his chest. It took all his willpower not to grab her hips and tug her down on his erection.

“Anything else you want to clarify?” she asked

“I think I’m in love with you, Hannah.”

Judging by her widening eyes, she hadn’t expected such a serious answer. He hadn’t expected to say it either.  Momentarily, he  feared he’d ruined the moment and scared her, but her features softened in a warm smile.

“Me too.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so incredibly happy. So light. And it occurred to him he wasn’t falling in love so much as he was rising in love. He guffawed at his own silly thought.

“A smile looks good on you,” she said.

“You look good on me.”

She shook her head fondly and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her, thoroughly snogging her.

He slipped a hand under the shirt, fingers splayed over the dip in her lower back. A groan of surprise escaped his lips when she pressed her hips to his. Even through two layers of underwear, he could feel her heat.

“It’s been a while,” he said in a hoarse voice. “For me too.” He quirked an eyebrow and she added, “I mean for real, with someone I care about.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to wait?”

“No.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Hardy rolled over her and peppered kisses down her throat and collarbone. Fumbling with the shirt, he finally accessed her breasts. He licked a line up her sternum and took each nipple between his lips. Hannah squirmed under him, fingers raking through his hair.

He tentatively touched between her legs, inner thighs first, then grazing over her underwear. Her jerking hips and needy pants encouraged him. He removed her knickers throwing them over his shoulder, much to her amusement. He sat on his his heels, and with his forearms under her knees, he yanked her closer. He dropped butterfly kisses along her calves, making Hannah giggle.

“I need you,” she moaned, reaching into his pants.

Her hand on his cock made him curse. He thrusted into her fist until she guided him to where she needed him. As he pushed in her, he entwined their fingers above her head. And there was that carnal pleasure, but most of all there was closeness. Every nerve ending suffused with the smell and sight and touch of the other. And it was in a tight embrace, all clawing fingers, salty kisses and smacking skin, that they found bliss.

(They missed breakfast.)

[harrysthoughts]

YOU - Season 2 - Episode 2

Hi Youlinas! OMG...who knew Love Quinn was such a relatable tester! season 2. EP. 2 spoilers ahead - tread lightly! 

In the second episode, we see Joe actually arrive in LA, moodily descending the escalator at LAX. While waiting for his luggage, we meet a new character: Hendy. Played randomly yet fittingly by Chris D’Elia, he’s apparently some big deal in Hollywood. Joe pities him and the random LAXXers who clobber him for selfies.

Joe’s first order of business in LA, of course, is to get a new identity quickly, to put Candace off his trail. So he meets a random guy, Will, off Craigslist at a taco stand. The guy specializes in fake identities and has spent years crafting his own false persona, untraceable online. When he’s unable to help Joe, Joe takes a brick to his head and takes him back to his glass box (“3 inch plexi’s a beast”), which he allegedly set up himself in the Lock of Fame storage unit. Likely story.

However, Joe doesn’t realize how much of a pain in the ass this guy is going to end up being. Like, worse than Blair Waldorf having to babysit the Dean of Yale’s quasi-slut daughter, Emma. A guy named Jasper is trying to find Will - because Will owes him $3,000. Ok stress. That’s, like, two Louis Vuitton Alma BBs (without tax). Still, Joe takes on the name of his first LA prisoner, Will Bettelhiem, and continues on trying to get it on and in with Love.

The pair go to one of Love’s favorite haunts: the fish market! Love sees a huge fish being cut open and asks if its Ecuadorian or local and then doesn’t listen to the answer. Instead, she’s focused on Joe (now Will, keep up) because duh! Who cares where the fish is from when you have a hot guy trailing you. Then, Love plants one on Joe, taking him off guard. Aww! Their first kish in the fish market! Er, I mean kiss. Right then, the ghost of Beck appears, standing in the shadowy light of the swordfish kiosk. While Joe’s focused on dead Beck, Love is trying to make lunch plans with him. It’s like, chill! He’s literally seeing dead people at the fish market - let him have a moment, babe.

Back at The Store, Forty says a lot of stupid stuff (take a shot of wheat grass everytime he says “old sport”) and then walks away. Then, Jasper finds Will (Joe) at work. At first, he seems like a big annoying middle-school music teacher. You know, the kind that would make you practice recorder until your family was ready to disown you. But then! He turns around and chops Joe’s finger off for collateral! Will actually owed $50,000, not $3,000. Minor details, Will!

Of course, Joe runs back to the storage unit, sans finger, and screams at Will about the $47k discrepancy that cost him half a pinky. Will tries to console Joe by saying that a guy, Rufus, owes him exactly $50,000. Wait, aren’t the Humphrey’s poor? Oh, sorry. Wrong show. Once again, Joe-as-Will sets out to get the money so he can get his pinky back. This time, he has to not only ditch his lunch plans with Love and her friends, but also attend a darty in San Fernando Valley.

But Joe is still Joe, so he takes a detour to spy on Love at lunch with her friends. At first, he’s immediately put off by her friends, like any sane person would be. Because her friends are: Lucy, a literary agent, Sunrise Darshan Cummings (I KNOW), a stay-at-home mom (played by Titanic-era Kathy Bates, wig) to her and Lucy’s daughter, CANDLE, and Gabe Miranda, a pansexual acupuncturist. That was the ugliest sentence I’ve ever written and I’m sorry, but is Love trying to eat lunch or get lectured about at-home birthing methods? While Joe eavesdrops behind some glassware (a vibe), he learns that Love is falling for him quickly. And her friends think that it’s ok! Now, Joe can leave, knowing Love is falling in just that, love.

But then there’s dead Beck, again, standing across the street wearing a scarf. It’s like...Beck I know you’re a ghost but this is LA! Can’t you find a haunted bikini to don?

When Joe pulls up to the house party in the Valley, he’s predictably annoyed. Once inside, he gets mistaken for John Mayer thrice before running into Delilah, who’s there gaslighting as a gardener, looking for dirt. Hendy is also there, and all the guests want selfies. Except for Delilah who hates him for some reason. He delivers some jokes that take a second too long to get, recommends a doctor to Joe, and then walks away.

When Joe finally finds Rufus, he’s downstairs preparing for a dick appointment. He tells Joe to lose the clothes and for a second I thought we were going to get a show. But alas, Joe clearly isn’t “Todd” from “the app” so all we get is an awkward drug deal. Rufus doesn’t owe Will $50K. He owes him weird Canadian pills. UGH!

Later, while Joe is sitting at his counter nursing his pinky-less hand, Love knock, knock, knocks at his door. They have a tense conversation in which we learn that Forty and Love are TWINS, meaning Love owns Anavrin. Or, her PARENTS do, rather. Joe can’t get through the conversation without seeing dead Beck, still in the scarf. This makes him yell at Love, who, shocked, leaves Joe to deal with his ex-ghostfriend on his own.

When we see Joe lead Jasper into the storage unit, we know what’s gonna happen. And it does. He kills Jasper, unable to pay Will’s debts for him. The ghost of Beck, bundled and drunk as ever, appears inside the glass box, just like old times! And then Joe runs to Hendy’s doctor to get his pinky back. Priorities!

The next scene is a cool mashup of Joe cutting Jasper into pieces and Love making what seems to be a blueberry and lamb pot pie. Two types of people, am I right? Joe uses The Store’s meat grinder to grind Jasper’s body into garbage bags, disposes of them, and then joins Love at her West Elm of a house. He tells her all about Beck, except for the part where he, umm, bludgeons her to death. Minor details, I guess.

Later, while Joe is waiting for his laundry to be done, Delilah comes in with a basket full of dirty clothes and a hidden agenda. Apparently she was in the mood for a tea party because she starts spilling. While loading the washer, she tells Joe that she left home to be a stripper so that she could be like Carrie Fisher, who she thinks is (was?) really dope. And then the tea gets hotter: she tells him that Hendy raped her when she was younger and that she’s never told anyone. When Joe’s apologetic she doesn’t buy it, instead saying that she KNOWS he’s a bad guy. She just doesn’t know what kind...yet. Honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.

The episode ends with the real Will begging for a shower and Joe putting a contraband pair of Love’s undies in a Timberland shoebox (bootbox?) and then hiding it in a hole in the wall. Well, at least he’s not hiding it in the ceiling...baby steps, right?