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fuckyeahgoodomens · 9 months ago

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The Chic Magazine interview with the Good Omens cast and crew by Keeley Ryan, August 2023 :)

'It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together'

There were plenty of miracles, mysteries and mayhem when Good Omens returned to the small screen for a second season.

The PrimeVideo series, which was originally based on Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's best-selling novel, is heading beyond the source material this season.

The six-part series highlights the ineffable friendship between Aziraphale, a fussy angel and rare-book dealer, and the fast-living demon Crowley.

And while the duo put a stop to the apocalypse last time, there are the sparks of a new mystery that will take viewers from before The Beginning, to biblical times to grave robbing in Victorian Edinburgh; the Blitz of 1940s England to the modern day.

The cast includes David Tennant and Michael Sheen as Crowley and Aziraphale, Jon Hamm, Maggie Service, Nina Sosanya, Miranda Richardson, Shelley Conn, and Derek Jacobi also star in the series.

And Michael Sheen told how the Good Omens "world has grown" with season two - and opened up about his first day back at Aziraphale's bookshop.

In an interview conducted before the SAG strike, he said, "It was lovely to be back in the bookshop after having seen it burnt down the ground.

"Clearly I had managed to save a few books! Actually, it was extraordinary - your brain does a double take - my desk, the cash machine, the record player - everything is all so familiar even though it is a totally different location.

But we have expanded - there is much more of the world of Soho here including Aziraphale's favourite the magic shop and my favourite the pub - our world has grown."

The actor also praised Neil Gaiman's writing, noting how there's "something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary."

He said, "His writing has such a breadth of reference and yet is so accessible and entertaining even when taking on big epic or philosophical issues.

There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary. When things filter through his imagination they emerge in an entirely unique way and yet it feels like it's always been there.

Add in the sprinkling of the imagination of Terry Pratchett and cocktail has been created - utterly familiar."

Producer Sarah-Kate Fenelon told Chic how the second season of Good Omens is "building on the universe" - and how they had been "sowing the seeds of a second season without anybody knowing" last season. "

She said, "I work with Neil Gaiman and know in part that Gabriel, who is played by Jon Hamm, his character is not in the book of Good Omens - but it was included in the first season. We were sowing the seed of a second season without anybody knowing.

"That character was written by Neil and Terry as a potential second book. They never got to write it, but now we're able to tell Gabriel's story. It's kind of a lovely evolution, where we're just expanding the universe.

"A lot of locations on the set are locations from season one. We've also been able to explore new shops, like we've got the record shop and we've got The Dirty Donkey pub, which we go into - it was in season one, but we never got to go into it.

"Season two is just building on the universe."

The Wicklow native added that it was "wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together" for a second season.

She said, "We were lucky that a lot of our crew and creative talent were able to come back for a second season. But also, we had our cast return. Miranda Richardson plays a totally different character this season and we have a new Beelzebub.

"And then obviously, we've got Maggie and Nina playing themselves, Maggie and Nina, as written by Neil. It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together again."

Noel Corbally, who works as an associate producer on the series, recalled how they marked a special anniversary of the first season's release while prepping for season two.

The Irishman said, "We went for dinner that night to relive the celebration, happy to be back again.

"Even now, it's been more than a year since we wrapped and to be able to come back into the studio that's just been frozen in time with everything wrapped up — we had a week to turn it back to life, have it be a live street again.

"It's been a week. But it's been amazing. We had our original lighting team come back, our original art department — and they've just done a fantastic job."

And while there are plenty of easter eggs for fans to spot throughout the six episodes, the pair shared their favourites.

Noel shared, "I think that my favourite easter egg is actually in the record shop. It's a song that we play in the background. It's so subtle, but it's from the musical Happy As A Sandbag.

"Maggie's character Maggie runs the record shop, which was owned by her grandfather in the story. But the musical, Happy As A Sandbag, Maggie Service the actress - her mother and father met on the musical and fell in love. Having that was an homage to them for bringing us Maggie."

Sarah-Kate said, "I quite like the easter eggs in the title sequence. If you look really closely, there is a Gabriel or Jim in every shot, which people tend not to notice. It's like Where's Wally?"

Rob Wilkins, who manages Terry Pratchett's estate and serves as narrative EP, told how he was "elated" for the second season to be out — and about moving beyond the book's source material.

He explained, "There were lots of nerves, because there is no source material. There's no book. I went through the whole of season one with the mantra that we've got a beginning, a middle and an end.

"And at the end of season one, which was the only season at the time, I felt very relaxed - we're all grounded through Terry and Neil's words, and that's fine. We know where we're going, we've got the novel to refer to.

"And so with season two, of course there's going to be nerves — there's no source material.

"But Neil is 50% of the creative team that brought you Good Omens, so in him we trust. And we genuinely do, from the bottom of my heart - of course we do.

"There's excitement about what Neil is going to bring from the page and from the page to the screen, but trepidation as well — I'm a fan as much as anybody else, I want to know where the stories are going."

Rob added that some of his own favourite easter eggs within the second season include a nod to Terry in The Dirty Donkey pub - as well as a special sight in the bookshop.

He said, "I love the fact that in the bookshop, Teny's hat and scarf are just hanging there. Terry, as a huge patron of bookshops around the world, he just left his hat and scarf in there and moved on one day and left them behind.

"That's a lovely one for me, as well - it means more to me, I think, than anything else."

Rob opened up about the success of the first season - and why it was something that he didn't necessarily expect.

He continued, "There's the Terry Pratchett fandom, there's the Neil Gaiman fandom and push them together and there's a big crossover. But what we created with season one, we created Good Omens fandom from the show.

"People came to Neil's work and Terry's work through the show. It created something entirely individual of its own making, and that freaked me out because I didn't see that one coming.

"I didn't see that as a thing. I thought the fans would be rooted in Terry or Neil. I didn't realise that the ineffable husbands in all of that - I love David and Michael, but I didn't realise the love people would have for them as our demon and our angel.

"I shouldn't be surprised. It's just my admiration for them as actors and for what they do, and for people getting it I think that that's the thing that's meant a lot to me, that people have understood what we tried to do."

Costume designer Kate Carin told how having the opportunity to join Good Omens' second season was a "gift" - and opened up about why it was impossible to pick a favourite scene.

She explained, "When you see the whole show - you think, when you're watching episode one, you're like, 'oh my god, that's the best'. But then you watch something in episode two and it's like, 'that's awesome!'

"I would say that I'm a disciple of the show now. I didn't know the book when I was approached about the job. I'd obviously heard of it, and I'd seen season one — as a punter, I watched it.

"To get the opportunity to come and work on season two, it's a gift for a costume designer.

"You do fantasy, you do period, you do contemporary and all of the wavy lines in- between - you're given a lot of rope to play with."

The character of Shax, played by Miranda Richardson, was a "really fun character to design for" - as Kate told how plenty of ideas jumped to mind after reading the description.

She said, "When Neil writes on the page that you have a 50s inspired female demon, that gives you a lot of scope to play with. "

And when I started drawing her, I actually had to stop myself because I kept coming up with ideas."

And with the series jampacked with magical moments and settings, set decorator Bronwyn Franklin told how there was one particular shop that has a "certain magic'!

She said, "I actually think the magic shop is my favourite shop. The bookshop used to be, but now that l've done it twice - it's still beautiful. It is Aziraphale's home. It feels more magical because Aziraphale lives there, and there's the whole angelic side.

"But this one, it really has a certain magic. From a set decorator's point of view, it's a joy. Will Godstone, he gets to sit there and he's got his little cash register and if he's got no customers, he can sit there and have a little cup of tea.

"You just have to feel that person, live that person and think that it's yours. I always come into a space like this and think, 'how would I like to be?' Because if it makes me happy, it'll make the cast member happy, it'll make the viewers happy."

Michael Ralph, who is the series' production designer, told how while it's impossible to pick a favourite set, the bookshop is "one that will resonate most'.'

Aziraphale's bookshop contains more than 7,000 real books and Michael noted that it was important for the setting to feel real, not just for the audiences at home but for the cast and crew.

He said, "There's not a fake book in here. Couldn't do that. In a way, if you look at any bookshelf - I spent almost a day just moving books around, to make the bookshelves look like they're real. They could be flat dressed, and then they're not real. But this is real, when they're just moved around a little bit; or people have pulled them out and put them in incorrectly.. .that's what's real about a bookshop."

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bellisima-writes · 6 months ago

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🥺

I had never seen this before and it made me really happy so I wanted to share here

#good omens #michael sheen #fandoms save lives

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ingravinoveritas · 3 months ago

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Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #good omens 2 #aziraphale #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #crowley #ineffable husbands #their chemistry is and always will be amazing #i truly do not think we would have had a season 2 without Michael and David #but we can now see how their connection informed the relationship between aziraphale and crowley #they are perfect together your honor #mutual wanting #in and out of character #a friendship that's become something more #ineffable lovers #<3

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bowtiepastabitch · 1 year ago

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Historical Analysis: class and injustice in 'The Ressurrectionists' minisode

Alternate title: why we're tempted to be upset with Aziraphale and why that's only halfway fair

Okay so first off huge thanks to @makewayforbigcrossducks for asking the question (and follow-up questions lol) that brought me to put these thoughts all together into a little history nerd ramble. That question being, Why is Aziraphale so clueless? Obviously, from a plot perspective, we know we need to learn some lessons about human moral dilemmas and injustices. But from a character perspective? A lot of this minisode is about Aziraphale being forced to confront the flaws of heavenly logic. This whole idea that "poverty is ineffable" basically boils down to 'yeah some people are poor, but their souls can be saved just as if not more easily that way, so it's not our problem and they probably deserve it anyway for not working hard enough,' a perspective that persists in many modern religious circles. Aziraphale isn't looking at the human factor here, he's pretty much purely concerned about the dichotomy of good and wicked human behavior and the spiritual consequences thereof, because that's what he's been told to believe. His whole goal is to "show her the error of her ways." He believes, quite wholeheartedly, that he's helping her in the long run.

"the lower you start, the more opportunities you have"

So here's what we're asking ourselves: Why did it take him so bloody long to realize how stupid that is? Sure, he's willing to excuse all kinds of things in the name of ineffability, but if someone in the year of our lord 2023 told me he was just now realizing that homelessness was bad after experiencing the past two centuries, I'd be resisting the urge to get violent even if he WAS played by Michael Sheen.

Historical context: a new type of poverty

Prior to the 19th century (1800s), poverty was a very different animal from what we deal with now. The lowest classes went through a dynamic change leading up to the industrial revolution, with proto-industrialization already moving people into more manufacture-focused tasks and rapid urbanization as a result of increasingly unlivable conditions for rural peasantry. The enclosure of common lands and tennancies by wealthy landowners for the more profitable sheep raising displaced lots of families, and in combination with poor harvests and rising rents, many people were driven to cities to seek out new ways of eeking out a living.

Before this, your ability to eat largely would have depended on the harvest in your local area. This can, for our purposes, be read as: you're really only a miracle away from being able to survive the winter. Juxtapose this, then, with the relatively new conundrum of an unhoused urban poor population. Now if you want to eat, you need money itself, no exceptions, unless you want to steal food. Charity at the time was often just as much harm as good, nearly always tied deeply up in religious attitudes and a stronger desire to proselytize than improve quality of lie. As a young woman, finding work in a city is going to be incredibly difficult, especially if you're not clean and proper enough to present as a housemaid or other service laborer. As such, Elspeth turns to body snatching to try to make a better life for herself and Wee Morag. She's out of options and she knows it.

You know who doesn't know that? Aziraphale.

The rise of capitalism

The biggest piece of the puzzle which Aziraphale is missing here is that he hasn't quite caught onto the concept of capitalism yet. To him, human professions are just silly little tasks, and she should be able to support herself if she just tried. Bookselling, weaving, farming, these are all just things humans do, in his mind. He suggests these things as options because it hasn't occurred to him yet that Elspeth is doing this out of desperation, but he also just doesn't grasp the concept of capital. Crowley does, he thinks it's hilarious, but Aziraphale is just confused as to why these occupations aren't genuine options. Farming in particular, as briefly touched on above, was formerly carried out largely on common land, tennancies, or on family plots, and land-as-capital is an emerging concept in this period of time (previously, landowners acted more like local lords than modern landlords). Aziraphale just isn't picking up on the fact that money itself is the root issue.

Even when he realizes that he fucked up by soup-ifying the corpse, he doesn't offer to give them money but rather to help dig up another body. He still isn't processing the systemic issues at play (poverty) merely what's been immediately presented to him (corpses), and this is, from my perspective, half a result of his tunnel-vision on morality and half of his inability to process this new mode of human suffering.

Half a conclusion and other thoughts

So we bring ourselves back around to the question of Aziraphale's cluelessness. Aziraphale is, as an individual, consistently behind on the times. He likes doing things a certain way and rarely changes his methodology unless someone forces his hand. Even with the best intentions, his ability to help in this minisode is hindered by two points: 1)his continued adherance to heavenly dogma 2)his inability to process the changing nature of human society. His strongest desire at any point is to ensure that good is carried out, an objective good as defined by heavenly values, and while I think it's one of his biggest character hangups, I also can't totally blame him for clinging to the only identity given to him or for worrying about something that is, as an ethereal being, a very real concern. Unfortunately, he also lacks an understanding of the actual human needs that present themselves. Where Elspeth knows that what she needs is money, Aziraphale doesn't seem to process that money is the only solution to the immediate problem. This is in part probably because a century prior the needs of the poor were much simpler, and thus miraculous assistance would never have interfered with 'the virtues of poverty'. (You can make someone's crops grow, and they'll eat well, but giving someone money actually changes their economic status.) Thus, his actions in this episode illustrate the intersection of heavenly guidelines with a weak understanding of modern structures.

This especially makes sense with his response to being told to give her money. Our angel is many things, but I would never peg him as having any attachment to his money. He's not hesitant because he doesn't want to part with it, he's hesitant because he's still scared it's the wrong thing to do in this scenario. He really is trying to be good and helpful. So yes, we're justifiably pretty miffed to see him so blatantly unaware and damaging. He definitely holds a lot of responsibility for the genuine tragedy of this minisode, and I think Crowley pointing out that it's 'different when you knew them' is an extremely important moment for Aziraphale's relationship with humanity. Up until now, he's done a pretty good job insulating himself from the capacity of humans for nastiness, his seeming naivity at the Bastille being case in point.

In the end, I think Aziraphale's role in this minisode is incredibly complex, especially within its historical context. He's obstinate and clueless but also deeply concerned with spiritual wellbeing (which is, to Aziraphale, simply wellbeing) and doing the right thing to be helpful. While it's easy to allow tiny Crowley (my beloved) to eclipse the tragic nature and moral complexity of this minisode, I think in the end it's just as important to long-term character development as 'A Companion to Owls'. We saw him make the right choice with Job's children, and now we see him make the wrong choice. And that's a thing people do sometimes, a thing humans do.

~~~

also tagging @ineffabildaddy, @kimberellaroo, and @raining-stars-somewhere-else whose comments on the original post were invaluable in helping me organize my thoughts and feelings about this topic. They also provided great insight that, in my opinion, is worth going and reading for yourself, even if it didn't factor into my final analysis/judgement.

If I missed anything or you have additional thoughts, please please share!!! <3

#this was a monster of a post to write #in no small part because I was relying more on my own historical knowledge than usual so I had to double check myself constantly #but I had a lot of fun and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens analysis #good omens meta #the resurrectionists #good omens season 2 #good omens minisode #nerd shit #ineffable husbands #aziraphale good omens

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yamisnuffles · 9 months ago

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I love Aziraphale because he's expected to be hard, to be a warrior, but he chooses to be soft. He's not gentle, kind, and good because he's an angel. We've seen what the other angels are like and many of them are anything but. And there's no doubt that he could be that warrior if he wanted. He was issued a flaming sword, after all. But he gave it away and seemed none to eager to use it when he finally picked it up again. No, he is who he is because he chooses to be that way again and again.

I adore that. In a world that's often so hard and in a system that expects him to be just as hard, he chooses to be soft. To be silly. He learns to dance even though angels don't dance. He learns magic and French the human way. Successful or not, he likes playing parts, living it up as a double agent and newspaperman. He wears glasses because he thinks they're nifty. He enjoys eating food and going to the barber not because he has to but because he likes being pampered. To be fussy and indulgent. Despite strength and miraculous powers, he makes himself vulnerable so that he can be coddled and rescued.

And it's not like it's easy for him. He has to struggle against what's expected of him and against judgment from the other angels. He was worried about doing the wrong thing before the beginning, before there was even really a concept of the wrong thing. He's so terribly anxious but he doesn't let it stop him from trying to do real good. He did his part to save Job's family, even when he was certain he would fall for it.

Most difficult of all, he loves. Is in love. A thing humans do, he says to the Archangels in S2. So that's not just some easy, natural, angelic thing for him. It's very human and very scary because it's not really something he's meant to do and especially not with a demon. But he pushes slowly forward as best he can. He risks small touches and can't help but wear his heart on his sleeve with that all too expressive face. He's the angelic embodiment of heart eyes. Because he wants to love and be loved.

This isn't all he is, of course. He can be bitchy and petty and hard when pushed. He can be the warrior he was built to be. Those aren't bad things. Just enough of a bastard and all that. But just enough also means they also don't define him.

Which is where my frustration comes in. I understand the desire to flip the script sometimes. I like to do it myself from time to time and definitely think Aziraphale should be allowed to take charge. But it feels like, more often than not, large parts of fandom have taken those moments and made them all of who he is. Of the two of them, he's often made to be much more impassive and distant than Crowley. It's Crowley who is more emotional, who is more overcome physically. Despite the fact that it's almost entirely Aziraphale in canon who reaches and touches. Despite Michael Microexpressions Sheen putting so much open heart into Aziaphale's face. He isn't allowed to be soft and needy, comforted, coddled, and rescued. To be the one who yearns and lets himself be weak with it.

Just... let him be soft and silly. Let him be the person he most often chooses to be.

#aziraphale #good omens #long post #gos2 #pls I'm old and tired and not trying to pick a fight #just I so often see someone wearing aziraphale's face #and have to say #this is not my beautiful house #this is not my beautiful wife #good omens meta #meta #sort of lol #more a wild ramble

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 9 months ago

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the bafta livestream out of context: top 60 cursed quotes.

There is nothing more cursed than the livestream I just witnessed, and I made a summary post but now I'm just going to put in quotes by the worthy maggots in the stream with no context, because BELIEVE ME THE CONTEXT DIDN'T MAKE ANYTHING BETTER. The livestream chat was NOT A PLACE OF THE LORD.

I'm going to make the quotes that were by me a different colour. Please know that I am NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR A SINGLE QUOTE OTHER THAN THOSE. SO HERE'S THE TOP 60 IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

Barbenhimer awakened things in me ok

aroace people the most disturbingly sexual talkers on the planet fight me on this

WHO JUST GASPED

MICHAEL SHEENS BABY TALKING BARK BADK IM A DOG BARK WOOF

I feel so sorry for this woman. She's being so heartfelt and we're here thristing over a slinky that possessed a man

IRELAAAND PLEASE ADOPT ME AS YOUR OWN PLEASE TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF UNPRONOUNCABLE WORDS, GREEN FEILD, CATHOLISISM AND HOZIER PLEASE

the urge to go to france and misgender a croissant is real

Devastated the slutty knees have gone away

So many men nowadays are so submissive and breedable like thank you lord for these men thank you

witches and murder slime tutorial

speaking of royals did the bloke who ISN'T lizzy's husband but her son apparently die yet

Turtleneck Crowley is my gender.

WE COULD HAVE LEFT IT AS NOT SAFE FOR WORK WHY THE DRTAOLS ASMI

SAY AN BFUIL CEAD AGAM DUL GO DTÍ AN LEITHREAS AN WE'LL LET YOU THROUGJ

"Oompa loompa doopety dee, I really hated being in this movie" -Hugh grant probably

IF YOU'RE A CHILD AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THAT MESSAGE IM SORRY

i want the kilt back this a betrayal

if someone put me in a room with kilt!david tennant one of us is walking out of that room pregnant and its not gonna be me

a lot of these words are in the bible and none of them should be in that order you need jesus

Can we vote to make david wear that kilt back? Maybe make him do a twirl this time

You mean Bildaddy? 😏

Honey what make you think a dude who roamed around with prostitutes and got himself more holes for mankind won't be calling bildad bildaddy? [this was about jesus btw.]

FREE THE KNEE

Show us the knees!

AND YOU'RE COMING AFTER ME FOR MY BLOWJOB BANANA

He looks like those fancy chocolates. Imma take a bite outta him. Think you'll leak molten goo like them?

My brain isn't working, I read "bratty couch jr"

i'm sorry the what holes

FIND ME ON GOAD AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY APPROPRIATELY

I genuinely thought it was a road typo and I thought you were threatening asmi with physical violence on the road

OHH FLOWER OF SCOTLAAAAAAND

Combine that with the unfortunate oranges and see what happens.

DEVASTATING NEWS I ATE UP ALL OF THEM SO I'VE BROUGHT A BLOWJOB BANANA INSTEAD

That reminded me of the army video where the guy was deepthroating a 7 inch banana without a hitch.

OMG THEY JUST FLASHED BACK & I GOT A GLIMPSE OF THAT KILT 🥵🥵🥵

thats why apollo had to deliver you at an illegal sushi restaurant

How long do you think it would take to get david naked from his chocolate man suit? Can we set a new speedrun category?

SUPERBOWL FOR TENNANTISTS

Big feelings about pants straps in the chat tonight

Last time i check yoire supposed to thank the lord gor his gifts

HEY GUYS ASMI'S FROM A PARALLEL UNIVERSE CONFIRMED

I just have a deep appreciation for ireland

Can you use suspenders as bondage gear? I mean it looks like it would be fine? I mean if you make the length a bit more they might be more comfortable than ropes. Just sayin

All i can think when i see him in the costume is the one specific ken and oppenhimer slash fic. Lord help me i can't be saved

GIVE MY LOVE TO THE LEPRECHAAAAAAAAAAAUNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Like a giant orange slice on her one arm.

Stop hitting the lectern geez / what if its into that?

Men who wear suspenders are such losers like why do you need so much cloth to keep your pants up. Why dont you just wear a belt. Where do you live. What is your timezone. What are you office hours

what is this suspender shaming ari chappal for you

Aziraphales office hours are: fuck off

Put me ina room with a suspender wearing man and he shall have the same fate as kilttennant

MARIYADAM E ILLAI

It was titled "snake in my b***" It meant butt lmfao

CROWLEY AND LOKI MY GENDERFLUID ICONS

THE KNEES ARE BACK

THEKNEES GOD SAVE ME FROM THESE SINFUL THOUGHTS

What if slutshaming is my kink?

NOT THE BLOWJOB FACE NO

AT THIS POINT IF NEIL HASN'T UNFOLLOWED ME YET HE'S ASKING TO BE MENTALLY SCARRED IM SORRY

I am failing

Tagging the main culprits whose tumblr handles I know:

@thearoacemess @vitrilol @queermarzipan @good-usernames-were-taken

Cheers, maggots.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #good omens #maggots #good omens fandom #crowley #bafta awards #bafta 2024 #bafta #suspenders #discord livestream #david tennant #michael sheen #barbenheimer #oppenheimer

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aziraphales-library · 7 months ago

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do you have any fic recs for aziracrow in the 1920s/30s? I watched Bright Young Things recently and now all I need in life is Aziraphale attending Gatsby-esque parties or anything similar along those lines. I love your blog btw! Very helpful <3

We have a #1920s tag, so check that out. Here are some 1930s/Gatsby/Bright Young Things fics...

wanna witness your eyes looking by izzyhandsgf (E)

"How could someone so unbearably holy commit such sins in the most beautiful way?" ----------------------------- Or, Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the 1930s, fem-presenting, and both are slightly overcome by their feelings for one another...

I’ll be Seeing You by gothwillgraham (G)

In the early 1930s, both Crowley and Aziraphale are active in London’s high society, without the other realizing it. When their respective orders cause them to cross paths for the first time since 1867, dealing with the tasks at hand is one thing. But dealing with the emotions built up in the last 70 years is quite another.

Lavender Coffin by The_Infamous_Jack (T)

“If Aziraphale had been in any way inclined, he would have been worried about the damnation of his soul if Heaven ever saw what he was up to. He never worried, though, because they couldn't see a damn thing. Aziraphale was not doing anything that involved Heaven at the moment, he was simply spending time with the humans, and as result, his lifestyle was completely invisible to them. They never bothered him, and he was free to act as sordid as the rest of the era if he so chose to.” ~~~ Aziraphale loves the 1920s, and he only wishes that he could share it with Crowley. Unfortunately, the more time that Aziraphale spends with the humans, and the more drunken letters he writes to his absent “husband”, the more he discovers the darker undertones to the era he thought he fitted right into. Eventually, he begins to spiral into questioning his own loyalties, and he desperately needs somebody to save him. It’s rather ironic that the only person who can is a demon, and one which Aziraphale hasn’t seen for over 70 years. Alternatively, the author watched Michael Sheen in Bright Young Things and you know what that means… (Aziraphale in makeup? Yes please).

Maybe This Time by orphan_account (T)

There was a cabaret in a city called Berlin, in a country called Germany, in a Europe that just narrowly escaped the end of the world and was rapidly heading towards another attempt. And in that cabaret, an Angel and a Demon were dancing together. The trumpets signaling end times could have been playing, and they wouldn’t have even heard it over the music.

Such Sweet Sorrow by Eldyra (M)

This work is loosely inspired by the wonderful comic "Jazz Baby" by WhiteleyFoster and "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in 1923 at a party, which they both attend due to an assignment from their respective head offices. Crowley is having a bad night, Aziraphale still feels bad about the Holy Water argument, neither is in a party mood. So they take off together to make a memory that will remain precious to them both for the rest of their lives.

Celestial Bodies by Justkeeptrekkin (M)

The year is 1923. Aziraphale's friends at the gentlemen's club invite him for a weekend away in Devon. He asks Crowley to join. It gets very silly and very messy very quickly. That's just how things were in the roaring twenties.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #1930s #1920s #mod d

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notalostcausejustyet · 11 months ago

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MS is always out there doing charity work. He hasn’t sought attention for any of it either. He just does it as people find it about t right before or after and then when they try to turn the interview into why he did the charity work, he turns it around to talking about the issues instead of himself.

Warm Spaces, Port Talbot Libray - BBC Breakfast - 20/12/2023 #1

#michael sheen #port talbot library #charity #my local live Ary literally changed my life #books have saved me so many times

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mjwhisperer · 3 months ago

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𝚂𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚜 𝙸 𝙶𝚎𝚝 𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎

*Part 1*

Smut

2007

Los Angeles/ London

Word Count: 7k

The condo was steeped in an almost hypnotic quiet, a peaceful hum that only came with the late hour, the kind of silence that invited deep thoughts and lingered long after the chaos of the day had subsided. Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly above, a canvas of deep indigo, the stars twinkling faintly, while the moon hung full and low, casting a silver sheen across the still, rippling waters of the pool. A soft breeze barely stirred the trees, leaving the night undisturbed. The children were asleep in their rooms, their soft breaths the only sign of life beyond your own presence.

You stood in the kitchen, the cool tiles grounding you as you leaned against the counter, cradling a steaming cup of tea in your hands. The warmth from the cup seeped into your palms, offering comfort against the cool air of the condo. Your black satin robe clung to your body, the fabric smooth and weightless, brushing your skin with every movement. Michael's initials, 'M.J.', were intricately embroidered in gold on the robe, the letters glimmering faintly in the dim light, a constant reminder of him.

The kitchen was bathed in a soft, amber glow, the only light coming from the pendant above the island, casting long shadows across the marble countertops. In the adjacent living room, the television played quietly, flickering with muted colors as the news reported on Michael's arrival in London. Of course, it had made headlines—everything about Michael did. You adjusted the volume, not wanting to risk waking the kids, their exhaustion from the day's adventures ensuring they slept soundly. You allowed yourself a small smile, remembering how carefree they had been, splashing in the pool under the afternoon sun, laughing with pure joy.

After a moment, you lazily reached for the remote and flipped through the channels. A flash of skin and suggestive movements filled the screen before you hurriedly turned it off, heat rushing to your cheeks as you glanced around, even though you were alone. Now, the kitchen was left in near darkness, save for the dim golden light above the island, wrapping the room in warmth and intimacy.

You took another sip of tea, the herbal notes soothing your throat, though it did little to ease the hollow ache in your chest. Michael had been gone for only a day, but the absence of his presence seemed to fill the room. The weight of the silence felt heavier without his voice, his laughter, his energy. It wasn't like the long months when he'd be on tour, but even a day felt too long.

The soft hum of the house was suddenly interrupted by the sharp ring of the phone on the wall. Startled, you set your cup down and quickly crossed the kitchen, pulling the phone from its cradle, your heart leaping with anticipation.

"Hello? Jackson residence," you said softly, already suspecting who was on the other end.

"Hi, beautiful," came Michael's voice, rich and familiar, instantly calming the restless energy that had been stirring inside you. His tone was warm, like honey, and just hearing him sent a wave of comfort over you, smoothing out the rough edges of your loneliness.

A slow smile crept across your lips. "Hi, baby. What are you doing up so late? It's six in the morning over there," you said, glancing at the clock, the early hour in London playing on your mind.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied, his voice a mix of exhaustion and that signature softness. "Jet lag's got me, but I'll be alright. I just couldn't let the night end without hearing your voice. If I didn't call, I knew I'd hear it from you tomorrow."

His chuckle was deep, sending a shiver down your spine. You could picture him so clearly in your mind—tired, yet smiling, his hand running through his dark curls.

"You already know," you teased, shifting your weight and crossing your arms, leaning against the counter as if he were right in front of you.

"Of course I do," he quipped, his tone playful but laced with affection. "Why wouldn't I?"

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it, but your voice softened. "How was your flight?" you asked, knowing he was probably used to the endless travel but wanting to ask anyway, needing that connection.

"My flight?" He paused, as if he hadn't really thought about it. "Oh, it was fine—nothing I haven't done a hundred times before. Just long, but nothing unusual."

"And how are the kids?" he asked, his voice dropping, that protective edge creeping in. "Were they good today? Well, yesterday for you."

"They were perfect," you said, smiling at the thought of them. "We spent the day swimming in the pool, and Bill took us around town for a bit. No paparazzi this time, which was a nice change. I still kept their faces covered, though. You know how you are about that."

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice turning tender again, soft like a whispered secret. "I wish you all could've come with me. But I promise, when I'm back, I'm all yours."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You bit your lip, the anticipation stirring in your stomach. "I'd love that," you whispered, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, "But I think the kids might want their dad first before you get near me."

Michael groaned playfully, the sound making you laugh. "You're impossible," he muttered, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

"And you love it," you shot back, your grin widening.

"I do," he admitted with a sigh, before his voice turned low and suggestive. "So... where are you right now?"

You glanced around the quiet kitchen, the dim light casting a warm glow on the polished surfaces. "In the kitchen," you replied. "Just finished my tea."

His voice hummed through the phone, and instantly, a shiver danced down your spine. It was like honey—smooth, slow, and rich with promise. "How about you take this conversation to the bedroom?" he purred, each word dripping with a quiet intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The thrill of it was instant, your breath catching in your throat, anticipation crackling in the air like static. "I don't want anyone overhearing us... just in case things... change."

Your pulse quickened at his suggestion, heat rising to your cheeks. A slow smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back slightly, basking in the moment, enjoying the delicious tension building between the two of you. The playful tone in his voice sent your heart racing faster. You raised an eyebrow, savoring the game. "What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Jackson?"

A low, almost growling chuckle rumbled from him, making your skin tingle. "You know exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice dropping to a level that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, thick and full of unspoken desire. His words were soft but heavy with the kind of promise that made your skin flush.

You chuckled, your lips curving as you leaned against the counter, fighting the heat that had already begun to coil in your stomach. "Alright," you relented softly, playing along, though your own excitement was quickly becoming impossible to hide. "Give me five minutes, and I'll call you back," you said, already knowing he wouldn't let you off that easily.

"Why five?" he quipped, his tone smooth as silk, completely in control of the moment. "Why not thirty seconds?"

You bit your lip, barely able to suppress the smile creeping across your face, your heart pounding faster in your chest. "Michael, don't start."

His deep chuckle came again, sending another delicious ripple down your spine. "I'm just teasing, baby," he said, the affection in his voice thick and unmistakable. "But go ahead, hang up... I'll give you two minutes. No more."

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head even though he couldn't see you. "You're so irritating, but I love you," you said, your voice softening at the end.

"I love you more," he said quietly, but with an intensity that made your heart ache with longing. "Now hang up."

You hesitated for just a second, not wanting to lose the sound of his voice, but the excitement bubbling inside you urged you forward. You placed the phone down, the soft click of the receiver louder than usual in the silence of the kitchen. Without wasting a second, you darted down the hall, your bare feet padding softly over the cool, polished wood floors. Each step felt like you were moving toward something inevitable, the air around you thick with anticipation.

The house was quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound accompanying your hurried movements. You slipped into the bedroom, the door closing behind you with a quiet click. The room was bathed in shadows, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft, golden glow over the bed. You moved quickly, reaching for the bedside lamp, dimming the light to a soft, warm glow that barely illuminated the space. The shadows danced along the walls, the atmosphere now thick with intimacy.

You moved to his side of the bed, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his pillow. His scent—woodsy and musky, with a hint of the cologne he always wore—lingered faintly on the linens. You clutched the pillow to your chest for a moment, the weight of it grounding you, filling the emptiness of the room that was too big without him.

Sliding onto the bed, you sank into the soft mattress, feeling the comfort of the familiar space surround you. You tucked his pillow beneath your head, your body relaxing slightly as his scent enveloped you. The anticipation, however, only grew stronger, your heart racing in your chest as you waited for the phone to ring.

And then, it did.

The sharp trill of the phone sliced through the stillness, and you grabbed it without hesitation, bringing it to your ear, your heart leaping as his voice washed over you. "Someone's eager," he teased, his tone laced with mischief, though the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

"Oh, shut up," you shot back playfully, though you couldn't keep the smile out of your voice. "I just miss you, that's all."

He sighed softly, and you could hear the longing in the sound, could feel it echo in your own chest. "I miss you more, doll," he said, his voice deep and velvety, every word dripping with sincerity. "I've been lying in this bed thinking about you since I got here."

You shifted slightly, reclining further into the bed, your fingers brushing over the cool surface of the photo frame on his nightstand—the picture of you both, caught in a moment of laughter, frozen in time. "Yeah? What about me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been thinking about your smile," he began softly, his tone tender and slow, as if savoring every word. "Those big, beautiful eyes of yours. God, I miss them. I miss the way you look at me, how they light up when you're happy. I miss your voice... You have no idea how much I miss hearing it, even when you're just talking about the most random things. You've picked up that habit from me, you know."

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you listened, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace, filling the empty space in the room.

"And your lips," he continued, his voice dropping lower, turning more intimate. "I miss your kisses... your hugs. Everything. I hate being so far away from you."

His voice was heavy with emotion, the longing thick between you, so palpable it made your chest ache. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining him there beside you, his hand reaching out to pull you close, his warmth wrapping around you, his breath soft against your skin.

"I hate it too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "It feels so empty without you here."

The silence that followed was filled with the unspoken—the two of you just breathing, connected through the distance, the miles falling away as the intimacy between you filled the space.

"I promise," he finally said, his voice low and resolute, "the second I get back, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'm holding you to that," you replied, a soft smile on your lips, though the ache of longing remained. You wanted him here, now, the need for his touch overwhelming.

"You better," he murmured, his words carrying a weight that transcended the miles between you, bridging the gap with a promise that lingered in the air. Even though he was far away, the distance felt irrelevant. His presence wrapped around you, almost tangible, as if he were standing right there, his breath warm against your skin.

A stillness settled over the conversation, the silence between you thick with unspoken desires. The only sounds breaking the quiet were the soft rustle of sheets and the synchronized rise and fall of your breaths, as if the very air between you had become shared, intimate. It was as though the entire world had shrunk, leaving only this moment, suspended in time, where the space between you was charged with electricity.

Michael's soft, deliberate throat clearing pulled you from the cocoon of silence, his voice vibrating through the phone and sending a shiver down your spine. "What are you wearing right now?" he asked, his tone low, edged with curiosity and something deeper, something darker.

Your fingers absently traced the delicate gold thread of his initials sewn into your robe, the texture grounding you, keeping you tethered to him despite the distance. "My robe," you answered, letting the words slip from your lips as though they were of no consequence, your tone casual, playful.

"Which one?" he pressed, his voice carrying a soft insistence, a desire for more.

"The black one," you replied, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you imagined the way his breath would catch. "With your initials on it."

A low hum of approval reverberated through the line, a sound that spoke volumes, his appreciation clear without needing further explanation. "And underneath?" he asked, his voice dipping, the question soaked with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

"Nothing," you teased, the single word slipping out like a carefully drawn breath, soft and laced with just the right amount of provocation.

His response came immediately, a deep, throaty groan that sent a flush of heat through you. "Fuck..." he breathed, the rawness of his voice painting a vivid image in your mind—one of him, miles away, his body reacting to your words, the evidence of his desire undeniable. You could practically feel him, the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles, all brought to life through the intensity of his voice.

"And you?" you asked, your hand instinctively curling around the edge of the phone, fingers pressing into the cool metal as if it could somehow pull him closer.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice a soft, hushed breath against your ear, intimate and vulnerable.

"Mmm, I like that," you purred, your tone dipping into a sultry whisper, every word dripping with playful seduction. "I packed you something in your bag. Have you found it yet?"

The line went quiet for a beat, the soft sounds of his shifting body filling the void. You imagined him, sprawled across the hotel bed, his body tense with curiosity. "What did you put in my bag, baby?" he asked, the question carrying a note of surprise, mingling with something more primal.

"Go look," you said, your voice low, controlled. Slowly, deliberately, you loosened the satin belt of your robe, letting it fall open as the cool air kissed your bare skin. With a soft click, you switched the phone to speaker, setting it down beside you as your body sank deeper into the sheets.

The sound of sheets rustling on his end reached your ears, followed by the muffled thud of footsteps as you imagined him rising from the bed. You could picture it all—the way he moved, each step deliberate, his anticipation growing as he neared the bag. The soft sound of his rummaging cut through the silence, and then, there it was—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, appreciative groan.

"Oh god..." His voice was filled with astonishment, the realization sinking in.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips, your teeth grazing the tip of your nail as you savored the sound of his reaction. It was intoxicating, knowing how you could affect him even from afar.

The sheets rustled again as he returned to bed. "Baby, why would you do this?" His tone was a mix of amusement and disbelief, the kind that hinted at both appreciation and helpless surrender.

"Because I knew you'd miss me," you replied, your voice laced with playful affection, every word deliberately chosen. "So I packed you something special."

"And it was... your panties." His voice had dropped an octave, the words heavy with the realization, with the weight of the small red lace now resting in his hands.

"Mm-hmm," you confirmed, a teasing lilt to your voice. "Is that a problem?"

He let out a slow breath, the sound almost tangible through the phone, as if you could feel his chest rising and falling with it. "No. I'm fine with it."

"Good," you murmured, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Now... what are you doing with them?"

His breath hitched, the silence that followed thick with tension. "Nothing yet," he admitted, his voice lower, rougher. "They're just... lying on my chest."

The corner of your mouth quirked into a smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across your thigh. "Mmm, and what do you intend to do with them?" Your words hung in the air, a challenge, a coaxing invitation.

His breath grew heavier, every exhale more labored, and when he finally spoke, his voice was threaded with longing. "Wrapping them around me... thinking it's you."

You closed your eyes, the image flashing even clearer behind your eyelids—the vivid picture of Michael, your panties wrapped tight around his hardened shaft. The thought alone made your pulse quicken, heat pooling in your core as your hand drifted lower, fingers teasing along your skin, mirroring the ache deep inside you.

His voice, low and rough with concern, broke the silence. "Baby... you're breathing hard. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you lied softly, the word slipping out effortlessly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you, every syllable soaked in the heady mix of anticipation and desire.

Michael's deep chuckle rolled through the phone, sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. "You're lying to me, baby. Where's your hand right now? Don't tell me you've got me on speakerphone," he teased, his voice both a challenge and an invitation, knowing full well the effect he had on you.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly in return, the sound low and breathy as your hand trailed down further, teasing the edge of the heat pooling between your thighs. His voice, dark and full of promise, made the ache between your legs more pronounced. "You are," you whispered, letting the sound of his name roll off your tongue like a secret you weren't ready to share.

"And where's your hand?" he pressed, voice softer now, but weighted with something more—desperation, hunger.

"Where you should be," you whispered, breath catching in your throat as your fingers finally dipped lower, brushing against the slickness between your thighs, the sensation sending a shudder through you.

"God..." he breathed, his voice thick with longing, his own desire palpable even through the phone.

A wicked smile played on your lips as you closed your eyes again, imagining the way he must look, laid bare in his hotel room, miles away yet so close in your mind. "You wanna do me a favor, baby?" you murmured, sliding your fingers between your slick folds, teasing yourself with slow, deliberate strokes.

"What's that, baby?" Michael asked, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles over your clit, your breath coming quicker. "Can you suck on my panties for me? I just want to hear it."

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an intensity that sent another wave of heat coursing through you. His sharp inhale was loud in your ear, followed by a low, almost disbelieving chuckle. "You're nasty... but anything for you, baby. I was gonna do it anyway."

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he picked them up, turning the delicate fabric inside out. The sound of him flicking his tongue against the crotch of your panties reached your ears, slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. His groans were deep, guttural, the wet sound of his tongue working against the lace sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Fuck..." you breathed, eyes squeezing shut as the image of him filled your mind. His bare body sprawled across the bed, hair tousled, the sleek, straight strands falling into his face as he sucked on the red lace. You could practically see his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his lips working against the fabric, lost in the taste of you.

"Keep going," you whispered, voice barely audible as your fingers slipped inside yourself, the slow slide making your hips lift off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, your body aching for more, for him. Each thrust of your fingers matched the rhythm of his heavy breathing, the sound of his mouth working against the lace of your panties sending a fire through your veins.

Michael groaned again, the sound reverberating through you, spurring you on as you pumped your fingers in and out, slow at first, then faster, the wetness of your arousal coating your fingers. Your breath hitched, the pleasure building with each thrust, each flick of his tongue that you could hear through the phone.

The sound of his breath, ragged and uneven, crackled through the phone line, each exhale dripping with a hunger that matched your own. His voice, low and hoarse, vibrated through you, like a live wire connecting every nerve in your body to him. "I want you here... I want to taste you," he growled, his words more than a plea, but a command wrapped in longing. The weight of his desire had your entire body tingling, the pulse between your legs quickening with every passing second.

"I want you inside me, Michael," you whispered, your voice barely steady, the words trembling on your lips as your body responded to the mere thought of him. You could feel the ache deep inside, the emptiness begging to be filled.

"Yeah?" His voice came out in a rasp, edged with the kind of desperation that sent shivers racing across your skin. "How many fingers do you have inside of you, baby?" The question was thick with intent, a challenge you were more than willing to meet.

"Two," you moaned, pressing your fingers deeper, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coat them. The stretch was delicious but still not enough, never enough when what you truly craved was the fullness only he could provide.

"Add one more for me... Do it for me, baby," he coaxed, his voice dark and intoxicating, each word making the air between you feel heavier, saturated with an unspeakable tension.

You whimpered, your free hand trembling as you slid a third finger inside, the sensation making your toes curl and your breath catch in your throat. The feeling was almost too much, yet still far from the overwhelming fullness you yearned for. You could picture him in vivid detail—his thick, hardened shaft sliding in and out of you, your slick arousal coating him with each thrust, the sounds of your bodies moving in sync.

"I bet you're soaked right now," he continued, his voice growing darker, rougher. "I can practically taste you, baby... Imagine my tongue, leaving a wet trail all over your skin, starting between those thighs, teasing you, licking every inch until I'm at your lips." His words painted a vivid picture that had your entire body trembling in response. You could almost feel his mouth on you, the warmth of his breath as his tongue slid over your slick folds, the pressure building as he devoured you.

A broken moan escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, your free hand tracing up your body, fingertips brushing over your hardened nipples, imagining it was him, his tongue laving over each sensitive peak. You sucked two fingers into your mouth, running them over your chest, imagining his hot breath there, his lips marking every inch of you as his.

"You don't know how bad I wish I could be buried deep inside you right now," Michael growled, his voice thick with lust, each word dripping with raw desire. "Feeling you clench around me, taking every inch of me, pulling me deeper until there's nothing left."

"Oh, Michael," you moaned, your body arching involuntarily as you pumped your fingers faster, your hips rolling in time with the rhythm, chasing the edge of pleasure that was building inside you. The sound of his voice alone was enough to push you toward the brink.

"Just like that, baby... moan my name again," he demanded, his voice so close, so intimate, that it felt as though he were right there with you, his breath hot against your skin.

"Michael..." you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your body trembling under the weight of your own desire.

"One more time, baby. Do it for daddy," he coaxed, his voice dripping with control, but barely masking the urgency, the need that threatened to unravel him.

"Fuck... Michael!" you cried out, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave inside you, crashing over every nerve, sending you spiraling higher and higher, every muscle tightening in anticipation of release.

The sound that came through the phone next was primal—a deep, guttural groan that made your skin prickle with heat. You could hear it—hear him—the slick sound of your panties sliding over his hardened shaft, his hand moving faster now, each stroke sending him closer to the edge. "God, I need you," he growled, his voice raw and broken as he worked himself harder, the sound of fabric and skin filling the air between you.

"I want you more, Michael," you gasped, your voice breathless as your trembling body succumbed to the relentless pleasure. Your fingers curled deeper inside, your slick arousal coating them as your hips rose to meet each thrust. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your thighs trembling, your heart racing. You could feel the tightness building within you, the edge of release teasing you, just out of reach.

On the other end, Michael groaned, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through the phone and into your core. You could picture him—two hands wrapped firmly around his hardened shaft, his fingers squeezing the base as he stroked himself with your panties, the fabric soaked in your scent driving him wild. Even with thousands of miles between you, the connection between your bodies felt tangible, as if you could reach out and touch him.

"Keep going, baby. Just like that," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, the deep timbre sending shivers racing across your skin. "Think of me, baby."

Your free hand traveled to your breast, fingers teasing the sensitive peak of your nipple, rolling it between your fingertips. You could feel the way his hands would replace yours—the rough pads of his fingers tracing over your soft skin, his lips brushing against your heated flesh, his teeth gently tugging before sucking your nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. The fantasy alone had you gasping, the ache between your legs intensifying.

You shifted your legs, raising them higher, propping yourself up so that your slick arousal dripped down your thighs and onto your satin robe, staining the fabric dark as the sensation overwhelmed you. Each movement of your fingers inside you was like lightning, your body pulsing with need as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

"Michael... oh Michael, I need you so bad," you moaned, the sound almost desperate, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought to hold onto the edge just a little longer.

"Shhh, baby," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Don't get too loud. We don't want to wake anyone." His chuckle was low, but you could hear the strain in his voice, the need beneath his playful warning.

You bit your lip, stifling another moan as you pumped your fingers faster, your hips rocking in time with each thrust. The wet sounds of your movements filled the room, mixing with his breathless moans on the other end of the line. "Michael... I'm close," you gasped, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge.

"Hold it, doll," he groaned, his breath catching as he stroked himself harder, faster, the slick sounds of his hand moving over his shaft echoing through the line. "Just a little longer." His voice was low and strained, barely holding back the need that threatened to overtake him. "Oh, baby..." he whimpered, the sound of it sending you spiraling even further into your own desire.

You closed your eyes, your mind conjuring the image of him above you—his bare skin pressed against yours, his muscular body slick with sweat, the heat of him enveloping you as he thrust into you, deep and hard. You could feel the weight of him, the way his body would cling to yours, the rough pads of his fingers digging into your hips as he guided you through each pulse of pleasure. His forehead would rest against yours, droplets of sweat dripping down onto your skin as his breath fanned across your lips.

"God, I want you so bad, girl," Michael groaned, his voice thick with lust. "I want to feel your mouth wrapped around me... to watch you take me." The fantasy spilled from his lips, his voice cracking with desperation. "Stick your fingers in your mouth, baby. Think of me."

Your free hand slipped from your breast, your fingers finding their way to your lips. You slid three fingers into your mouth, imagining the heavy weight of his hardened length pressing against your tongue, the warmth of him filling you. You bobbed your head, your lips parting around your fingers as if it were him, your tongue teasing the imagined veins that pulsed against your lips.

"You sound so good, mama," he groaned, his voice rough and broken. "Fuck... keep going. I'm so close."

Your fingers moved faster inside your aching core, your body arching off the bed as you rode the edge, your hips rising with every thrust. The tension inside you was unbearable, your body trembling uncontrollably as Michael's voice—low, commanding, desperate—pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

"I'm right there with you," he breathed, the sound of his strokes faster now, more frantic. "I can feel you, baby... I can feel how tight you are... so fucking wet." His voice trailed off into a moan, his breath ragged as he chased his own release.

Your breath came in ragged, erratic gasps, the heat coursing through your body like a wildfire, spreading from the center of your being and radiating outward. Each time your fingers curled inside you, a fresh surge of pleasure rippled through your core, the pressure building and threatening to overwhelm. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the frantic movements of your hand as you hovered on the precipice of release.

"Michael... I can't... I can't hold on anymore," you whimpered, the desperation in your voice palpable, your body trembling with need. The edge was so close, and yet you teetered there, suspended between the pleasure that burned inside you and the sweet, shattering release you craved.

His voice, low and rough, drifted through the phone like a dark melody, wrapping around you and sending shivers down your spine. "Let go, baby. Don't fight it. I'm right here with you. I want you to cum for me," he coaxed, each word sliding over your skin like velvet, igniting something deep inside you.

You could feel your body surrendering before your mind even had time to process it, the wave of ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal surge. Your hips bucked wildly, your fingers finding that perfect spot inside you, the one that shattered the last remnants of your control. "Oh God, Michael!" you cried out, voice muffled as you buried your face in the pillow, trying in vain to muffle the moans that spilled uncontrollably from your lips. The pleasure was all-consuming, like a storm you couldn't outrun, your body trembling, spasming with the intensity of it.

Through the haze, you could hear him, his breathing heavy, uneven, punctuated by low, guttural groans. "Damn, baby... I'm right there with you," he growled, his voice thick with raw desire. The unmistakable sound of his hand working up and down his shaft reached your ears, the slick, rhythmic motions driving your already over-stimulated senses wild. "You're driving me fucking crazy... I'm so close... so fucking close." The urgency in his voice made your pulse quicken, your body aching for him even though you'd just found your release.

You could hear the strain in his voice, the primal sounds of him chasing his own pleasure. "Fuck... I'm cumming," he groaned, his words fractured by ragged breaths, the deep, guttural sounds of his climax filling your ears as you imagined him spilling over, his hot seed coating his hand. "Look what you do to me... shit..." His voice trailed off, heavy and hoarse, the sound of him coming undone sending another wave of longing through your body.

"Michael..." you whispered breathlessly, your body still trembling, the aftershocks of your release making your limbs feel weak and heavy. Your fingers, slick with your own essence, slid into your mouth without thinking, the taste of yourself lingering on your tongue as you savored the sensation. Your eyelids fluttered closed as the pleasure ebbed, leaving behind a tingling warmth that suffused your entire body.

"Fuck, baby... I wish I was there," he rasped, the sound of his voice thick with the aftermath of his release, still dripping with hunger. "I need you so bad."

The satin robe you wore clung to your damp skin, the smooth fabric cool against the feverish heat of your body. You shifted on the bed, the empty space beside you a painful reminder of how far away he was. "I need you too," you murmured softly, the words barely a whisper. "I hate being apart from you... it's not enough."

There was a pause, the soft rustling of sheets on the other end of the line signaling his movement. "I'll be right back," he said, his voice still gravelly but laced with tenderness. "Stay on the line." You heard the sound of water running, the faint clink of glass as he cleaned himself up, while you lay there, your body humming with the lingering buzz of release. The quiet of the room felt oppressive, the emptiness of the bed like a gaping void in the absence of his presence.

When Michael returned, his voice was a soft caress. "You still there, baby?"

"Yeah... I'm still here," you answered, turning onto your side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the pillow beside you, the place where his head should've been.

"You okay?" His voice was laced with concern, the warmth in it wrapping around you like a security blanket. "You sounded like you were gonna pass out on me."

A breathless laugh escaped your lips. "I'm fine," you assured him. "Just... wishing it was real. That you were here."

"I know, baby. I know." His sigh was heavy, laden with the same ache you felt. "But I promise you, as soon as I get home... I'm giving you everything. All of me. Every inch, over and over. Until you can't take it anymore."

Your laugh was soft, but the hunger in your voice was unmistakable. "That's the problem, Michael. We never know when to stop."

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "And I don't plan to. Is that really a problem?"

"Not at all." You pulled the covers over your bare skin, the coolness of the fabric a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from your body. "I love it when you can go all night."

"You know I won't stop until I'm completely worn out, right?" His voice dropped an octave, the playfulness in his tone sending a thrill through you.

Your heart clenched, a deep ache settling in your chest. "I love you," you whispered, your voice soft and filled with raw emotion.

"I love you more, baby," he murmured, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around your heart. "You heading to sleep?"

A heavy sigh escaped you, your fingers brushing over the empty sheets. "I don't know... I haven't been sleeping well. I usually stay up till four... thinking about you."

The line was silent for a moment, then you heard him sigh, his concern palpable. "It won't be like this for long. You want me to stay up with you?"

Your throat tightened, the weight of your exhaustion and longing pressing down on you. "No, baby, it's fine. You need rest," you insisted, though your voice betrayed the crack of emotion lingering at the edge. You wanted to let him go, to give him the rest he deserved, but the ache of wanting him close made it impossible to lie convincingly.

"Don't lie to me," he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet, a firm but gentle command that wrapped around your heart. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. Even if the line goes dead, I'm not going anywhere."

A warmth bloomed in your chest, his words soothing the ache just enough to breathe a little easier. "Okay," you whispered, surrendering to the comfort he offered, your voice barely audible, but laced with a gratitude you couldn't put into words.

The silence that followed wasn't empty, but rich with the weight of unspoken emotions. You could feel his presence across the miles, like he was lying right beside you, the soft rise and fall of his breath matching yours. It was a strange comfort—knowing that even separated by distance, he could still make you feel like you weren't alone.

"Hey..." he murmured after a while, his voice low, soothing, breaking the quiet.

"Hmm?" You swallowed thickly, your throat still tight with the tears you were trying so hard to hold back.

"Close your eyes for me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his words slow and deliberate, like he was coaxing you into sleep. "Soon as I'm home, I'm all yours. No more of this phone stuff."

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see you. "Okay," you whispered back, the words shaky as you fought against the tears that were threatening to spill over. The tenderness in his voice made your chest ache even more, the distance between you feeling impossibly large.

"Don't cry, baby. I can feel it," he said, his voice laced with love, his concern wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "I'm right here with you."

"I know... I'm trying not to," you admitted, your voice trembling with vulnerability. It was always so hard to keep yourself together when he spoke like that—soft and gentle, yet strong, like he could take all your pain and carry it for you.

Another silence settled over you both, but this time it was different, peaceful even. The sound of your breathing blended with his, slow and steady, the rhythm of it calming the storm that had been raging in your chest all night.

Then, just as the quiet began to feel too heavy, his voice cut through again, this time in a soft, familiar hum. You recognized the melody immediately—The Lady in My Life.

"Is that what I think it is?" you asked, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears still threatening to fall.

He chuckled, the sound soft and intimate, like he was smiling too. "Yeah, baby. It's your favorite. Thought you could use a lullaby."

You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the comfort of his voice as he hummed the tune at first, before slowly easing into the lyrics, his voice gentle and soothing, just like it had always been. Each word wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, making the distance between you feel insignificant, like he was right there, singing to you from the other side of the bed.

The ache in your chest began to fade, replaced by the steady thrum of love that radiated through his voice. As he continued singing, the weight of your emotions lifted, the exhaustion that had been tugging at you all night finally winning. Your breathing slowed, your body relaxing into the bed as sleep began to pull you under, his voice the last thing tethering you to consciousness.

Michael stayed on the line, listening to your soft snores, a tender smile curving his lips. "Goodnight, angel," he whispered, his voice filled with so much love it made his chest tight. "I love you. I'll be home soon."

He stayed there for a moment longer, the sound of your breathing calming him as much as his voice had calmed you. Then, with one last glance at the phone, he ended the call, the line going dead. But in your dreams, he was already there—holding you close, just like he promised.

#michael jackson #wattpad #mature era #moonwalker #mjf fanfiction #writing #imagine #mjj

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denimbex1986 · 11 months ago

Text

'...In season 2, Gaiman and his co-writer John Finnemore takes us beyond the pages of the original book and focuses on the millennia-lasting connection between the book-loving angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and the demon Crowley (David Tennant), who cares more about saving humanity than he'd care to admit.

While fans are certainly eager to see more of Aziraphale and Crowley, actors Sheen and Tennant were also more than happy to reprise their roles. "It was very pleasing to slip back into those slightly too-tight trousers," Tennant joked to me about donning Crowley's wardrobe once more. I talked to him about "Good Omens 2" before the SAG-AFTRA strike, and we touched on how season 2 even came to be, what it was like to have Jon Hamm's amnesiac Gabriel throw a wrench into Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, and — for a brief moment — about fan fiction.

With the first season, there was the source material from the book, but season 2 is new territory. How did Neil [Gaiman] pitch season 2 to you, and when did he pitch it to you in the process?

It gradually came into focus over a couple of years, probably. I mean, from the initial idea that there might be more story to tell, which probably had its genesis way, way back as a sort of fantasy idea, really, where we were shooting [season] 1.

And then [season] 1 came out, and I think from that point, there was a slow realization that actually there might be more to come. Neil was clearly excited at the idea, and I think Amazon were keen to do it. And Michael and I were thrilled that we would get to return to [these] characters. We always thought it was a one-off. That was how it was pitched. That's what we were contracted for. When we started off on that journey, there was never a sense to go further, but what a treat that it was going to. And I think Neil would drop us little nuggets down the months and years, really.

Then there was a point, now when would it have been? I was in Romania filming "Around the World in 80 Days." Michael was, I can't remember where he was, but we had a Zoom call together where Neil read us the first scene, the opening scene, which is, if you've seen it, you'll know we meet a very youthful Crowley and Aziraphale, very much way back at the beginning of time. And Neil read that out to us over a Zoom call and then gave us a quick sketch of what the rest of the series was going to be. He told us some of the other writers that he was working with, and some of the early ideas, and he told us how it ended. That was all worked out, and it just felt delicious, really. I mean from that moment on, it just felt like it was always meant to be. It felt like it was such a perfectly formed idea. I think it's fair to say that Michael and I didn't need much persuading.

One thing I love about both seasons is that Aziraphale and Crowley are definitely an odd couple, but in "Good Omens 2," they're an odd couple who gets a toddler — at least in the first few episodes with Gabriel.

Yes, yes. That's a very good logline. Yes. The odd couple with a toddler.

I have a toddler, and some of the lines, I was like, "Is Neil in my house taking audio of my child?" Because you had the established dynamic with Michael for Crowley and Aziraphale in the first season, how did the dynamic change in those scenes with the two of you and with Gabriel when he's in that toddler state?

Well, I suppose it's Gabriel's very presence that changes it, isn't it? I mean, he's the grit in the oyster there, because I think they've just about managed to figure out a way of existing separately and together without their head offices ruling their lives. They're living with existence in the shadows on Earth and actually having probably quite a reasonable time. I mean, Crowley's living in the back of his car, which isn't ideal, but they're bumping along, and they can spend time together with less of the threat of being told off for it.

The absence of heaven and hell has actually been quite a good thing for them on the whole. So to have Gabriel revisiting is a bit of a disaster. Especially — I mean, he did try to discorporate Aziraphale and that Aziraphale was actually Crowley at the time, and that's not something Crowley's wanting to forgive. So to have Gabriel back in their midst and inexplicably amnesiac at the same time, it's not really what they needed and it's not helping them to keep their heads down. So it's brilliant in terms of setting these characters off on a new story and taking them to places they didn't imagine they would ever have to go. It's a fantastic device and like you say, yes, it's a bit like the odd couple with a kid, or two supernaturals and a baby, something like that. And I think that's the joy, isn't it? If there's characters that you know and love, you just want to spin them into a situation that they've not been in before and sit back and enjoy it.

Another thing in season 2, and I'm going to keep this spoiler-free, but there are a lot of flashbacks to other points in time, which you got a little bit of in the first season. But I think we get more of it here, and one of the things with those flashbacks is that you, especially as Crowley, get to wear the most magnificent costumes. What was that like for you, to embody these clothes and portray Crowley through all those different points in time?

Who wouldn't get a kick out of being able to reimagine what that version of Crowley would've been? Because unlike Aziraphale, who tends to be a bit more conservative in the way that he addresses whatever period he's living through and in some ways sort of changes very little, Crowley leans into wherever he is and tries to find the zeitgeist of the moment and chew it up and spit it out a little bit. So from a design point of view, that's great fun. Obviously, Kate Carin, our costume designer, was allowed to run riot, because you get to design a period look and then add another 25% on top of it. And Stevie Smith, who designs my makeup on it, gets to find new ways of sticking facial hair on me. And it's hugely fun to play, and hugely fun for everyone to create.

And those little stories — the stories within the story — to get to see those characters at different points in their existence, it's a treat. It was always Michael and I's favorite bit of the first [season], that sequence — episode 3 where you saw them traipsing through history. And so it was delicious that there was more of that in season 2, and they're very much crafted at specific points in the story to illustrate an element of how Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship has developed over the millennia and why they are where they are now. So they're not just indulgences for us all. They're very specific plot points to tell.

I'm sure there's fanfic out there that's similar to what we see of Crowley and Aziraphale, and it's interesting to see the official version of it.

Yes. I mean, I've experienced some fanfic in my time. I think it's best, probably not for me [to read]. Sometimes you find yourself doing some very, very extraordinary things. So perhaps I'll leave that ....

No, I think that's wise on your part. And then for my last question, it just looks like you're having fun when you're playing Crowley —

I wouldn't want you to imagine anything other than very, very hard work. Very difficult, very dull, very boring. I'm never enjoying myself at all.

Yeah, no, of course not! But for Crowley, is there anything you do to get into that mindset?

It was interesting going back for series 2, because there's been quite a gap between filming 1 and 2, and I was a little bit concerned that the voice or the walk or whatever else it might be have slightly left me. But once I was staring at Michael Sheen's bleached white hair and his ... oh, I could be rude. I'm not going to be rude. So no, it all sort of seemed to come back fairly easily, to be honest. I felt, there's certainly, it's a very pleasing character to inhabit and all that full cynicism that he splashes around himself, which actually hides, I would say, a heart of gold, although Crowley would never admit that himself. It was very pleasing to slip back into those slightly too-tight trousers. It really was a pleasure. It was great fun.'

#David Tennant #Michael Sheen #Good Omens #Neil Gaiman #Terry Pratchett #Series 2 #Crowley #Gabriel #Jon Hamm #Aziraphale

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