#and don’t get me started on michael sheen

[lifeonmvrs]

crowley drawing practice :3

[Image Description: a digital drawing of crowley from good omens. the character is drawn four different times throughout the whole canvas. on the top left corner, there’s a headshot of him looking sideways while wearing sunglasses. his hair is up in a man bun. he looks slightly confused. on the top right corner, also a headshot of crowley with the manbun but he is seen from a 3/4 back view. bottom left corner, is a headshot of crowley slightly angry. he is wearing dark sunglasses while in the position of driving / steering a wheel. his hair is short and slicked back. bottom right corner, is a half body drawing of crowley in the crucifixion outfit. her hair is long and falls down from a headscarf in curls. crowley appears confused. the background is a pale orange with darker orange squares behind each individual drawing. /end ID]

[invisibleicewands]

Please come and see me because I’ll be dead soon’: how Michael Sheen got sucked into a forever chemicals exposé

An opera-loving member of high society turned eco-activist who was forced into police protection with a panic button round his neck. A Hollywood actor who recorded said activist’s life story as he was dying from exposure to the very chemicals he was investigating. Throw in two investigative journalists who realise not everything is as it seems, then uncover some startling truths, and you have “podcasting’s strangest team” on Buried: The Last Witness.

On their award-winning 2023 podcast Buried, the husband and wife duo Dan Ashby and Lucy Taylor dug into illegal toxic waste dumping in the UK and its links to organised crime. This time, they focus on “forever chemicals”, specifically polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) and set out to discover whether one whistleblower may have been decades ahead of his time in reporting on their harmful impact.

“It’s amazing how big the scale of this story is,” says Ashby, as we sit backstage at the Crucible theatre, where they are doing a live discussion as part of Sheffield DocFest. “With this series, we don’t just want it to make your blood turn cold, we want it to make you question your own blood itself.”

It all started when Taylor and Ashby were sent a lead about the work of former farmer’s representative Douglas Gowan. In 1967, he discovered a deformed calf in a field and began to investigate strange goings on with animals close to the Brofiscin and Maendy quarries in south Wales. He linked them to the dumping of waste by companies including the nearby Monsanto chemical plant, which was producing PCBs.

PCBs were used in products such as paint and paper to act as a fire retardant, but they were discovered to be harmful and have been banned since 1981 in the UK. However, due to their inability to break down – hence the term forever chemical – Gowan predicted their legacy would be a troubling one. “I expect there to be a raft of chronic illness,” he said. He even claimed that his own exposure to PCBs (a result of years of testing polluted grounds) led his pancreas and immune system to stop working. “I’m a mess and I think it can all be attributed to PCBs,” he said.

However, Gowan wasn’t a typical environmentalist. “A blue-blood high-society Tory and a trained lawyer who could out-Mozart anyone,” is how Taylor describes him in the series. He would even borrow helicopters from friends in high places to travel to investigate farmers’ fields. Gowan died in 2018 but the pair managed to get hold of his life’s work – confidential reports, testing and years of evidence. “I’m interested in environmental heroes that aren’t cliche,” says Ashby. “So I was fascinated by him. But then we started to see his flaws and really had to weigh them up. My goodness it’s a murky world we went into.”

The reason they were able to delve even deeper into this murky world is because of the award-winning actor Michael Sheen who, in 2017, came across Gowan’s work in a story he read. He was so blown away by it, and the lack of broader coverage, that he tracked him down. “I got a message back from him saying: ‘Please come and see me because I’ll be dead soon,’” says Sheen. “I took a camera with me and spent a couple of days with him and just heard this extraordinary story.”

What Gowan had been trying to prove for years gained some traction in 2007, with pieces in the Ecologist and a Guardian article exploring how “Monsanto helped to create one of the most contaminated sites in Britain”. One was described as smelling “of sick when it rains and the small brook that flows from it gushes a vivid orange.” But then momentum stalled.

Years later, in 2023, Ashby and Taylor stumbled on a recording of Sheen giving the 2017 Raymond Williams memorial lecture, which referenced Gowan and his work. Before they knew it, they were in the actor’s kitchen drinking tea and learning he had conducted a life-spanning seven-hour interview with Gowan before his death. So they joined forces. Sheen isn’t just a token celebrity name added for clout on this podcast; he is invested. For him, it’s personal as well as political. “Once you dig into it, you realise there’s a pattern,” he says. “All the places where this seems to have happened are poor working-class areas. There’s a sense that areas like the one I come from are being exploited.”

Sheen even goes to visit some contaminated sites in the series, coming away from one feeling sick. “That made it very real,” he says. “To be looking into a field and going: ‘Well, I’m pretty sure that’s toxic waste.’” Sheen was living a double life of sorts. “I went to rehearsals for a play on Monday and people were like, ‘What did you do this weekend?’” he says. “‘Oh, I went to the most contaminated area in the UK and I think I may be poisoned.’ People thought I was joking.” Sheen ended up being OK, but did have some temporary headaches and nausea, which was a worry. “We literally had to work out if we had poisoned Michael Sheen,” says Ashby, who also ponders in the series: “Have I just killed a national treasure?”

The story gets even knottier. Gowan’s findings turn out to be accurate and prescient, but the narrative around his journey gets muddy. As a character with a flair for drama, he turned his investigation into a juicy, riveting story filled with action, which could not always be corroborated. “If he hadn’t done that, and if he’d been a nerdy, analytical, detail-oriented person who just presented the scientific reports and kept them neatly filed, would we have made this podcast?” asks Taylor, which is a fascinating question that runs through this excellent and gripping series.

Ashby feels that Gowan understood how vital storytelling is when it comes to cutting through the noise. “We have so much science proving the scale of these problems we face and yet we don’t seem to have the stories,” he says. “I think Douglas got that. Fundamentally, he understood that stories motivate human beings to act. But then he went too far.”

However, this is not purely about Gowan’s story – it’s about evidence. The Last Witness doubles up as a groundbreaking investigation into the long-lasting impact of PCBs. “We threw the kitchen sink at this,” says Ashby. “The breakthrough for us is that the Royal Society of Chemistry came on board and funded incredibly expensive testing. So we have this commitment to go after the truth in a way that is hardly ever done.”

From shop-bought fish so toxic that it breaches official health advice to off-the-scale levels of banned chemicals found in British soil, the results are staggering. “The scientist almost fell off his chair,” says Ashby. “That reading is the highest he has ever recorded in soil – in the world. That was the moment we knew Douglas was right and we are now realising the scale of this problem. The public doesn’t realise that even a chemical that has been banned for 40 years is still really present in our environment.”

To go even deeper into just how far PCBs have got into our environment and food chain, Ashby and Taylor had their own blood tested. When Taylor found 80 different types of toxic PCB chemicals in her blood it was a sobering moment. “I was genuinely emotional because it’s so personal,” she says. “It was the thought of this thing being in me that was banned before I was even born and the thought of passing that on to my children.” Ashby adds: “We’ve managed physical risk in our life as journalists in Tanzania and with organised crime, but more scary than a gangster is this invisible threat to our health.”

In order to gauge the magnitude of what overexposure to PCBs can do, they headed to Anniston, Alabama, once home to a Monsanto factory. “As a journalist, you have an inbuilt scepticism and think it can’t be that bad,” says Ashby. “But when I got there I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I hate to use words like dystopian, but it was. There is a whole massive school that can’t be used. There’s illnesses in children and cancers. It truly was the most powerful vignette of the worst-case example of these chemicals.”

It’s bleak stuff but instilling fear and panic is not the intention. “Obviously, we’re really concerned about it,” says Ashby. “And although the environmental crises we face do feel overwhelming, it is incredible how a movement has formed and how individuals are taking action in communities. The lesson to take from Douglas is that the response doesn’t have to be resignation. It can be agency.”

[ktownshizzle]

Wild & Free | Part 2 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Everybody says they want to marry Min Yoongi. But what if he only wants to say 'yes' to you.

Alternatively: While on the last leg of their PTD tour, Yoongi discovers there was such a thing as drive-thru weddings in Las Vegas - spontaneous, wild, exciting - something his pretty little brain can't seem to process having lived the last decade of his life planned to perfection by his management team, which includes you. When he goes down a rabbit hole of Youtube videos about The Little White Wedding Chapel (Omo! Michael Jordan got married there!), he starts getting all sorts of ideas - all of it starring him and you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Childhood friends to lovers, Idol!au, Coworkers to lovers (reader is a HYBE employee)

Warnings: Please read part 1 for this to make sense. We start with oral (f. receiving) bec this is Yoongi, sex of course (v. cute and loving, unprotected- u wrap it up tho), self-indulgent shit if ima be honest, more cursing lol, reader is a yapper, couple of idiots but not for long, spit kink, reader is an aspiring brat, overuse of the term ‘baby’, tiny Beauty and the Beast reference if you catch it (tell me if you do!), possible inaccuracies about Las Vegas (read full statement fr part 1)

Word Count: 11k (approx. 45 mins to read)

Posting date: September 27, 2024

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

“Mm, there,” you mewl mindlessly, tugging his copper hair when his tongue hits. the. spot. “Shit, that’s IT.”

How you went from almost throwing him out of your room to him throwing you on the bed is a blur at this point. The moment your lips touched it was like he took over all your faculties. Brain emptied, pussy surrendered in less than a minute. 

The way you are stripped of every inch of your clothing and he still has everything on gives you some false sense of power. But you know he is the one in-charge and dear God you are willing to submit.

Yoongi groans after a particularly harsh pull, and you realize belatedly how his scalp must be burning.

“Sorry,” you release his poor strands, but a quick hand grips your wrist.

 “I don’t give a fuck–,” he says sternly, intense eyes looking up at you for a millisecond before diving back in like a man who has not had a proper meal in a year.

As if you’re not sufficiently down bad for him, you discover his dominating side and you are now an absolute wreck.

Eyes squeezed shut, your hands move to grip the sheets to tether you into this world as his hot tongue licks against your folds before swirling on the nub that has your soul ascending to another plane. Pinpricks of pleasure shoot from your core towards the tips of your limbs, every fiber of your being burning, coming alive.

But, he suddenly stops, and you can’t help the tiny whimper that immediately spills from your lips, panicked eyes going down to where he was.

His lips curl into a devilish smirk, before he pushes two fingers inside your entrance and the most obscene moan escapes your throat. Embarrassed, you pull your lips inward to muffle any sound you're bound to make.

He extracts his fingers from your hole and you are horrified at how empty you suddenly feel. 

Shit, he looks mad. Were you too loud?

His smeared hand appears by the side of your face, pressing down the mattress to support his weight. The chains on his neck that hovers over your flushed face renders you speechless. You may have seen this in your mind’s eye, but it cannot compare to the real thing.

You see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead as he lifts a brow and speaks in a voice too calm for a threat, “If you want to cum on my tongue, you better let me hear you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out quickly, desperate, needy.

Looking pleased, he slinks back down, licking the valley of your breasts, kissing your knee, the inner part of your thigh, towards your mound.

He gingerly spreads your folds, purses his lips, then spits—”fuck!”—before slurping the juices from your cunt, creating a lewd melody with your helpless moans.

His lithe fingers start to move in and out of your slick walls in a steady rhythm that has your body tensing up like you’ve never had a proper orgasm.

A warm hand glides up your stomach towards the flesh of your breast, massaging it softly. His calloused thumb swipes over your nipple once, twice, thrice in a dizzying dance before twisting it, synching each roll with a lap of his tongue on your clit.

Goddamn, how did he get so good with that–wait you don’t want to know. You focus on his ministrations, his every move creating tidal waves of pleasure. His tongue moving in figure eights. Two fingers, curling slightly as it slides in and out. Your nipples, pinched and rolled expertly. Sanity, ebbing slowly away…

“Don’t stop,” you beg pathetically. “Shit, Yoongi, please…”

The devil laughs against your pussy, puffs of breath touching your wetness. For a second you thought he might edge you and you are so not a fan of that. But as always, Yoongi knows you, flaws and all. Patience was not your strong suit. And he is never cruel and 

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum.”

“Give it to me.”

He keeps playing your body like a guitar, strings plucked and pulled taut, rapidly, repeatedly, coaxing out a melody from you that can rival any track he has ever laid down in Genius Lab. 

“Oh… oh… Yoongi… Yoon-“

Body vibrating, hips bucking to meet his every hard thrust, you chant his name over and over in broken cries as white hot pleasure finally crashes through you, leaving you shattered in its wake.

Damn. What was that?

Easily the best orgasm you’ve had in a while and you were about to tell him exactly that. But he emerges from the depths of your core like a fuckin’ devil with the biggest shit-eating grin as he wipes his glistening chin with the back of his hand, and you think—nope, he doesn’t need a big head.

If it were any other man you might not have grasped the pillow above your head to hit him square in the face.

“Don’t look so smug,” you chide, but he just laughs. That adorable shoulders-bobbing soundless chuckle he does.

He lays beside you on the bed, hands behind his head, a cheeky grin plastered across his face as he licks his lips contentedly.

If you only knew the relief that is flooding his own senses at that moment. If you only knew that he took it personally, you chose that younger, more muscly dude to take home for the night. What, like he can’t get you there? Fuck that. He felt so vindicated.

Wordlessly, he guides you towards his body, draping the sheets over your bottom halves. You nestle your cheek against his chest, head tilted up slightly to admire the silver on his neck.

You can almost see the Yoongi you know coming back and decide you wanna bring him down a peg. Just for shits.

“So that’s what that tongue technology does, huh?“ you tease. “Took me to Hong Kong like you—”

“Aishhh! Hajimaaaa!” Your cheeks are suddenly smushed and he smothers your lips with tiny pecks, visibly flustered by his lyrics being repeated to him. It escalates into a flurry of lazy tickles and giggles until it naturally dissolves into lazy cuddles and watery smiles.

You feared this would be awkward, but it actually feels so… natural.  Even as you both settle in your own sides, letting thoughts consume you after such a huge leap in your friendship, a comfortable silence takes over that you think he might even be asleep. 

But then you feel his soft, slightly clammy hand squeezing your arm, pulling you back into the moment. “You good?” He asks, and you know there are layers to his question that you have yet to unravel. That it’s not just about how you are feeling physically, but everything: the shift in your relationship, this open door to some place new.

“Never better,” you say for now, pushing your body up slightly, so you can kiss his neck, dropping your voice to what you hope is a seductive purr. “I was thinking… Maybe I can return the favor?”

His eyes widen a fraction, but he shakes his head. “S’ cool, I want this to be about you.”

“So corny,” you deflate, moving to rest your head on your own pillow in protest.

“For real. I wanted to make you feel good. Least I can do for ruining your night.”

“But you didn’t--”

Your protest trails off as he lowers his head to kiss you again. Unable to help yourself, you lick against his mouth, your taste on his tongue still palpable, and the coals in your core start to ignite anew.

“Is this how you’ll get me to shut up from now on?” you mumble against his soft lips, swinging your legs over his hip.

“I think it’s working.”

“Sure is.”

“We don’t have to rush,” he reminds you after a beat, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, not quite meeting your eyes. Because what you didn’t know was what a liar he was. If you had any idea about all the unhinged thoughts brewing in his brain, like how perfect you would look with your mascara smeared and his cock pulsing inside your mouth, or like how he would love to take you to that wedding chapel and marry the shit outta you right now. Literal bonkers.

“But I want to,” you whine pathetically, wandering hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. “I want to taste your...”

Your phone rings from a distance, but you see Sejin’s face lighting up the screen.

“Dick.”

“That’s your boss.”

“And that’s what he is right now. It’s almost 3 a.m.”

You begrudgingly walk towards the desk where your phone was, rubbing your arms from the chill of the AC. 

You pick up one of your stray sweaters draped over a chair, slipping it on before you swipe to answer the call. “Sejin-ssi?”

Maybe it was late, or maybe your brain dumbed down significantly after that amazing release, but Sejin’s litany was dragging on and you just hope you pick up the key stuff. “director called… need to reshoot early tomorrow… emailed you the details… Yoongi told you what happened right? … make sure he gets the message?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks.”

You check Sejin’s email and texts and give Yoongi the rundown (basically he only has three hours to sleep before the early call time at the same penthouse suite), plugging your phone back in the charger afterwards. You stop by the bath and tug a fresh pair of panties on before returning to the bedroom.

His eyes are like little crescents as you pad over, very sleepy, very cutesy, before it zeroes in on the letters on your jumper. FG, it reads.

“Thief,” he says, pulling you back into bed, letting your head rest atop his arm to make you his little spoon–or so you thought, before he places your head in a mock headlock. “How many of my shirts have you stolen, huh?”

“This year, or?”

He lets go of his grip on your head, squeezing your waist playfully and you giggle.

“I was looking forward to staying here with you,” he mumbles, burying his face against your hair.

“Something about one of the cameras being kicked by somebody and files got corrupted. Know anything about it?”

“Hmm.” 

And you suddenly remember the commotion between him and Jin yesterday while Jake was inviting you to go out. Strangely, it’s starting to make sense, but there was something more important to be addressed.

“Yoongi,” you call over your shoulder, and he doesn’t reply so you try to peel his arm from you only to be met by a groan. “We owe Jake an apology. You know that wasn’t cool, right?”

“I know,” he croaks, letting out a deep sigh. “I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

“Thank you, baby,” you mutter sleepily, the yawn leaving your mouth halting mid-way as you clock yourself for the term of endearment that just casually slipped out. Yoongi hums in approval, snuggling even closer, and you decide you might just keep it.

Your first sort-of morning after, you didn’t think you’d wake up alone, but Yoongi had to leave due to the early call time. It was hazy how he left hours ago, but you can recall a peck gingerly placed on your forehead before he extracted the arm that was resting across your stomach and took all the warmth you needed with him. You can vaguely recall his gravelly tone as he places the duvet over your body, none of his words registering in your half-awake state.

You move through your morning on autopilot, going through the motions without much thought. But when you spot Yoongi’s jacket draped over the couch, your mind starts to drift. The details of last night come flooding back—every touch, every word—and before you know it, you’re smiling to yourself as you grab your bag from the same spot. 

But then, like clockwork, anxiety creeps in, that old familiar weight settling in your chest. Your steps falter, and as you head for the door, all you can think is: Fuck. What if everything he said, everything he did, was just in the heat of the moment? What if it didn’t mean a damn thing?

The thought tightens around you, and the idea of facing that reality feels like too much to bear. You need to know that you’re on the same page. Stat.

The moment you enter the set, it seems that fate has sent you a sign on what needed to be dealt with first.

You watch as Jake sets up his camera equipment, adjusting lenses and fiddling with the lights. Tapping his shoulder, you clear your throat and offer a shy smile.

“Hi,” he says simply, zipping up one of the camera bags before turning his full attention to you.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” you say, your voice earnest.

His shoulders lift tentatively. “It’s not ideal. But I get it. Jimin told me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, a bit taken aback. “Jimin?”

“Yeah,” Jake says, gripping one of the tripods. “He was outside when Yoongi threw me out.”

Oh. Why was he even there? You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulder, the mysteries of the situation still weighing on you. “Honestly, I didn’t know he was gonna do that. Things are a bit complicated I guess.”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head as he finishes with the equipment. “Funny, that’s what he said when he apologized earlier.”

“Ah. Glad he talked to you,” you respond, feeling a little relieved that Yoongi did what he promised.

Jake looks at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and sincerity. “Noona, can I tell you what I told him, too?”

You nod, curious. “Okay?”

Jake leans against the equipment cart, his tone light but direct. “Just uncomplicate it.”

He gives you a cheeky grin, adding, “Now this I didn’t tell him, because I like my job and like living. But if it doesn’t work out with him, maybe I could get a chance to take you out on a date for real?”

Your mouth parts disbelievingly and he winks before wheeling the cart away, shaking his head in amusement. 

Face still warm from Jake’s shameless flirt, you see Yoongi’s bright orange hair before you even see the rest of him and this sobers you right up. Across the room, he was chatting with Namjoon about something seemingly important. The medium gray suit he was wearing is really doing things to you that you cannot explain. He looks like a proper groom, the fuck?! You look away before anybody sees you drooling over your… best friend? boyfriend? one night stand? Ugh! Future husband? Shit?!

Thankfully, one of the senior PAs proffers an iced coffee to you before your brain overheats.

“Yoongi-ssi says to give this to you,” he says curtly and walks away.

The drink was cold, but the warmth across your cheeks was still tangible as you take your first sip. Your eyes drift back to Yoongi and find his gaze on you so you mouth a thanks, lifting the cup as if to toast him. He simply nods.

The wingman of the year suddenly appears by your side. “Y’all good now?”

“I don't know what you mean, Chim Chim.” You slurp from your drink loudly for show.

Jimin sighs, “He’s not telling me anything.”

“Then I'm not either.”

His nose flares. “Nah. Fuck both of you. Truly. After all I–”

Sejin hollers your name, and you flash Jimin a quick peace sign, cutting him off mid-sentence. He’s left behind, pouting like a baby as you walk away with a grin.

After an hour or so, the shoot almost wraps up. Feeling peckish, you are surmising the food in the mini catering setup in the other room, when you sense someone behind you. Strangely enough, you know who it is just by the way he was dragging his shoes and the timbre of his inhale.

“You smell nice,” Yoongi says in a casual drawl, looking over your shoulder to check the food out.

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Maybe you did sneak in an extra spray of perfume before leaving the hotel and made sure to hit the pulse points, because, you know, pheromones and attraction and all that…

Before your mind goes off the deep end, you default to defense mode. “You better not be saying that to everyone… kinda creepy.”

Completely disregarding your attempt to downplay the compliment, he replies, “Hmm. Didn't peg you as the jealous type.”

You pout, trying to look offended but failing miserably.

Shifting gears, he asks, “You busy today?” and places the tiny blue macaron on your plate that you were about to reach for, before pushing a peach one inside his mouth.

“I’ve the rest of the day, but you have to go to Anderson Paak’s house.”

“You’re not coming?” he asks mid-chew, the sweet treat pushed aside creating a dent on the inside of his cheek.

“His team requests for the meeting to be ‘intimate and organic,’ their words not mine, so it's just your interpreter, and your bodyguard.”

“But you’re my…” The beginning of his complaint halts. Cat got his tongue. 

He blinks. You blink. It’s just ridiculous at this point, the emotional constipation. He could have easily just said manager, because really that’s what you are for all professional intents and purposes. But you both know you are also at the precipice of something new, teetering on the edge of becoming real. Neither of you has said it yet. Not out loud, anyway.

“We really need to talk.” You decide.

“Tonight,” he agrees with a tight-lipped smile.

“Like really talk.”

“Kay.” he brushes powdered sugar off his hands and onto his slacks. “I’ll be in your room by 8.”

“Please don't try to bust the door down this time, Gaston. Just use the doorbell.”

He crinkles his nose at you and with a small huff he goes back to set, a satisfied grin on your face and hope blooming in your chest that everything will be fine. 

***

At 10 past 8 in the evening, you finally hear the doorbell. You drag your hotel slippers-clad feet to the door, stopping by the mirror briefly to check your appearance before pulling the door knob. You were just wearing a shirt and tiny sleep shorts, but you did add a flavored balm to your lips in case.

“Hiiii babyyyy,” Voice slurred, Yoongi’s squinty face comes into view, and your eyes bug out as you find Bangtan’s interpreter Nicole and bodyguard Sunjae holding him up by the elbows.

Reeking of alcohol and maybe a hint of something even more suspicious, he stumbles into your room, kicking off his dunks which lands with a dull thud somewhere you can’t see.

“Explain, please?” you eye his bodyguard who scratches the back of his neck, before he sheepishly recounts how Anderson Paak was all about the vibes…

The fuck?!

Before you can ask more questions, “C’mere baby, I missed youuuu…” Yoongi croons from the couch.

Maybe it was too late, but still, you hold your hands in front of you in an attempt to deny whatever impression they now have of your relationship, “Guys, it’s really not what it looks like, okay?”

“It’s fine,” Nicole assures you awkwardly, holding two thumbs up. “He talked a lot about you in the car, you know? Like a lot. I’m… We’re happy for you guys.” The bodyguard also nods. “And we won’t tell the company.”

Flabbergasted, the sharpest intake of air pierces your lungs. What do they know? And do they know more than you at this point? You just hate Min Yoongi sometimes.

“Alright, I guess I’ll take it from here. Thank you, both,” you say with a tense smile and click the door shut, pressing your forehead on the door before facing the drunkie in your living room who was attempting to turn on the TV with the remote control of the AC.

Great.

This is a version of Yoongi you don’t get to see that frequently. He was ditzy-drunk, a needy, chatty, loopy Yoongi that is actually quite endearing if you remove the fact that he will be hungry in an hour or so (pizza with pickles, usually; sometimes some kind of noodles) and the night typically ends with a good ol’ barf. You’ve dealt with ditzy-drunk Yoongi before and the best solution you’ve found is to just ride the wave.

Slouched on the couch with his legs spread, Yoongi has a lazy but naughty smile on his face as you approach. You wanna be mad so bad, but fuck, he actually looks kinda cute right now.

He tilts his head to the side, jutting his lips out, “Are you mad?”

“No…” you sigh, flopping down next to him.

“Then sit here.” He taps his lap.

“I’m fine here.”

“This is better, I promise. It’s ergonomic.” He presents his lap as a chair with a flourish. You swear, this guy and his weird vocabulary of equally useful and useless knowledge.

You move to settle your body on his thighs, swinging your legs over to straddle him. His mouth stretches into a big grin, satisfied to have your weight on him.

“Why are you so tense?” he places his hands on your shoulders, massaging downward to your elbows. 

“We were supposed to talk, but now you’re so out of it,” you sigh.

“I have very high alcohol tolerance, excuse you!”

“Yes, but you’re drunk af right now!”

“False. I’m not at all drunk at all.”

“Wow. So believable,” you deadpan.

“Yah! Why don’t you believe me? Why does no one ever believe me?”

Even ARMY knows he word-vomits when he lies. And when he’s drunk. Deadly combo.

“Ok, prove it. You want to talk, right? So talk.”

He blinks owlishly at you, as you challenge him with your raised brows.

“Thinking is soooo hard,” he complains, before he perks up with an idea. “Ah! Ask me questions and I will answer them.” 

A rare opportunity to let Yoongi yap voluntarily. Cool, you’ll take it.

“How many drinks did you have?”

“Yes,” he nods confidently. 

You massage your temples with your fingers and sigh. This was going to be a long night.

You end up asking the most random things and Yoongi gives either the most unhinged or deeply unsatisfying responses. At some point during the night, some instant ramen was had (thanks to Jungkook who dropped off some from his stash), after which, Yoongi, as expected, ended up doubled over on the toilet. 

As you watched him heave the contents of his stomach, the rancid smell making your own tummy turn, the one thing that you thought was what a mess he was, but you want him to be yours. Your messy, loopy, ditzy, drunkie, Yoongi. Yours.

Eyes pitiful, mouth upturned, with orange locks grouped in sweat, poor Yoongi grasps the seat of the toilet, asking, “Can I borrow a shirt?”

You push the hair away from his forehead, nodding, “Of course, baby.” 

After a shower, he emerges from the bathroom with your (his) white tshirt, remnants of ditzy-drunk Yoongi long gone, and in comes the version you love, barefaced and beautiful. 

What a masterpiece, Min Yoongi is, and you wonder how it is that some higher being crafted someone with such a delicate face with a mind so captivating and a heart so wonderful. And you haven’t even seen his cock at this point. What if that is a beaut, too?

He walks towards you, head flicked to one side as he rubs a towel on his damp hair.

“Mint, Yoongi? Might settle your tummy,” you gesture to the cup of tea on the coffee table.

“Angel.” He says, padding over to the console with the towel draped on his neck. A slurp and a satisfied mmm later, he settles beside you.

“Are we still playing the game?” You ask.

A pause, but his response surprises you, “I guess we are.” 

And so you decide to ask something you’ve been curious about since he got there. Because as much fun as you had conversing with him on petty shit, you are really desperate to know how to move forward with him. 

“What did you tell Nicole and Sunjae about me?” you hug your pajama-covered knees.

He lets out a faint chuckle, gaze fixed firmly on the floor as if it holds all the answers. “You should have asked this earlier.”

“I’m asking now,” you face him slightly, trying to read his expression.

By the looks of it, it’s not like he doesn’t know or forgot. The pressure was internal. The hesitation was borne out of years of evading uncomfortable unknowns, which served him well, until it didn’t. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, thoughts being organized, distilled, rationalized. That’s just how Yoongi is.

And because where he is avoidant, you were non-confrontational. So you open your mouth, about to offer him an out. Maybe you didn’t have to talk about it today? Maybe you should just put a pin on it and maybe talk about it when you’re both ready–like after another decade? Cool cool…

But this time, he shifts. His palm rests face up on his knee, an invitation for you to hold. You place your hand in his, feeling the warmth radiating through his skin, grounding you both.

The television is still on, bathing his features in blue light as you observe him. He picks up the remote and shuts the screen off, the sudden silence working to thicken the tension in the air.

You’re so nervous for some reason that you can feel your palms sweating against his. You already kissed. He already told you he was yours. You just need to sign the dotted line. Sober.

“I told them,” he begins, his voice low and steady, eyes fixed straight ahead on the blank TV. “That you’re everything to me. You’re my best friend. You’re my dream.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the words reverberating through you like a symphony.

“I think we both know this isn’t just…like we’re not just…you know.” His hand tightens around yours as he bites his lip, struggling to find the right words. “It hasn’t been just friendship for a long time. At least for me.”

“There’s this song I wrote… umm, I was gonna play it for you in the studio when we got home. Fuck it’s so cringe now that I think about it. But, yeah, that was the plan.” He laughs softly, and you can’t help but laugh along, the sound of your shared amusement creating a bridge between you.

Your name falls from his lips, so you glance up and find his warm eyes connecting with yours.

“I love you,” he rasps, voice sincere and raw. “I’ve loved you for so long. Can’t even recall a time that I didn’t.”

Before your mind can catch up with your heart, you crash your lips on his unceremoniously and desperately. You’re back on his lap, hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You kiss him fiercely, pouring all your unspoken feelings into the action. His hand moves into your hair, gently pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

While your first kiss was passionate, it was laced with so many residual emotions that built up over the course of last night. Frustration, anger, hunger quickly took over both of you the moment your lips finally met, quickly escalating into, well, the best oral of your life, apparently. So no regrets there.

But this kiss—this one—was it. The kind you'd remember fondly when you’re old and gray of what it feels like to be really kissed. Enlightening, like finding the final piece of a puzzle you’d been working on since your youth. Filled with all the love and years of words left unsaid, like a pin code, a password, a key, that only he knew how to unlock.

As you pull away, breathless but content, you look into his eyes and respond clearly, simply, “I love you too, Yoongi.”

And in that moment, as your eyes meet like you were the only two remaining in the world, everything feels right.

“But I can’t believe you let your bodyguard hear that confession first.” 

“Aish!”

“I thought it would at least be Jimin.”

“Fuck that. Don’t even talk about another man right now.”

Suddenly that tone is back and your body starts to tense in response. He grips your hips and pulls you against him so you can properly feel the ridge of his cock right against your clothed folds. Yep, that’s a semi.

“You better be nice to me,” his hands move to squeeze your ass expertly, encouraging you to roll forward. Who are you to decline? Not when the pressure from his bulge is caressing your center in the best possible way.

Your body threatens to give in, but the brat in you is still in fighting form, “Or else what?”

“I think you know how nice I can be,” he husks, moving to place teasing kisses on your neck, sucking on the skin to leave a mark. God, that feels good.

“I uh m-might need help remembering.”

He smiles against your neck, his breathy voice tickling you a bit, “You got amnesia, baby?”

You nod meekly, hands roaming towards the back of his neck.

“You better remember my name when I fuck you,” he licks the shell of your ear and you gasp, a gush of liquid soaking your panties.

“Take this off,” he commands, hungry eyes dipping down to your chest.

“So demanding,” you risk the cheeky remark and as expected, you get his unimpressed look. Ok, ok. You’ll be good now.

You lift your shirt by the hem and before you can even pull it over your head, his big, warm hands seize your breasts as they bounce free.

“Fuuuck, baby, I love these. I love these a lot.” He shakes his head in disbelief, bringing your tits together, enjoying how soft they felt in his grasp.

Preening at his dazed reaction, you arch your body forward, placing your chest directly in his sightline. “They’re yours, baby.”

“Uh huh,” he grunts, licking his bottom lip before moving towards one of your nipples. Your eyes threaten to close as the warmth of his mouth envelopes your nub. But you want this moment forever ingrained in your mind–with the way he is mouthing your tits, murmuring his dirty thoughts, lips pushing and teeth pulling. He moves to your other breast, giving it the same treatment, while a hand takes the one his mouth just left, flicking the swollen tip with his index finger to send more jolts of pleasure through you.

“How did you get so good at that?” you mumble, unable to keep your eyes open anymore, your fingers getting lost in his hair.

“How did these get so juicy,” he growls against your spit-covered tit and you feel his teeth clamping down hard.

You moan loudly as arousal pools at your core. “Fuck we should have done this sooner.” 

With a small chuckle, he taps your thigh once, and says, “Meet me in the bedroom,” and you are immediately on your feet, leaving him rummaging through his bag for what you assume is a condom. The triumphant “ha!” you hear confirms it.

Okay, so what do you do now? You start with removing your little shorts and chucking it somewhere on the side, leaving you with your basic as hell black cotton panties, but it’s as good as it gets right now. How do you make this sexy, like do you lie down on your tummy, giving him a great view of your cleavage, or stay sat pushing your boobs together like an anime girl. Why you’re acting brand new is beyond you, but your–

“What are you doing?”

You halt your movements, ending up in an awkward mermaid pose that you don’t even know if it looks good. “Umm…” 

Cute, you think you hear him say, before he lifts his shirt up and off his body and you get a view of the smooth, pale planes of his torso and his dusty nipples that have your mouth watering. Your eyes continue to drink his unintentional strip tease, watching hungrily as he removes his boxers to let his cock spring free.

“Fuck…” Unfair. Just unfair how gorgeous he is.

By the looks of it, he knows what you want, feline eyes taunting you as he pokes the inside of his cheek before grasping the base of his cock, tugging at it once. “You know what to do, or uh–do I have to shove it in?”

Quickly, you drop to your knees, feeling a little bit of rug burn that you might whine about later, and you slide your hands up towards the back of his inner thigh to anchor yourself.

You were never into power dynamics and all that with your past lovers, but there was something about Yoongi in the bedroom that made you want to be a bratty sub. Something told you that he would enjoy taming you, too.

“If you knew what to do, you would actually shove it in,” you say with misplaced cockiness, not knowing you were going to regret it in about five seconds.

He shakes his head with a disbelieving grin as if to say you’re going to be in big trouble. You gulp as his long fingers grasp the length of your jaw to squeeze your cheeks, forcing your lips to form an O-shape. “Open up.”

You do as he says and as expected, he does shove it in. 

He groans as his cock hits the back of your throat. You sputter a bit and you hate how it makes you look like an amateur, but the truth is, you’ve never really taken anyone of his size. 

With him still in your mouth, his thumb caresses the side of your cheek, concerned that he might have hurt you, “You okay, baby?”

You nod even as tears threaten to spill from your eyes, not wanting to disappoint him. With a softened expression, he lets his cock fall away from your mouth, but you immediately catch it in your hand with renewed vigor. You pump him for a few strokes before plugging the tip with your mouth as your hand continues the motions.

He hisses loudly as you lick the pre-cum that has pooled in his slit, his salty taste and heady scent invading your senses, springing you to do more. Cheeks hollowed you move to take all of him in your mouth, coating the smooth ridges with your saliva, before his head hits your throat. You’re ready this time, moaning as you keep his entire cock lodged inside.

“Shit,” he exhales breathlessly, a hand combing through his hair as he tips his head back.

Taking it as a good sign, you glide in and out faster, pressing your tongue against a thick vein that runs along the underside of his dick. Your hands move upwards towards the meat of his ass and you squeeze and push him further into you, eliciting a low groan from him.

He clumps a fistful of your hair into a haphazard ponytail as he rocks forward, gauging your reaction as he starts with some experimental shoves. You look up at him, nodding, a silent surrender. The corners of his lips lifts up in a snarl as you place both hands behind your back, relinquishing all control to him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts as his hips buck into your mouth. Eyes watering, mascara streaks your cheeks as he continues his assault. You keep your head clear, breathing through your nose, wanting, no, needing to make this good for him.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when he lightly tugs your hair, and groans, “Shit, baby— baby, stop.”

He releases your hair and uses his index finger to tip your chin up so he can assess you. Your brows are furrowed, unsure why he stopped.

Slightly out of breath and sporting a lopsided grin, he calls you, “my perfect girl” and your worries subside as he explains, “I had to stop ‘cause it was getting too good. Don’t wanna cum yet.”

You’ve obviously found Yoongi attractive, but he deadass is his hottest right now, dazed and disheveled from being pleasured by you. 

He grips his cock and begins to trace your swollen lips with it to smear his slick all over you like a gloss. “So gorgeous…”

You preen at his praise, sticking your tongue out so he can play with your mouth more. He slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, your saliva dribbling down your chin. You taste minute drops of his cum as he works the tip of his dick against your wet muscle in tiny circles.

Your jaw hurts like hell, your face is a mess, but he is looking at you like you are heaven-sent, as if you were carved out by the gods and bestowed to him as a present. With this realization, your heart squeezes with emotions you can’t place. All you know is that you’re willing to do anything and everything for him, his happiness, your own.

You are truly fuckin’ whipped.

“Up baby, let me take care of you,” he scoops you by the elbow, guiding you to the bed. You crawl atop the mattress, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and yelp when you feel a playful little slap against your butt.

“Can’t help it,” Yoongi says, moving on top of you, floppy bangs covering his teasing eyes.

He uses the pad of his thumb to rub off some of the mascara from under your eyes, then moves some of your hair away from your face. The softness in his gaze fills you with wonder, and for a few charged moments you both just look at each other, before you break the silence with a tender confession.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you tell him as he strokes your cheek.

He smiles. Nods and says, “Me too,” then he kisses you, softly, with gentle caresses of his tongue against the seam of your lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve imagined you like this.”

“Hope it didn’t disappoint.”

“Nah you’re more than perfect.”

Eyes round, lips pouty, warmth blooms across your cheeks at his praise, unable to say a word. You? Perfect? 

“Stop being so damn cute when I’m supposed to be fucking you.” He pecks your nose, then down to your lips where he lingers. You push your tongue against his mouth and he is ready to suck on it softly, swallowing your moans. His kisses start getting rougher and faster, as your fingernails lightly claw his smooth back. He’s got you whimpering when he pulls your plush bottom lip with his teeth and releases it with a dull pop.

His breath fans your cheeks as he moves to pepper kisses along your jaw, towards the sensitive spot behind your ear and down your neck. All the while his hands are traveling all over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

As you continue to explore each other's mouths, you're starting to become too aware that your pussy is leaking, feeling abandoned, aching for friction. You could do it, dip your hands under the waistband of your panties and take the edge off a bit, but where’s the fun in that?

“Touch me, please Yoongi,” you ask breathlessly. 

“I am.” he licks a tender spot on your neck that makes you gasp, while his hand gently caresses the base of your throat, squeezing it experimentally. Another gasp escapes you.

“Lower, please…” 

“Where?” he asks playfully. “Here?” He tweaks a nipple and you whine. “Or here?” He lets his fingers move to the mound of your pussy before he hooks your panty to the side and slides his fingers to your leaking entrance.

You wail as the touch you have been craving for finally comes. Yoongi looks ever so pleased with your reaction, biting his lip as his fingers work your clit in slow circles underneath the soaked cotton.

Insane. You’re starting to be driven insane just by the feel of his veiny fingers gathering your arousal and coating your nub with every slow stroke.

Mouth, you desperately need his mouth. You cup the side of his face to pull him towards you and your mouths move languidly, matching the pace of his fingers.

“Wanna be inside you,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. But I need you to cum first, can you do that for me?”

“Okay, I’m close.” 

His index and middle finger picks up its pace stroking against the sides of your clit. The pressure in your body builds, and you can no longer control the way your body jerks at the mounting bliss.

“Let it happen,” he licks your bottom lip. “Cum.”

And finally your body succumbs, thighs clenching hard as you coat his fingers with the outpouring of your pleasure. 

Pulling his fingers from your pussy, he makes a show of licking your creamy cum from his fingers and you almost go cross-eyed with how feral the act is making you.

“Gimme a sec,” he drops a kiss on your forehead before moving to roll away from your body, and you assume he was about to get the condom. 

An urge comes to mind and you are powerless to stop your mouth from blurting it out.

“You don’t have to,” you tell him shyly, sitting up while he pulls the packet from his discarded shorts. “I’m on the pill, and am clean.” And you know he is, too, because you regularly monitor his wellness checks. 

Yoongi stands by the foot of the bed, mouth parting and closing wordlessly like a fish as he tries to decipher your words.

And you know you needn’t say this, but it’s out before you think better of it, “it’s been umm years since my last.”

Yoongi closes his eyes for a few seconds as if weighing his options. “You sure?”

“I want to feel you.” Fingers closing in on his dick, you pump his length, bringing it back to life. “All of you.”

“Fuck,” he groans, nodding. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“How do you want me?”

“Just lay down, I need to see your face when I fuck you.”

You do as he says and your back hits the plush duvet. He pulls your panties down your legs, throwing it on the floor carelessly. He crawls on top of your naked body and you hook your legs around his waist. Your heart pounds in anticipation.

“I’m gonna warn you, I might not last,” he aligns himself by your entrance, and finally sinks his cock inside your swollen pussy. You groan in unison as he bottoms out with ease, lost in the euphoria of each other's bodies.

For a moment, he stays lodged in you just like that, girth nestled against your folds, while your body adjusts to the welcome intrusion. The feeling consumes you whole–warm, wet, wonderful. You take deep, controlled breaths as you fight the urge to rut against him, but your inner walls can’t help but clench.

“Fuck, you feel so good, but I really need to move.”

“Promise we can cockwarm next time?”

“Uh huh.” and with that he starts to thrust into you in short, stuttered strokes, making you gasp for air.

“Fuuuckin hell you’re so tight,” he grunts, chasing the high of his release as dirty words continue to spill from his mouth.

You push your boobs together, his eyes magnetized by the action and watches as you pinch both nipples, making you moan. 

“Yoongi…” you say his name wantonly, drunk in your desire for him. “Just use me, baby.”

Growling, he guides your leg above his shoulder for a better angle, and his pace increases tenfold. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, mixed with helpless whines and grunts.

The familiar coil tightens in your belly.

“Touch yourself,” he insists and your hand slides down to where your bodies meet. Your clit is swollen, sticky as you rub it in circular motions timing it with his thrusts. “Are you close?”

“Mmh…” you nod. “So close…”

“Me too,” he pushes inside you rapidly, deeply, like he wants you to feel him for days. His thrusts are getting erratic, and you can see that he is incredibly close with the way his brows are pinched.

Electricity crackles between you, an invisible force leaping from your body to his, building with every shared thrust. His grip on your thighs are firm, and your nails are sure to leave indents on his shoulder. Everywhere your bodies meet, a spark ignites—a surge of energy that only grows stronger.

“I’m cumming,” he warns and it’s a miracle you’re able to respond with “I’m there…” as each movement sends another jolt, until the air itself hums with the raw, electric charge of your passion and you both cum at the same time.

You feel radiant and you swear you’ve never felt more alive.

Meanwhile, Yoongi looks absolutely destroyed as he sets your leg down, and you love it. Impenetrable, aloof, Min Yoongi brought to his demise by your pussy of all things.

He buries his face on the crook of your neck, his breaths tickling your skin. Slowly he eases out of you, and you hiss as you feel his sticky cum seep from your entrance.

“I thought I couldn’t be more in love with you, but shit I was wrong,” he mumbles, face still nestled by the top of your shoulder.

You don’t know what to say. So you keep it simple. “I love you, too, baby.”

After a whirlwind of a night, you and Yoongi quietly begin to clean up. You cuddle for a stretch of time, showering each other with the sweetest words. He hands you a bottle of water from the side table with a small smile, and for a while, you both just soak in the calm.

He finishes washing up first and heads back to the bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Meanwhile, you're still in the ensuite, brushing your teeth, catching a glimpse of him as you finish up. The whole moment feels easy, like the perfect end to a long night.

“We can go out tomorrow if you’re down,” he says, as you spit the mouthwash on the sink.  “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Aww. Our first date, huh?”

“We’ve been in plenty. You just didn’t know.”

Really?

You peek your head from the doorway of the bath, “ Yeah, but this will be my first as your girlfriend.”

That got him cheesing, nose wrinkling to hide a shy smile that was so unlike the beast that he was just a few minutes ago.

“What’s taking you so long? I already miss you,” he says pointedly, and you bound back to bed like his little pup and into his awaiting arms.

“I can get used to this,” he says against your forehead, pressing his lips to it.

“I still want to hear the song, by the way,” you mumble, referring to the supposed track that he was going to use to confess. “What is it called?”

“That That.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you slap his chest as he chuckles to himself. Not the crack song with Psy. You roll your eyes, ‘cause he thinks he is so funny, but he just cages you in tighter.

“No title yet, but you get to listen to it when we go home.”

“Mmkay.”

The next morning, you’re back from the breakfast buffet, where you sufficiently replaced all the calories you burned last night, and decide to chill in your room. Meanwhile, Yoongi makes some arrangements for your date.

Lounging on the couch, you are scrolling through IG, when a video call from your mom pops up. You quickly swipe to answer, smiling as her face appears on the screen.

“Hey, dumpling! How’s work?” she greets you with your childhood moniker, grinning like she always does when she sees you.

“Busy, but good,” you reply, while propping your phone against the lamp on the side table. “You know, the usual chaos. We’ll be home in a few days…”

“That’s good.” Then, without missing a beat, she narrows her eyes a little, leaning in toward the camera as if that’s going to make her point clearer. “So… did you use one of your dating apps while you’re there? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

She’s been asking you this for months, though always with that loving impatience that makes it hard to get annoyed. 

Thankfully, today is the day that you have a different answer. “Actually… yeah. I have a boyfriend,” you admit, cheeks heating up.

Your mom’s face lights up immediately, her teasing forgotten. “Omo! Finally! That’s wonderful news. I was starting to think I’d have to phone Min Yang-hee and arrange…”

And of course, Min Yang-hee’s very own son, completely oblivious to the call, walks into view. And of course, he’s shirtless. Because why wouldn’t he be showing off those sweet little nips right now? And of course he is wearing low-hanging gray sweatpants. Because why wouldn’t his dickprint taunt you at the most inconvenient time?

“Baby, can I borrow your—” his voice cuts off as he realizes what’s happening. He freezes mid-step, eyes flicking between you and the phone.

“Yoongi-yah?!” your mom exclaims, her eyes practically sparkling.

Yoongi blinks, then awkwardly grins, as he grabs a throw pillow from the couch to shield his chest. “Oh… good morning, eomonim. Didn’t know you were, uh, here.”

Your mom’s grin turns downright mischievous. “Well, well, well. Look who finally makes a move! I was telling dumpling that I was about to call your…”

”Eomma!” You bury your face in your hands, feeling your cheeks burn with the insinuation of an arranged marriage.

“What?” she says, all fake innocence. “I’m just saying. Took you long enough, Yoongi. You’ve been trailing after her since you two were kids.”

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, but laughing along. “Eomonim, good things take time, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure. And look at you—future grandkids are gonna have such a handsome father.”

No, your own mother did not just check your boyfriend out. “Eomma, stop…”

“But don't think I haven't been keeping up with the news. Young man, you seem to have been getting wedding proposals left and right, you better not break my dumpling’s heart.”

“Please eomma.” You say even though you were getting a little teary-eyed from her being over protective of you.

“She’s the only woman I've been interested in, eomonim. As you said, since we were kids.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Quick, let’s add your eomma here! Such good news needs to be shared.”

Yoongi, now a deep shade of pink, chuckles nervously. 

“Maybe later. We have a schedule to go to…” you interject.

“Is that what you kids call having se—“

“Love you, eomma!” You eye her pointedly, sufficiently mortified by the whole conversation.

Still grinning, your mom waves you off. “Love you, too, dumpling.”

Yoongi ended up renting a convertible and driving you all over town.

For lunch, you visit a charming café in the Arts District. The place is known for its artisan sandwiches and freshly pressed juices. You share a sandwich, a soup, and a salad, enjoying each other’s company and a few laughs over a meal that’s as delightful as it is delicious. 

Then you move to a coffee shop you had wanted to try and it turned out to be a gem. The café was warm, cozy, with the faint hum of chatter and the clink of mugs surrounding you both. You sat across from him, your hands intertwined on the table, his thumb mindlessly stroking the back of your hand as you talked. The conversation was light, random, teasing—the kind of banter that always made you feel like the two of you were in your own little world.

“So, if you could magically transport us anywhere right now, where would we go? And don’t say ‘bed’—I swear you can’t always be sleeping.”

“Can I say bed, but not ‘cause I want to sleep?” He smirks, leaning back in his chair, still holding your hand, his middle finger rubbing your knuckles teasingly.

You scold him, “You’re so shameless!” and try to pull your hand away but he keeps his grip tight. He takes a few moments to think about his response.

“Maybe somewhere snowing like Sapporo. It’s going to be too cold for you to keep checking your phone every five minutes when we’re out.”

You look up from your phone screen guiltily, abandoning the email notification that flashed. “I have to ’cause I work for your famous ass,” you huff. 

“About that…” Yoongi starts, and you know he meant your resignation.

You sigh, realizing you haven’t really discussed this with him. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Baby,” he leans forward, eyes kind. “You don’t have to apologize, okay? You have your reasons and I respect it. I’ll always support you.”

“I think this would be good for me, you know? Try something new.” You add, “There’s this corner spot close to my flat that I’ve been looking to lease.”

“For your cafe?” his face lights up, remembering your dream from way back.

“For my cafe,” you nod, heart expanding with the excitement you see in his eyes.

“Do it.” he says. “And if you need a handsome barista to help out once in a while you know I live just two streets down.”

You laugh, shaking your head, enjoying how easily he can make you smile.

“But I can’t afford you.”

“I’ll take payments in kisses and blo–”

“Min Yoongi!”

“I’m just playing, baby.”

His hand is still on yours, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your knuckles. It was so natural, so comfortable, that you barely notice when his touch becomes a little more deliberate, more precise.

It is not until you prepare to leave that you notice something different. You stand, bag tucked on the crook of your arm, and as you reach for your jacket, you see it—a tiny paper ring, made from a straw wrapper, folded with care and snug around your finger. 

Suddenly, butterflies swarm in your stomach.

You look at him, eyebrows raised, holding up your hand as if it were evidence in a crime scene. “Yoongi?” you ask with a playful smile.

He blinks, trying to look innocent. “What? Wasn’t me.”

“Uh-huh,” you step closer, your eyes narrowing. “So, it just magically appeared on my finger?”

He shrugs, leaning casually against the back of his chair. “Must’ve been the wind. Or, you know, maybe it’s a sign. The universe is telling you something.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling your cheeks warm as you play along. “And what exactly is the universe trying to tell me?”

He gave you that signature smirk of his, the one that always made your (and the entire ARMY’s) heart skip a beat. “That you’ve been claimed. Obviously.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop smiling. “Ah, really? Claimed by some mysterious paper-ring-tying ghost?”

He shrugs again, standing up and taking your hand as you both walk toward the door. “Who knows? But if I were you, I’d hold on to that. Could be worth something one day.”

You glanced down at your finger again, your chest warm with affection. “Yeah,” you agree softly, squeezing his hand. “I think I will.”

You continue your date along the backstreets of the Strip, away from the towering hotels and flashy fountains. As you stroll in silence, enjoying the sights, your fingers mindlessly play with the little ring on your finger, and his voice echoes in your head: “You’ve been claimed.”

And suddenly, you realize it’s true. You’ve claimed each other long before today’s paper ring and long before last night’s confession.

Every day since you’ve become close friends, you’ve claimed each other in the most ordinary ways. With every mundane moment and seemingly random act of kindness, you’ve expressed your love without needing grand declarations.

He knows exactly how you like your coffee and the perfect time to bring it to you. He carries your bag even when you insist you can manage on your own and even with his own busted shoulder. He always saves a seat for you—of course, right next to him. You have a suitcase here and a closet full of his shirts back home. He wears your black hair tie on his wrist and has a whole drawer full of them at his place. You know his five shades of drunk, and you know just the right kind of tea to cure his hangover.

He has truly been yours, and you, his. You both have just been too oblivious to see it. As the realization hits you like a freight train, your gaze lands on a sign that inspires you to show him just how committed you are. Sure, it’s bold and completely out of character for you, but you don’t want to think it through. It’s stupid. But who cares? You’re in love.

 “You wanna get matching tattoos?”

Yoongi’s POV

Min Yoongi likes being in Las Vegas. And maybe this is why. 

This is where he finally gets lucky. And not in the crass sort of way.

Here, he has felt a surge of courage he’s never had before, pushing him to act on feelings he’s kept hidden for way too long. And while confessing to you still felt like a gamble, he was more ready and willing to roll the dice and see where it lands. 

People say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But for Min Yoongi, this time is different. He’s determined to make it last—just like the identical lotus tattoo that now sits on his wrist and on yours. It isn’t just a reminder of this wild adventure; it symbolizes the beginning of something real and lasting between you two.

After getting inked, he decides to drive away from the city, heading towards a scenic cliffside spot he found on Google that morning. He thought it would be the perfect place to unwind and catch the sunset, while enjoying the spam musubi and Slurpees you got from the gas station nearby. Truth be told, he thought maybe he could sneak in a makeout session with you, too, something he knew couples would sometimes do in places like this. (At least that’s what he’s seen in American movies!) Being an idol often kept him from enjoying “normal” things, and since he couldn’t exactly do this with you near the Han without the fear of being on Dispatch that same night, he figured it would be a fun escape to pretend he was just an ordinary guy taking his girl out on a date in this foreign city.

He sits on the hood of the convertible, the metropolis stretching out below, a sea of lights slowly flickering on as the sun dips toward the horizon. You’re nestled against him, your head resting on his chest, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders. 

Your phone is connected to the car speakers and it’s currently playing a ballad. He hears you hum softly but his mind drifts elsewhere, somewhere between the quiet beauty of the moment and the thoughts that have been building for weeks—maybe even longer.

It started with that whole Yoongi Marry Me thing. Who knew that cheeky little “bring the documents” quip he said in one live will set off a whole ass thing with ARMY. Or with the whole kpop industry, modesty aside.

Almost everyday the phrase is repeated to him, especially by the members (fuckin Taehyung!). Fans have been showing up to concerts in veils. Chats are filled to the brim with that proposal whenever any of the members goes live. Even when he is not there.

It’s all been fun and games until you. Until you said it. And you had to keep saying it, then suddenly it didn’t feel like a joke anymore. He started thinking he wouldn’t mind it. Like at all.

You’ve planted a seed in his brain that just kept blooming and blooming. Seeing all the wedding chapels in Las Vegas only served as potent fertilizer. And now the concept has fully blossomed in his heart and taken root in his mind.

He feels the warmth of you leaning into him, your breathing soft and steady, your humming so sweet, and everything about this moment feels… right. More right than any plan he’s ever made, more perfect than anything he could have mapped out for himself. It hits him then, with a kind of clarity that almost startles him.

He’s done with waiting. Done with the endless planning, the careful timelines, the stream of approvals needed for every thing he wanted to do. This, right here, is his everything. And for the first time, the idea of doing something spontaneous doesn’t terrify him. It excites him. A whole life with you excites him.

And fuck, if it’s good enough for Michael Jordan…

He glances at you, the way your eyes reflect the soft, fading light, and something roars in his chest—an overwhelming certainty that he can’t hold back anymore. He isn’t one for grand, impulsive gestures, but this doesn’t feel impulsive at all. It feels inevitable.

“What if we just… did it?” he asks, tone light, but heavy with intention.

You tilt your head, looking up at him with that curious smile he loves. “Did what?”

His fingers tighten ever so slightly on your shoulder as he turns to face you fully, feeling a rush of nervous excitement. “Got married. Right now. No more waiting, no more planning.”

He sees the surprise flash in your eyes, the slight parting of your lips as you process what he’s just said. He waits, letting the words sink in, watching as the curiosity in your eyes slowly fades into something else.

“You’re not joking?” you whisper, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He shakes his head, the last of the setting sun casting a golden glow over the both of you. "No. I’ve… we have planned everything in my life, but this... with you, I don’t want to plan anymore. Because what good are plans if you’re not gonna be in them, with me.”

He continues, voice more certain, committed. “I wanna do it. Now. Tonight. Let’s drive to the chapel, and if you’re ready... Let's get married.”

He watches your reaction closely, his heart pounding, but not out of fear. He’s not afraid anymore. He no longer needs to hide behind liquid courage to give you little hints of what he has been feeling deep inside. He knows what he wants—what has been right in front of him this whole time. And then, just to lighten the weight of the moment, he smiles, a small chuckle escaping him.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure we’ve got your eomma’s blessing already. She’d probably drive us there herself if she knew what I was thinking.”

You laugh, that soft sound that always makes his chest tighten in adoration. The way you smile at him now—there’s no hesitation in it, only the same certainty that he feels. The city lights flicker to life behind you, but all he can see is you and your bright, sparkly eyes. And how he wishes that you would grant him the eternity of looking into them.

“Let’s do it,” you nod at him, your voice steady and sure. “Right now.”

His heart soars. He bites his lip, squeezing your shoulder, and with one last glance at the fading sun, he slides off the hood of the car, offering you his hand.

As you hop down, he drops to one knee. Taking your hand, fingers delicately closing in on the paper ring that he placed on your finger earlier in the day.

“Y/n, marry me?”

“You sure you don't want me saying ‘Yoongi, marry me‘ instead. Has a better ring to it…”

“Hajimaaa! Why you gotta ruin the moment?!”

“Sorry, ok ok, do it again.” You try to placate him with a quick press of your lips to his forehead.

He shakes his head at you. Eyes narrowed, but fond. Fond in the way your eyes sparkle with glee, even as you bite your bottom lip. Fond in the way you look at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky and you know what, he would hang the entire galaxy for you if you asked him to.

So, no more waiting. No more planning.

He finally asks: “Baby, will you marry me?”

And you finally answer: “Yes!”

Epilogue

Jimin’s POV

Why is Tinder so, so dry? Jimin curses and contemplates tossing his phone in the trash.

But then his phone pings and when he looks at the notification, he sees that he is added in a Kakao group chat. 

Okay. He checks the members curiously. It’s with you and Yoongi hyung.

What are you fuckers up to this time?

Tbh, he was still kinda annoyed that neither of you had told him anything after what went down at the club. He literally babysat your dejected boytoy and had to crisis PR the shit out of the situation because Yoongi had to get slightly Agust D.

And seriously, how can you even stay mum to him of all people. He has listened to your every woe and whine for months about how Yoongi can’t even see you as more than a friend. Newsflash, he is obsessed with you! He has witnessed Yoongi’s pining for years and talked to him countless times to confess. ‘Cause, newsflash: you’re obsessed with him, too! 

Did his attempts at playing matchmaker work? Who knows? But damn did he try. Playing cupid for the two most emotionally constipated people he knows hasn’t been easy. So after everything he has done in the background for you two idiots, how dare you keep him in the da–

His thoughts are interrupted by three pings as three messages come in rapid succession.

First, a location pin:

📍The Little White Wedding Chapel, 1301 S Las Vegas Blvd, Las Vegas, NV

Then, a text from Yoongi that made him smile so wide.

Yoongi: Get your ass here right now we need a witness.

And lastly, yours that made his grin even wider.

You: Yoongi’s marrying me!!!

-THE END-

A/N: Thank you so, so much you beautiful human for reading this story. I am forever grateful that you decided to explore this silly little world with me.

I would love to hear from you! Please leave a comment or consider reblogging if you liked it. Til next!

Here's my new MYG x Reader story if you want more. :)

[thereallovebug]

It makes me sad that it’s been a month since Michael Sheen has interacted with fans on Twitter (I don’t count the tweets for causes or charities). Except for the time some ten years ago when he got off twitter all together, I think this is the longest “hiatus” he’s taken. I’ve heard, “maybe he’s just too busy” and I’m sure that’s partly true but he’s been busy before and generally doesn’t stay away more than a few days at a time.

I think we all know the real reason he’s currently gone is because he was dogpiled over his statements not being pure enough about the current situation in Palestine according to the Twitter Foreign Policy Experts who thought they’d take it upon themselves to school a 54-year-old activist who’s been watching the shifting struggles of the world for decades. Anyone who’s been following him for the past few years should have noticed by now that he doesn’t take kindly to condescention or insults and he’ll readily block those who try. In their parasocial fantasies they forget that friendliness ≠ friendship and shit you can get away with saying to RL friends may not go down well with someone they don’t really know outside of their public persona.

I hope if he finally decides to start interacting with fans again they remember to show some goddam respect. He’s NOT your buddy. He’s a friendly stranger on the internet.

Addendum: if anyone tries to make this political I will block you, no exceptions. I don’t take kindly to condescension or insults, either.

[hllywdwhre]

My Darling Boy

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Irish!fem!reader

Summary: Tommy’s late night leads to you comforting him and a recount of the first time you realized you loved him.

Warnings: Panic attacks, reader faces anti-Irish sentiment from a stranger, Tommy says some questionable things about the Irish but nothing too bad💀, violence, bar fight. Let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 2.8K

Notes: This was 100% inspired by @red-write-hand ‘s Tommy bot. My god do I love that thing and fluff it gives me. I tried keeping this as reader friendly as possible, but some details had to be added to fit the plot, such as reader being Irish.

Edit: This has not been proofread and YIKES. Sorry for all the errors😭

Flashbacks are italicized!

You stared at the clock on your wall that read 2:07 AM. Tommy was supposed to be in bed three hours ago. It was your agreement. He could work as late as he wanted as long as he ate all three meals with you and came to bed at 11. The resolve had come almost a year ago when you’d finally told him you, his wife, felt like second place to his work.

But here it was. 2AM, your bed felt cold without him there, and this was the third time this week that he hadn’t come to bed on time.

You tried not to argue with him. He had enough stress with work and you didn’t want to be a source of more stress, but you had his same quick temper and you couldn’t deny that you were more than irritated that he was seemingly back to his old ways of ignoring your agreement.

You made your way down the hall and to his office, leaning against the door frame.

Tommy spoke before you could, “I know what you’re about to say.”

The exhaustion in his voice and the way he looked… defeated immediately caused a change of heart in you, though.

“My darling boy,” you said in a soft voice, making sure to use the pet name you had for him to try and avoid him thinking you were there for an argument.

“Don’t ‘my darling boy’ me,” he replied immediately with a bite in his tone, “Not when you’re here to start an argument with me. What time is it?”

You’d known Tommy since he came back from The Great War. You knew more than well enough by now to not take his words to heart when he was like this. He was taking his anger out on you, whether you deserved it or not.

You had blinded men and taken their tongues using the bladed Peaky Blinders cap for speaking to you the way Tommy was speaking to you, but Tommy was your soft spot. Somehow, you always remained calm when it came to Tommy.

You made your way over to his desk and picked up the empty whiskey glass that was next to a stack of papers that littered his desk.

“It’s 2 in the morning, my love,” you replied in a calm voice. You walked over to the fireplace where his bottle of whiskey sat and refilled the glass then placed it on the desk again.

He picked it up as soon as you set it down and took a long drink from it.

“I have work, you know that. The business doesn’t run itself.” He took another swallow of the liquid and you could see the way his breathing had picked up slightly.

It started to make sense in that moment. You knew Tommy as well as he knew you and as well as you knew yourself. You knew the signs of one of his panic attacks beginning and stepped between him and his desk.

“I know that. I’m not mad at you, darling,” you replied after a moment. You made sure to keep your voice the steady and calm tone you knew he needed at the moment as you spoke. “Can you look at me?”

Tommy took a deep breath before looking up at you and you could see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead along with the way his eyes seemed unable to focus on you. You lifted your hand to his cheek and gently ran your thumb across it in a slow motion.

“What’s your full name?” You asked him. The questions you would ask him changed from time-to-time so he wouldn’t get too used to them. They were simple questions, enough to distract him and get him to focus on you, but not enough to send him into a further panic.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, why?” He raised the glass to his lips again, but his breathing only picked up more.

You took the glass from his hand and set it on the desk behind you then placed his hand on your chest, right where you knew he would be able to feel your heartbeat.

“Focus on my breathing and my voice. What’s John’s wife’s name?” You asked him next.

You watched as he closed his eyes and did as you said, trying to match his breathing to yours as you began taking slower and deeper breaths.

“Esme,” he answered after a moment.

“When’s our wedding anniversary?” You asked next.

”The 17th of August.”

You knew it was silly, but you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks at how quickly and easily he answered that question. It was the little things like that which reminded you that you were still his number one priority.

“Can you look at me again?” You asked him once you noticed his breathing had calmed down.

Tommy looked to you, his blue eyes immediately finding your eyes and locking onto them. The corner of his mouth tilted into a small smirk and you returned it with a small smile of your own.

“I love you,” you told him as you crawled into his lap and pulled him into a hug, trying to help ground him more.

He immediately returned your hug and buried his head into your neck. Your hands instinctively rose to the back of his head and gently ran your nails across the shaved part of it.

“I love you, too. Even when I’m a mess,” he replied quietly.

“You’re not a mess,” you argued immediately, “you’re my amazing husband, an amazing business leader, an amazing member of parliament, and the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

A sigh left his lips after a long moment and his head remained buried in your neck. His breathing was no longer panicked and he had relaxed into your hold completely.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered into your neck.

“Funny,” you said with a chuckle, “I think the same thing of me.” You moved your head enough so you could kiss his temple. “Love you with all my heart, Thomas Shelby. You’re my darling boy.”

As soon as the pet name left your lips, he was chuckling into your neck. It was one anyone else would be maimed for calling him, but somehow you saying it had won him over.

“Love you, too,” he murmured in response.

After a couple long minutes of the two of you curled into each other, and once you were sure he wouldn’t panic speaking of it, you asked him,

“What led to it?”

He immediately knew what you were asking and shook his head in your neck,

“Nothing,” he replied in a defeated voice.

You pulled back enough to cause him to raise his head and she the quirked brow you were giving him,

“Thomas Shelby, what do you tell me every time I try to say the same thing?”

Any time you tried to belittle your problems, Tommy was the one who was telling you that if it was causing you troubles, then it wasn’t nothing and it was worth talking about.

He grumbled something under his breath about using his own words against him and then finally answered.

“The bloody Irish,” he said loud enough for you to hear.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that left your lips. You knew Tommy knew better than to think she was laughing at him or her problems; you were simply laughing at the irony of it all.

“What have my people done now?” You asked, purposefully making your accent come out as thick as possible to pick on him.

“Made an illegal shipment without our say so,” Tommy replied and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Well… we’ve never liked to obey the English. I think my ancestors are rolling in their graves at how soft I am with you,” you teased, hoping to get at least a chuckle out of him.

It worked and you could feel the way his body shook the slightest bit as the small laugh left him,

“You’re not soft, darling, you’re just civilized,” he teased in return.

You pulled away with a look of mock offense on your face,

“Hey, now! My people are very civilized, we just know how to have fun,” you told him.

You know Tommy held no actual disdain towards you or your Irish blood. He himself was part Irish. He only spoke this way around you to get under your skin and pick on you.

“If you call bar fights being civilized then sure, darling.” The smirk on his face told you he was still only teasing you.

You scrunched up your nose as you looked at him,

“Maybe not your strongest point, love. I’ve come home with a black eye from an English bar fight where, for once, I was genuinely an innocent bystander and I had to keep you from going after half of Small Heath,” you pointed out.

Tommy’s face immediately darkened at the memory of that night and he tried to stutter out some defense of how it was different, but you shook your head no.

“You know that was the night I realized I loved you?” You told him as your own version of the memories flitted through your mind and you tried to distract him from the darker thoughts of his mind.

Your words seemed to catch him off guard and he looked up at you with surprise written on his features.

“Really?” He asked, unsure how else to reply.

You nodded in response and you felt another deep blush creep onto your cheeks. One thing you and Tommy had in common was that vulnerability didn’t come natural to you.

“Would you care to know how I remember that night?” You asked to which he nodded. “It was after a day of shopping with Ada and Esme. You and I had been together for three months at that point, and Ada and Esme were sure we were going to end up getting married, so they wanted to make sure I knew I was part of the family.”

You knew he knew all of this, but you wanted to tell him the whole story of how you had come to the realization and what had happened leading up to the fight.

”After we were done shopping, Esme had John meet us up at The Garrison so we could all have a drink.”

The three of you stumbled through the doors of the pub, giggling over something Ada had said.

John motioned the three of you over to the table he was sitting at, already having ordered a round of drinks for you. It was the first time you had sat outside of the private room the Shelbys had, and the last.

In the middle of the three of you telling John about the new dress Ada had bought, someone who’d had one too many drinks came stumbling over.

“I don’t get you Shelbys. You serve your country in the war then associate with some Irish scum,” he spat out, motioning from John to you.

You had met the other Shelbys while Arthur, Tommy, and John were in France. Polly had needed a bookkeeper for the betting shop and had taken you, even vouching for you when they had returned. After a year of working with them, one incident where you had been used as bait that had gone too far, and you’d been forced to defend yourself, Tommy had decided to make you an official Peaky Blinder. You may not wear your Peaky cap, but the bladed item was also on you. Offers had been made to hide blades in other women’s items of clothing, but you had denied. You had learned how to hide the cap among scarves, shawls, or in your bags and you wanted the official Peaky Blinders symbol.

John had immediately jumped to your defense that night in The Garrison.

“She’s a damn Peaky Blinder and has been for years! She can be trusted as well as any Englishman or woman.” He had defended, standing up to meet the man eye-to-eye as a warning to leave.

“Do you know who you’re talking about?” Ada said next, standing up also, “Irish or not, she’s Tommy’s girl and a Blinder.”

“I don’t give a shit if she’s Tommy’s current whore or not. She’s Irish scum and I don’t want to be in a pub with the likes of her,” the man spat back at Ada.

Esme and you both stood up at this and the rest of the pub had silenced as they watched the scene unfold. Seemingly out of thin air, a couple other Blinders that were present came to stand beside John as he told the man to leave the pub while he could still see the door.

Next thing you knew, Esme had pulled you harshly out of the way as a glass shattered against the wall behind you.

Chaos broke out immediately. Despite you trying to fight against them, a couple patrons or other members of the Peaky Blinders (you weren’t sure which) had tried to drag you, Ada, and Esme back to the office. During the mix, a blow landed on your cheek and you quickly swung back.

The fight seemed to halt immediately after. Even if the guy was brave enough to harass you for being Irish, throw a glass at your head, and fight John over everything, everyone else seemed to realize the grave mistake that had been made in that moment.

No one touched Thomas Shelby’s woman, and there she was with a bruise already evident on her cheek.

John grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck like he was nothing more than a rabid dog, called for you to follow him, and called for Esme and Ada to be walked back to the betting shop and for all the members of the Peaky Blinders present to go there, also.

You walked with John to the canal and were told by John that you ‘could do the honors of killing the bastard’ yourself.

After the deed was done, the two of you had walked back to the betting shop and arrived at the same time as Tommy.

You remembered the worry on his face as he looked for you, the anger that took over when he spotted the black eye, him screaming at everyone to give him an answer as to what had happened and who had harmed you, and the way he had pulled you into his arms in a hug that nearly crushed you.

You remembered the feeling of safety that washed over you once you were in his arms, the feeling of home, and the way you were able to ignore the chaos around you as others explained what exactly had happened that night.

You remembered the way he wouldn’t let anyone else touch you until he had personally looked you over for any injuries.

You remembered the look he had when you told him you’d killed the man. The disappointment over not being the one to do it himself, but the pride in you standing up for yourself.

“I remember being absolutely terrified when it finally clicked in my head what I was feeling. I have never feared you, but I was terrified of ever getting my heart broken again. I knew Esme and Ada had said they were sure we would be married, but my own insecurities came into play, and I was terrified you’d realize how much of a mess I could be and you’d leave me,” you told him, leaned in and kissing him softly for a moment before continuing on, “You never left me. Even when we’ve fought, you never let me feel like you were going to leave me. I learned that no matter what happened, you’d move the earth, heavens, and hells to make sure you always came back to me.”

Tommy remained silent as you finished your story. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but it seemed you had actually managed to make the man speechless.

“I love you, Thomas Michael Shelby,” you muttered as you leaned in to kiss him again, “I meant it the first time I said those words, when I accepted your proposal, when we said them at the altar, when I say them now, and every time in between. You’re my darling boy through it all.”

His hand came up to cup your face and he rested his forehead against yours, “I’ve meant them all, too. You’re mine until the end of time.”

[heresmyhyperfixations]

Let me be so for real for a minute. I grew up in a homophobic and transphobic household. Now, there’s a lot I could speak on in relation to this time of my life and how even now it’s affects me. But instead I want to share something pertaining to the fandom I have found myself in recently.

Good Omens was on my list of shows to watch since it came out all those years ago. Honestly, I was a Supernatural fan, I yearned for nothing more then a good on screen queer angle lol. Of course I couldn’t not at home. I couldn’t risk it. It was funny, some family members were Michael Sheen fans. That meant watching a lot of things he was in and every time I would be thinking about Good Omens and how much I wanted to be able to see it. But after a while I did kind of forget that it exists. Then I stumbled back onto this lovely little chaotic app. Following a lot of writing based accounts and tags it didn’t take long to come across Neil Gaiman’s account, even though he doesn’t use social media. Seeing him answer asks about GO made me go “Oh! Finally!” And start streaming it immediately.

Of course I fell in love. Growing up being shamed by my family for simply being a little “strange”, plot twist I am just neurodivergent, hurt a little less watching Aziraphale constantly being ridiculed by the other angles for his human tastes. Cause if he is still a good character/person/angel, even if a little “weird”, that means I can be good too. Watching Crowley get cast away for asking questions was relatable as well. But guess what? If he can go off and make a life for himself with his love and independence then so can I. Does this mean Aziraphale and Crowley don’t have a ton of healing and growth still to do? Absolutely not. But I am sure they will get through it, and so will I.

Now here’s where it gets a little tricky, figuring out how to express how much the fandom means to me. Hearing other stories, headcannons, and character analysis makes me feel less alone for starters. But even on a less dramatic note, it just so nice to be able to revel in our mural love for this show! After all these years of wanting to watch I finally get to join in on the fun! And I am so so so grateful for that. I love it here.

P.s. as someone still coming to terms with my gender identity, seeing David be so vocal about his support of trans rights and wearing his little non-binary pride pin has made me feel so much better.

[senqv]

LOVEGAME !

blue lock ! fanfic featuring : michael kaiser x gn! reader

warning(s) : lots of mentions of feminine stuff like dresses & makeup but still can be read as gender neutral ( hopefully ??? ) , kisses <3 , a bittt suggestive , loserboy kaiser , established relationship , no proofread so prolly some spelling / grammar mistakes , lmk if there are more !

kaiser as the rich football star who loves spoiling his lover. he brings in around 2 million usd annually, so just say the word and he will deliver it. anything from givenchy to giambattista valli; or even the custom-made garments from paris couture week starting from the tens of thousands to several millions.

he’s also quite accustomed to playing around with makeup, loves it when you offer to do his eyeliner for him <3 but really, what he enjoys the most is dressing you up all pretty just for him !!

“gorgeous,” kaiser whispers, lithe fingers going down the side of the navy satin gown from saint laurent, teasingly flitting just below the hemline. his fingers press down onto your thigh at the way your makeup preoccupies you instead of paying attention to him, tilting his head to the side as he meets your gaze in the vanity mirror. “just a sec,” you continue to apply your mascara without a care in the world, oblivious to the impatient taps of your boyfriend’s fingers. he leans forward with a sigh, hands caged at either side of your frame.

kaiser frowns in displeasure at your refusal to spare him even a glance, and you can tell he’s getting restless at the way his fingers drum aggressively against the table. “kaiser,” it’s almost funny how fast he looks up at the call of your voice. “sit behind on the bed or something, please ? you’re distracting me.” you say, leaning even more forward to properly apply the opalescent highlights on your eyelid, disregarding the way your boyfriend’s jaw nearly drops at the sheer audacity ?? how dare anyone, much less his own lover, disregard his presence ????

kaiser’s frown deepens as he opens his mouth to protest, but decides against it as he begrudgingly sits on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. he crosses his arms, biceps flexing visibly below his rolled sleeves that were just a tad too tight. from the corner of his eye, he can see you uncapping a tube, recognising it as the rouge hérmes lipstick he gifted to you not too long ago. the wine red sheen makes your lips especially ravishing, and he has to tear his gaze away before he gives in to his desires to kiss you until you can’t think. not after that stunt you pulled !!

kaiser purposely avoids your gaze as you walk towards him, glancing to the side and keeping his arms crossed as you climb into his lap. “kaiser,” your voice is a teasing lilt, and kaiser turns his head away from you, powered by pure spite and pettiness. “michael,” voice dropping to a saccharine sweetness, and usually this would do the trick. but kaiser seems hellbent on teaching you a lesson today. and so he continues to glance away from you, bottom lip jutting out adorably.

your lips curve down into a pout, pulling out all the stops. your pointer tips his chin towards you, sultry voice akin to dripping honey as you call out a “darling ?” you can see the way his adam’s apple bobs as heat rises from his neck, flushed face and all. finally, he turns towards you, still futilely trying to evade your gaze.

“ja? mmh-!” he is cut off by the press of your lips against his, jolting from the sudden kiss. you don’t think you’ve ever heard kaiser whimper as he shakily snakes his hands around your waist and behind your head, melting further into you. his tongue licks at your lips as you part breathlessly, desperate for more. his lips are stained a delicious red, and you’re sure that your mouth, too, is awfully smudged by that gorgeous carmine. his chest rises up and down unsteadily, pupils dilated and blown wide.

“you-“ you pay no mind at his protests, swiping on another layer of lipstick as you end whatever he was about to say with another kiss on the corner of his lips. then on his cheek; down his neck, the tip of his nose; he shivers at every touch of your lips, and if someone were to walk in, they’d think you were bullying the mighty emperor with the way he was shaking, a wild flush on his face.

you giggle as you admire your finished masterpiece, red kiss marks littered all over his face and down the dip of his half-buttoned shirt. he looks dazed, sharp blue eyes unusually cloudy. you take a glance down at his patek philippe 1915 watch. “hey, we’re gonna be late.” suddenly, you’re hauled back onto his lap, his grip on your waist tighter than ever. his gaze is electrifying, staring with a certain vivacity you’ve only seen him have on field. “again,” he whispers, eyes lidded as he brushes his lips against yours. “wait- kaiser!”

he is practically feral, leaning down and bending you back that you would fall if it wasn’t for his unwavering grip at your waist. a kiss at the side of your lips, against your mouth again, and repeat. “mmh- enough, ‘s too much-” you whine tiredly, hitting his back in vain. “too much? ” a mocking smile forms on his face. “im just getting started.”

[crowleysgirl56]

Ok, so firstly, wonderful announcement. If you have the opportunity to see this show live I thoroughly recommend. It is the theatre performance of Michael Sheen’s career. I saw it in the cinema and it one of the most moving pieces of theatre I’ve ever seen. Honestly 10 stars. Beautiful, moving, incredible. Michael deserves ALL the theatre awards!

Now, secondly. This announcement kind of makes me nervous. Because I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing for the state of Good Omens season 3. We know that filming was supposed to start in January. Likely the production of principal photography would wrap by May (if we go by the length of time of the previous two seasons). Michael is contractually obligated to season 3. But he can take other work outside of his filming time. So either he anticipates that S3 will still go ahead with the same schedule, or this is a quiet indication that he is committing himself to other work.

I know I shouldn’t speculate. I know I shouldn’t get everyone upset or fearful. I just wanted to point out my observation and keep my fingers crossed that it means the first option is going on, that Michael knows when he is available for work and that hopefully this means everything is going to be ok.

[invisibleicewands]

‘I wanted to be seen as the greatest actor of all time. Then I realised that was nonsense’: Michael Sheen on pride, parenting and paying it forward

He’s the feted star who cracked Hollywood, but it was only when he swapped LA for his home town in Wales that he was able to do his most meaningful work yet

By Simon Hattenstone

Michael Sheen has been fabulous in so many TV dramas and movies, it’s hard to know where to start. But perhaps his most memorable appearance came earlier this year in a TV show that didn’t require him to do any acting at all. The Assembly was a Q&A session in which he took questions from a group of young neurodiverse people. Sheen didn’t have a clue what would be asked, and no subject was off limits. It made for life-affirming telly. The 55-year-old Welsh actor was so natural, warm and encouraging as he answered a series of nosy, surprising and inspired questions. I watched it thinking what a brilliant community worker Sheen would be. And, in a way, that’s what he has become in recent years.

“The Assembly’s had more response than anything else I’ve ever done,” Sheen tells me. “Almost every day someone will come up to me and mention it, particularly people who have children with autism. They say it was just so lovely to see something where the interviewers were empowered. I had a fantastic time.” He replays some of his favourite moments: the young man Leo who took an age to start talking, and then delivered the most beautifully phrased question about the influence of Dylan Thomas on Sheen’s life; the woman who asked what it was like to be married to a woman only five years older than his daughter; and the question that came at the end: “What’s your name, again?” He smiles: “And Harry with the trilby on. Just the nicest man ever.” You came across as an incredibly nice man, too, I say. “Aw well, it’s hard not to be when you’re among all those amazing people, innit.”

Today we meet in London, ostensibly to talk about A Very Royal Scandal, a gripping mini-series about Prince Andrew’s infamous Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis – the disastrous attempt to defend his honour that sealed his fall from grace. But we don’t get to the show till it’s almost going home time. Sheen’s too busy discussing all the other stuff that matters to him, away from business.

Six years ago, he swapped life in Los Angeles for Port Talbot, the steel town where he grew up. These days he calls himself a not-for-profit actor – a term he happily admits he’s invented. “It means that I try to use as much of the money I earn as I can to go towards developing projects and supporting various things. Having had some experiences of not-for-profit organisations and social enterprises, I realised that’s what I want to do with my business. And my business is me.” He grins. There was a suggestion that he might stop acting in order to do good works, but he says that never made sense; only by getting decent gigs can he earn money to put back into the community.

It has to be said he’s got the air of a not-for-profit actor today – scruffy black top, sloppy black pants, black trainers. With a bird’s-nest beard and a thicket of greying curls, he looks nicely crumpled. But give him a shave and a trim, allow him a flash of that electric smile, and he could still pass as a thirtysomething superstar.

Sheen is best known for transforming into household names – Brian Clough in The Damned United; Chris Tarrant in Quiz; David Frost in Frost/Nixon; a trio of films as Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen, and The Special Relationship); Kenneth Williams in Fantabulosa. His Prince Andrew is compelling; by turns petulant, pathetic, monstrous and poignant. He has a gift for inhabiting famous people – voice, body, soul, the works. He’s equally adept as a regular character actor – the dapper angel Aziraphale in Good Omens, pale and pinched as spurned suitor William Boldwood in the 2015 film of Far From the Madding Crowd, the tortured father of a daughter with muscular dystrophy in last year’s BBC drama Best Interests. He even plays a winning version of himself alongside David Tennant (and their respective partners Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant) in the lockdown hit TV series Staged.

But the work that changed his life was his 2011 epic three-day reimagining of The Passion on the streets of Port Talbot, involving more than 1,000 people from the local community. It was years in the making, and during that time he decided he would leave Los Angeles to come home. Initially, home just meant Britain, probably London. But the longer he spent with his people, the more it became apparent to him that home could only mean one thing – returning to Port Talbot, and helping the disadvantaged town in whatever way he could.

He admits that for many years he didn’t have a clue about the reality of life in Port Talbot. He had always lived in one bubble or another. His parents were hardly flush, but they had decent jobs – his mother was a secretary, his father a personnel manager at British Steel, and both were active in amateur dramatics. Sheen was academically gifted (he considered studying English at Oxford University before winning a place at Rada), a talented footballer (he had trials with Cardiff and Swansea) and an exceptional young actor. Then came the bubble of Rada and London, followed by the bubble of LA.

It was only when he started to work on The Passion that he began to understand his home town. One day he was rehearsing with a group in a community hall when he was approached by a woman. “She told me she was the mother of this boy who’d been in my class at school called Nigel. When I was 11, he fell off a cliff in an accident and died. It was the first time I’d known someone to die. She said, ‘I’ve started up a grief counselling group here. I have a little bit of money from the council because there is no grief counselling in this area.’” She’d had no counselling when Nigel died, nor in the 31 years since. “And all these years later, she’d set up a little grief counselling thing with a bit of money, so that was extraordinary to hear.” Next time he returned he discovered that the group no longer existed because of council cuts.

Every time he went back he discovered something new. He met a group that supported young carers. Sheen doesn’t try to disguise how ignorant he was. “I said, ‘All right, what are young carers?’ And they said, ‘They’re children who are supporting a family member.’ And I’m like, ‘OK, this is a profession, they get paid, right?’ And I was told, ‘No, they don’t get paid and our little organisation gives them a bit of respite – once a week we take them bowling or to the cinema.’ I went bowling with them one night and there were eight-year-old kids looking after their mother and bringing up the younger kids. This one organisation was trying to take these kids bowling one night a week, and then that went. No funding for that, either. That kind of stuff was shocking.”

As a child, SHEEN says he was oblivious to struggle because he was so driven by his own dreams. First, it was football. By his mid-teens it was acting. West Glamorgan Youth Theatre, which he calls “one of the best youth theatres in the world”, was on his doorstep. “The miners’ strike was on when I was 15 in Port Talbot and I wasn’t really aware of it at the time. That’s how blinkered I was, because I was so obsessed by acting at that point.” Acting wasn’t regarded as a lofty fantasy in Port Talbot as it may have been in many working-class communities. After all, the town had produced Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins.

In his late teens, heading off for Rada, Sheen feared he would be surrounded by giant talents who would dwarf his. When he discovered that wasn’t the case, he suffered delusions of grandeur. “I wanted to be recognised as the greatest actor in the world,” he says bluntly. In the second year, the students did their first public production: Oedipus Rex. “I thought, well obviously I’ll be cast as Oedipus, then we’ll perform Oedipus to the public and when the world sees me for the first time I’ll be carried shoulder-high through the streets of London and hailed as the greatest actor of all time.” I look for an ironic wink or nod, but none is forthcoming.

Sure enough, he was cast in the lead role. “We did our first public production and I thought I was brilliant.” But nothing changed. It didn’t bring him instant acclaim. By the third night, he could barely get through the performance.

Were you a bit of a cock back then, I ask. He shakes his head. “No, I was having a breakdown. I was crying most of the time. I just fell apart. I spoke to the principal of Rada and I said, ‘I can’t continue at drama school, I have to leave.’ And he said just take some time off, which I did, and two or three weeks later I slowly came back and then completely changed the way I acted.”

Until then he believed acting was just about what he did. “I thought you just worked out how to say the lines as cleverly as you could; it had nothing to do with responding to other people or being in the moment. It was showing off, essentially. And there’s a ceiling to where you can get with that. That breakdown I had was because I’d reached the ceiling and didn’t know how to go any further. That’s why I fell apart.”

He gradually put himself and his technique back together. Was he left with the same ambition? “No. The idea of being considered the best actor of all time becomes nonsense.” In 1991, Sheen left Rada early, because he’d been offered a job he couldn’t turn down. He made his professional debut opposite Vanessa Redgrave in a West End production of Martin Sherman’s When She Danced. Theatre was Sheen’s first love, and his rise was meteoric. From the off, he was cast as the lead in the classics (Romeo and Juliet, Peer Gynt, Henry V, The Seagull) and the 20th-century masterpieces (Norman in The Dresser, Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, Jimmy Porter in Look Back In Anger).

Sheen was doing exceptionally well when he and his then partner Kate Beckinsale moved to LA for her work in the early 2000s. She was four years younger than him, and already a movie star. Their daughter Lily, now an actor, was a toddler. He assumed that his transition to stardom in LA would be as seamless as it had been in Britain. But it wasn’t. His theatrical acclaim counted for nothing. In 2003, he and Beckinsale split up, but he stayed in LA to be close to Lily.

The first few years, he says, were so lonely and dispiriting. “I found myself living in Los Angeles, there to be with my daughter but just seeing her once a week. I had no career there – it was essentially like starting again. I had no friends and spent a lot of time on my own. It was tough. Slowly I realised how it was affecting me.” In what way? “I remember coming out of an audition for Alien vs Predator, to play a tech geek computer guy with five lines and really caring about it, and then thinking: ‘I can be playing fucking Hamlet at home, what am I doing, what’s this all about?’” He says he’d been so lucky – always working, never having to audition, getting the prize jobs. And suddenly in LA he was an outsider; a nobody.

He and Beckinsale are often cited as role models for joint parenting by ex-couples. In 2016, Beckinsale, Lily and Sheen staged a hilarious photo for James Corden’s The Late, Late Show, recreating the moment of giving birth 17 years earlier. Beckinsale reclines on a kitchen table with Lily sitting between her legs, as an alarmed-looking Sheen stands to the side. Have they always got on well since splitting up? “We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re very important in each other’s lives. It would be really sad if we weren’t – like cutting off a whole part of your life. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its challenges, and I’m sure it’s been harder for her than for me.” Why? “Because … ” He pauses and smiles. “Because I’m more of a twat!” In what way? Another smile. “I’m not going to tell you that, am I?”

Sheen’s break in America came when he was spotted by a casting director who told him he would be perfect for a new project. Ironically, it was to play former British prime minister Tony Blair in a British TV drama called The Deal, directed by British film-maker Stephen Frears and shot in Britain. The Deal led to Frears’s The Queen, about Elizabeth II’s frigid response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales leading to a crisis for the monarchy. Again he played Blair, this time riding to the rescue of the royals. The movie was nominated for six Oscars (Helen Mirren won best actress) and he never struggled in America again.

The longer he lived in LA, however, the more rooted he felt to Port Talbot. And the further he travelled, around the world or just in Britain, the better he understood how disadvantaged it was. “If you’re in Port Talbot one day and then the next you’re in a little town in Oxfordshire where David Cameron is the MP, it’s fairly obvious there are very different setups there. And that was connected to a political awakening.” He started to read up on Welsh history. In 2017, he returned his OBE because he thought it would be hypocritical to hold on to an honour celebrating empire when he was giving a Raymond Williams lecture on the “tortured history” of the relationship between Wales and the British state.

He began to reassess his past. “I became more aware of the opportunity I’d had in an area where there wasn’t much opportunity. At a certain point you go, Oh, people are having to volunteer to make that youth theatre happen that I’m a product of.” You’d taken it for granted? “Completely. I was happy to think everything I was doing was because of my own talent and I was making my own opportunities, and as I got older I thought maybe that’s not the whole story.”

In 2016, the long-running American TV series Masters of Sex, in which Sheen starred as the pioneering sex researcher William Masters, came to an end. Lily was now 17 and preparing for college. “I suddenly thought, Oh, I can go home now.” And six years ago he finally did – to Baglan, a village adjoining Port Talbot. Since then he has been involved in loads of community projects.

He mentions a few in passing, but he doesn’t tell me he sold his two homes (one in America, the other in Wales) to ensure the 2019 Homeless World Cup went ahead as planned in Cardiff. Nor does he mention that a couple of years ago he started Mab Gwalia (translating to “Son of Wales”), which proudly labels itself a “resistance movement”. On its website, it states: “Mab Gwalia believes that opportunity should not only be available to those who can afford it. The ambition is to build a movement that makes change.” Its projects have supported homeless people, veterans, preschool children on the autism spectrum, kids in care, victims of high-cost credit, and local journalism, which is a particular passion. “In the early 1970s in Port Talbot, there was something like 12 different newspapers. There are none now. None. Communities don’t feel represented, don’t feel their voice is heard and don’t know if the information they’re getting about what’s going on in the community is correct or not. Those are terrifying things, and without local journalism that’s what happens.”

Perhaps surprisingly, he’s even found time for the day job. Earlier this year, he played Nye Bevan in Tim Pryce’s new play about the founding father of the NHS. He also made his directing debut with The Way, a dystopian, and prophetic, three-part TV drama about the closure of the Port Talbot steelworks that results in local riots spreading across the country. How does he feel about the rioting that has scarred the country in recent weeks? “I feel the same way I think most people do. It was awful and terrifying. I worry about how much a hard-right agenda that has been growing for a long time has moved further and further into the mainstream and has clearly got more connected. It’s frightening.” Does he think the new Labour government can deliver the positive change it promises? “Pppfft.”He exhales heavily. “More optimistic than the Conservatives being in power.” Who did he vote for? “That’s my God-given right to remain a secret, isn’t it? It wasn’t the Tories!”

I ask if he’s in favour of Welsh independence. “I don’t know how I feel about it one way or the other, but I would like there to be an open discussion about everything that entails. The problem is when it gets shut down and you don’t get to talk about it.”

Would he ever go into politics? He looks appalled at the idea. “Oh God, no. No! I’d beawful.”Why?“Because I don’t want to say what other people are telling me to say if I don’t agree with it. Look at all those people who voted against the two-child benefit cap and had the whip taken away from them. That’s bollocks. People say I should go into politics because I’m passionate about things and I speak my mind. But then you get into politics and you’re not allowed to do that any more. I’ve got far more of a platform as myself. I can say what I want to say.”

Fair enough. I’ve got another idea. A couple of years ago he gave an inspired motivational speech for the Wales football team before the 2022 men’s World Cup, on the TV show A League of Their Own. Would he take the job as Wales manager if offered it? He looks just as horrified as the idea of a life in politics. “No!” Why not? “Because it’s a completely different profession. You need to know about football. I played football when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t. Have. A. Clue. Just because you can make a speech doesn’t mean you’d be any good at that sort of stuff.” He says he was embarrassed about the speech initially, but now feels proud of it. “Schools get in touch and say, ‘We’ve been studying it with the class.’ I put hidden things in. There are rabbit holes you can go down.” He quotes the line, “You sons of Speed” and tells me that’s a reference to the idolised former manager and player Gary Speed who took his life in 2011. You can hear the emotion in his voice.

I’ve been waiting for Sheen to mention the new TV drama about Prince Andrew. Most actors direct you to the project they’re promoting as soon as you sit down with them. Let’s talk about the new show, I  eventually say.

This is already the second drama about the Andrew interview. Did he know that Scoop, which came out earlier this year, was already in the works? “Yes, I knew before I agreed to do this.” Was it a race to see which would get out first? “There was no race, no. We always knew ours would come out after.” What would he say to people who think it’s pointless watching another film on the same subject? “Ours is a three-part story, so it’s able to breathe a lot more. There’s a lot more to it. In our story, Andrew and Emily are the main characters whereas they were very much the supporting ones in the other one.”

Did it change his opinion of Andrew? “No. It showed the dangers of being in a bubble, having talked about being in a bubble myself! The dangers of privilege.” He talks with sensitivity about Andrew’s downfall. “The thing that really struck me was when Andrew came back from the Falklands there was no one more revered, in a way. I didn’t realise his job was to fly helicopters to draw enemy fire away from the ships. I couldn’t believe they would put a royal in that position, so he was genuinely courageous. He was good-looking, a prince, and had everything going for him. Since then everything has just gone down and down and down.” He’s had so little control over his life, Sheen says. Take his relationships. “He was told he couldn’t be with [American actor] Koo Stark any more because of the controversy. He was essentially told he had to divorce Sarah Ferguson because the royal family, particularly Philip allegedly, was concerned that she would bring the family into disrepute.”

Did he end up feeling more empathetic towards him? “No!” he says sharply. Then he softens slightly. “Well, empathy? I felt I understood a bit more – because that’s my job – about what was going on. But he’s incredibly privileged and has exploited that. It seems like he has a lot taken away from him but probably rightfully so.”

A Very Royal Scandal is like The Crown in that it’s great drama but you’re never sure what’s real. Are Andrew’s lines simply made up? “It’s a combination of research and stories out there, and little snippets and invention.” While Emily Maitlis is an executive producer, Andrew most certainly is not. “Well, that’s the real difficulty for our story,” Sheen says. “On the one hand, you’ve got Emily as an exec, so you know everything to do with her is coming from the horse’s mouth. But everything to do with Andrew, not only is it really difficult to get the actual stuff, also we don’t know what he did.” He pauses. “Or didn’t do.” He’s talking about Virginia Giuffre’s allegation that Andrew raped her, which he denied. In the end, Giuffre’s civil case was dropped after an out-of-court settlement was reached on no admission of liability by Prince Andrew, with Giuffre reportedly paid around £12m.

I had assumed Sheen would be a staunch republican, but he doesn’t feel strongly either way. “There are lots of positives about royals, and lots of negatives.” His bugbear is that the heir to the throne gets to be Prince of Wales. “Personally, I would want the title of Prince of Wales to be given back to Wales to decide what to do with it, and I definitely think there’s a lot of wealth that could be used better.”

The biggest change for Sheen since returning to Wales is his family life. In 2019, he revealed that he had a new partner, the Swedish actor Anna Lundberg, that she was 25 years younger than him, and that she was pregnant. They now have two daughters – Lyra who is coming up to five, and two-year-old Mabli. As well as Staged, the couple have also appeared together on Gogglebox. They look so happy, nestling into each other, laughing at the same funnies, tearing up over the same heartbreakers. She also seems naturally funny. Given that two of his former partners (Sarah Silverman and Aisling Bea) are comedians, have all his exes had a good sense of humour? He thinks about it. “Yes. Yeah, you’ve got to have a laugh, haven’t you?” And he’s always got on well with them after splitting up? “Yeah, pretty much.”

When asked about the age difference between Lundberg and him on The Assembly, he acknowledged that they were surprised when they got together. “We were both aware it would be difficult and challenging. Ultimately, we felt it was worth it because of how we felt about each other, and now we have two beautiful children together.” He also said that being an older father worried him at times. “It makes me sad, thinking about the time I won’t have with them.”

Does being a dad of such tiny kids make him feel young or old? “Both,” he says. “My body feels very old. But everything else feels much younger. I’m 55 and it’s knackering running around after little kids. Just physically, it’s very demanding. And I’m at a point in my life where I’m aware of my physical limitations now. But in other ways it’s completely liberating, and I’m able to appreciate it more now.”

Has he learned about fatherhood from the first time round? “Yeah, I think so. I’m around more now. That’s a big part of it. When Lily was young, I was in my early 30s and doing films for the first time, so Kate would stay in Los Angeles with Lily and I would go off and do whatever.” Did Beckinsale resent that? “I don’t know that she resented it. Kate was doing better than me in terms of profile at the time, so it was different. Given that we then split up and I saw Lily even less, I very much regretted being away as much. So this time I wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case. That’s partly why I’ve set up a Welsh production company. I don’t want to work away from them as much.”

Talking of which, he says, what’s the time? “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

On his way out, I ask what advice he would give his younger self. He says he was asked that recently and gave a glib answer. “I said buy stock in Apple.” What should he have said? He thinks about it, and finally says he’d have no advice for his younger self. He’d rather reverse the question, and think what his younger self would say to him if he tried to advise him.

“I saw an amazing clip of Stephen Colbert saying your life is an accumulation of every bad choice you’ve made and every good choice you’ve made, and the great challenge of life is to say yes to it. To say, ‘I love living, I embrace living.’ And in order to do that you have to embrace all the pain, all the grief, all the sadness, all the fucking mistakes because without that you don’t have all the other stuff.” He’s on a roll now, louder and more passionate by the word. “And I’d hate it if someone came and went, ‘Don’t do this, no do that.’ Then you just sail through your life. It would be death, wouldn’t it? So I’d tell my older self to go fuck himself.”

[blinkilite]

I had the amazing privilege of seeing Michael Sheen in Nye a few nights ago at the National Theatre.

The play:

Nye was amazing. Michael was brilliant and in command of the stage the whole time. I am not a big theater-goer. So this was a big deal for me. But seeing him perform on stage was just wonderful. I truly appreciate his skills on a whole new level now. The rest of the cast was brilliant too. They each played multiple roles throughout the timeline of the play. I highly recommend going to see it if you can. He sings! He dances! I cried! I laughed! I’m trying my best to give you a spoiler free review! But I promise you won’t be disappointed. 😊 it’s really really good. 👍 Go! Support Michael and the arts!

My personal experience:

I had a mix of excitement and anxiety all day but it really amped up when I got to the theater. Like omg this is really happening. I took a pic by the poster and it’s obvious I am an excited weirdo. 😆

Now that I was here, the next step was going to the national theatre gift shop. They had a lot of cute things and a really cool display for Nye.

I purchased my program and the cashier was very friendly. She complimented my Good Omens pin and said they usually come out stage door so make sure to go around back after, and enjoy the show. 😊 (internally squeeing) I thanked her and we went and got some food and a cider.

We made our way to the doors and were led to our seats. Then I started getting the omg we’re here this is actually happening mentality. We were pretty close. An omg he will be right there! Soon! 😬

We had 8th row seats 😳 it seemed very close and I was freaking out.

I read some reviews and saw the newly released press photos of the play. So I knew a little what to expect of the show too, but honestly it was sooo good. I don’t want to give away any spoilers because the play is AMAZING. Michael and the rest of the cast did so well. Michael is very active and moved all over the stage. I am so impressed by his abilities as an actor. He fucking sings! And it’s wonderful! And our seats were close enough to see all the micro expressions on his face. 😃 If you have the means to go and see this either in London or later in Wales - GO! You will not regret it.

At the end I took a pic of the actors (though I didn’t get everyone) and I got the very end when Nye can see the impact of his accomplishments.

Now for the fangirling part of my night. I was trying my best not to be a complete dork. I knew from other fans previously posting that he typically comes out at the stage door after the show. So I had an idea what to expect. He came out pretty soon after the show ended. I’m guessing there were maybe 50-60ppl there. He just started talking to people, signing things, taking photos like this is no big deal. And they would leave and it would be the next person’s turn. Everyone was very considerate of each other and Michael’s time. And he was kind and generous and spoke genuinely to each person and made so many people happy that night. just by being himself and taking some extra time before he went home. He really is an angel. ❤️

Eventually it was my turn. Somehow I didn’t mumble or giggle like an idiot. where did I find the ability to speak? - I really have no idea 🤷‍♀️ I told him the show was amazing. He thanked me. And while signing my program I told him we came over from America for my birthday to see him. He wished us luck in the rest of our trip. I got a selfie with him and internally died. He wished me happy birthday (died again). I thanked him and then it was the next person’s turn. I walked about 50ft away and jumped up and down like an idiot. Hopefully he didn’t see.

But holy shit. 😃

I met Michael Sheen!!!! 😃❤️😃

And he was the nicest person ever. 😃😃😃

[pastelwitchling]

Ha! Michael's last line is so him! That was sweet. I wonder how Michael would deal with one of the new recruits having a massive crush on Alex?

@yellowvalley on ao3

Continuation to this fic.

***

              Michael’s head was rested on Alex’s lower back, in the dip just before his plump ass, nosing the base of Alex’s spine. Even naked in bed after hours of making up for lost time, even as the sheen of sweat on their bodies had just dried from the faint autumn breeze drifting in through the open window and making the curtains flutter, Alex still smelled so good. Like vanilla and flowers and sex. Michael turned his face deeper into his skin and inhaled deeply.

              Alex, who had been hugging the pillow under his head, his eyes fluttering sleepily, snickered. “Are you smelling me?”

              “Yes,” he sighed deeply, smiling without the least bit of shame as one hand played with Alex’s fingers on the sheets, the other lightly thumbing one of his ass cheeks. “Yes, absolutely.” He groaned under his breath as he turned onto his side, swiping his tongue along Alex’s spine and sinking his teeth into his hip, making Alex hiss and break out into giggles. Michael smiled against his skin. “Damn, I missed you, Private.”

              “I wish I could be cool about it,” Alex said dozily, “since it was only three days, but I missed you too.”

              Michael smiled and snuggled into his back, rubbing circles into Alex’s waist with his palm and reveling at the faint shudder and goosebumps that followed his touch. “How much did you miss me?”

              Alex snorted. “So much.”

              “Like, how much?”

              “You’re such a . . .” Alex grinned, burying his face in his pillow, unwilling to let Michael see his reddened cheeks.

              “Look at me,” he said, poking Alex’s hip.

              Alex shook his head. “Mm mm.”

              “Look at me,” Michael was grinning widely now, moving his finger up Alex’s ribs until he was laughing, his body shaking with the force of it. “Baby.”

              Alex said something muffled that sounded a lot like, “No.”

              “Do it.”

              “No.”

              “I want to see you.”

              A moment��s hesitation, then Alex peeked an eye out, his face the darkest shade of red yet as he looked down at Michael through dark lashes, and Michael’s smile softened despite himself. He shook his head in awe.

              “How did none of those recruits fall in love with you?” he said, not thinking about the words, only knowing that they were at the forefront of his mind, the most honest thing he could’ve said in a moment when his love looked so exceptionally vulnerable and beautiful and perfect.

              He hadn’t expected an actual response. He definitely hadn’t expected Alex to bite his lower lip and slowly look away.

              Michael’s brows pinched. “What?”

              Alex, who had buried his face back in the pillow shrugged and said a very quiet and muffled, “Nothing.”

              He picked his head up a little. “Alex, what is it?” Realization dawned and he frowned. “None of those recruits fell in love with you . . . right?”

              Alex took a second, then peeked his head out. “Okay,” he started, “don’t get upset . . .”

              Michael scoffed and put his head back down. “I’m not upset,” he lied, sounding upset to his own ears. Then he completely undermined his own words by asking, “How do you know?”

              “I . . . may have gotten a confession my last night there.”

              “Ah,” he nodded, drawing more circles on Alex’s hip. Half a minute passed. “From who?”

              Alex’s body shook with silent laughter. “Michael, don’t make a big deal out of this.”

              “I’m not making any deal out of this.”

              “It was just a little crush.”

              “Obviously.”

              “So there’s no sense in hunting the guy down.”

              “I wasn’t going to!” Michael said, annoyed. He sighed, the circles on Alex’s hip turned to incessant tapping of his finger until he couldn’t help but say, “I just wanna know what his name was.”

              Alex barked a laugh. “No.”

              “Why not?”

              “Because,” Alex said, and his voice dropped to a mumble. “I, uh . . .” Michael squinted at the rest of his sentence, too quiet to hear.

              “What?”

              Alex heaved a long sigh, then confessed guiltily, “I don’t remember his name.”

              Michael’s eyebrows rose, the knot in the pit of his stomach unraveling almost at once. “You don’t remember his name? You saw these people last night!”

              “Well!” he scrunched his shoulders, blushing furiously, “I was too busy missing you and dying to get back to you to really pay attention to faces and names, Guerin, okay? What do you want from me?”

              Michael’s smile returned full-force. “Aww, baby –”

              “Shut up,” he said, the words muffled again as he buried his face in his pillow. “This is why I don’t tell you anything.”

              Michael turned his face to press a kiss to Alex’s ass cheek, nuzzling the curve of it as he fought a laugh. “I love you so much.”

              “I’m not saying it back.”

              “Say it.”

              “No.”

              He bit into his cheek, and chuckled at Alex’s body jolting. “Say it.”

              “Piss off.”

              Michael did laugh this time, and he climbed up the length of Alex’s body, leaving no space between himself and his husband, wrapping an arm around his waist.

              “Don’t leave me again,” he whispered into the few inches of space between them. “Not for a while.”

              Alex slowly looked up from where he’d been hiding his beautiful face, and Michael brushed his bangs back from his eyes.

              “I think if anybody else tried to come onto you, I really would have to hunt them down.”

              Alex considered him for a second, and shut his eyes. “Damn,” he whispered, “I really missed you.”

              Michael smiled and leaned in until their foreheads touched, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not even going to try to be cool about it, Private. Not for a second.”

[haydenn]

I don’t know if I totally buy any of the current theories out there, but there is so much fuckery happening in the last sequence with the Metatron. And the thing I keep coming back to is that there is something fucking huge that we as the viewers are missing.

Firstly, when the Metatron suggests that he and Aziraphale need to have “a bit of a chinwag” Aziraphale implies that they’ve already had this conversation. The line is “I don’t believe there’s anything left to be said. I’ve made my position quite clear.”

The only time we’ve seen these two characters speak to each other on screen is at the end of season one. And that conversation is definitely not what Aziraphale is referring to. Further more, Aziraphale’s eyes shift in Crowley’s direction multiple times while he says that line. Az and the Metatron had a conversation that we did not see and that conversation either featured Crowley in some significant way or Aziraphale has intentionally not mentioned it to Crowley. Possibly both.

Secondly, there’s the coffee. Which I won’t go in to too much. It’s been analyzed to death at this point, but it’s fucky nonetheless.

Thirdly, the way the Metatron looks at Crowley as he’s leaving the shop is nothing short of chilling. The ominous music is an obvious clue that something is up, but the expression on the Metatron’s face is so full of loathing. It’s not an “ew, demon, gross” expression that the other angels give him. It’s pure, vindictive hatred and it feels so personal.

Fourthly, there is no part of the Metatron and Aziraphales conversation that we see on screen that Aziraphale isn’t narrating back to Crowley. We as the viewers have no idea what they really talked about. We just have to take Aziraphale’s word for it. The only part we see is the Metatron telling Az to “go and tell your friend the good news” and there is so much fuckery in this scene too!

The Metatron initially says “You don’t have to answer immediately. Take all the time you need.” And then when Aziraphale says “I don’t know what to say,” the Metatron takes that for an agreement and tells Az to “go and tell your friend the good news.” But Az never says yes. We never see him actually agree to go back to Heaven. We only get that in following scene when Az is relating what was said to Crowley.

Fifthly, for all the “good news” that Az has to tell Crowley, when he crosses the street back to the bookshop, he doesn’t look excited. He looks nervous and kind of scared. We don’t see him start to look even remotely excited until right before he starts talking. Aziraphale constantly has his emotions written all over his face. It’s a very intentional acting choice from Michael Sheen. Which leads me to believe that if Aziraphale was meant to be genuinely excited in this scene, it would have be all over his face from the moment we saw him outside with the Metatron. But it’s not. He schools his features into excitement right before he starts talking to Crowley.

This, for me, makes all of the flustered excitement with which he tells Crowley about the Metatron’s offer feel really disingenuous. It feels forced and slightly out of character because we fucking saw Aziraphale be not at all excited before he walked into the bookshop.

And finally, when the Metatron comes into the bookshop after Crowley leaves he asks “how did he take it?” And that is such a weird thing to say if he sent Az in there to tell Crowley “good news.” That’s not something that needs to be asked about good news. Good news is almost universally well received. You only really need to ask how news was taken if the news in question was bad.

The Metatron’s tone and mannerisms are also really different here then they were in the scenes before. Before he was giving off kindly, if a little creepy, grandfather vibes. Once he comes back into the bookshop he seems to have dropped that act. He’s not surprised that Crowley said no. He’s not at all bothered by or has any compassion for Aziraphale’s obvious distress. And his tone much more brusque and businesslike. Almost like he’s saying “Got that messy business with the demon sorted, have we? Jolly good. Let’s get on.” It’s a very notable shift from how we’ve seen him behave up to this point and it feels a hell of a lot more like how we’ve seen the Metatron be in Heaven with Gabriel’s trial or when he spoke to Az in season 1.

As I said before, I don’t know if I’m 100% on board with any of the theories I’ve seen. But everything about this sequence is weird and contradictory. There’s something so damn fucky about it and all of the context clues point to there being some vitality important piece that we are missing. The whole sequence is just screaming “There’s something very very wrong here. Do not believe your eyes and ears. All is not as it seems.” And I am going to be losing my damn mind over it until season 3 comes out.

Why has Neil done this to us?

[celestialcrowley]

🪴 IT’S FANFICTION FRIDAY 🪴

🪽 🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

Memory Reboot is the first multi chapter work I’ve started for the Good Omens fandom. There are currently two chapters up, and chapter three is … everyday it’s a-getting closer … being written.

I’m glad I returned to tumblr and began writing again. Words can’t express how patient, lovely and supportive all of you are.

Work Title: Memory Reboot

Chapters: 2 out of ?

Rated: T, subject to change

Current Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Raven, Muriel, the Metatron, Jesus, and Nina.

Michael Sheen, if you’re out there, please don’t read this. Also, hi.

Memory Reboot

I’d love to know what you think! Comments keep me writing. 💚

[ingravinoveritas]

The people that keep saying not to ship Michael and David together in real life because of their relationships to Georgia and Anna are also the same ones who keep begging to have the two girls appear in the next season of GO as a couple because of Anna’s little joke of making out with Georgia. Seriously people saw that tweet of hers and immediately decided to ship them together and call them the “ineffable wives” but Michael and David have come out with soooo much more adorable moments of the love and joy they have for each other and everyone starts saying that it’s disrespectful to ship them when their “married” to females in real life 🤷‍♀️ I mean…. The hypocrisy is astounding and disturbing on levels I can’t even comprehend. The fact that Georgia, who is known to search her and David’s name on Twitter and answers back to anyone that tags or even mentions her didn’t even acknowledge Anna’s tweet says sooooooo much about this “best friend dynamic duo”. The fact that Anna is resorting to jokes about kissing another woman just for attention also…. WHEW. If this isn’t the biggest cry for attention I don’t know what is. And the fact that people feed into her attempts also and are petitioning for them to kiss and show up in GO!

Lord. I've seen so much talk about casting female actresses in regard to fem-presenting Aziraphale/Crowley over the past week, and while it is disappointing, I am not at all surprised. The first inkling I had was upon seeing the reactions when a behind the scenes photo of Crowley as Bildad the Shuhite was posted just before the release of GO 2:

It seems that a lot of folks were expecting/hoping for fem!Crowley, as we saw in Golgotha in season 1 (on the right), and when that turned out not to be the case, the reaction was to call Bildad!Crowley ugly, to say that he should shave, and other comments essentially making fun of this particular look. Obviously, much of this could have (and likely was) made in jest, but the overall consensus was clear: You can't be feminine with a beard.

(Which...I'd like to see someone tell that to Michael Sheen, because yes, the fuck you can...)

So from the outset, I was already bothered by what seemed like the hypocrisy of on the one hand celebrating a show where the characters are genderfluid/nonbinary by definition, and then on the other hand getting upset when one character doesn't fit into a prescribed, conventional idea of femininity.

When Neil subsequently mentioned that there had been a storyline for female-presenting Aziraphale and Crowley in the 1960s, it was dismaying (but again, not surprising) to see these same fans casting female actresses in the roles. Never mind that you already had David playing female!Crowley and Nanny Ashtoreth in season 1. Never mind that both Michael and David have played...well, "drag" doesn't seem like exactly the right word, but they've played women, and brilliantly subverted gender roles in their own ways. There is no reason to think that they couldn't do a fabulous job as fem!presenting Aziraphale and Crowley, except that (again) some fans seem to have a specific idea of femininity that they think does not or cannot apply to Michael and David.

Which then brings us to the apparent clamoring for Anna and Georgia as female Aziraphale and Crowley, which has again left me scratching my head. In all of the tweets and hubbub, I have not seen one person say why they think AL and Georgia would do a good job in said roles--like, "Oh, Georgia was so good as [insert role]" or "I loved Anna as [insert role]"--only that they would be "so amazing." This leads me to think that the only reason these fans want AL and Georgia in the roles is because they are Michael and David's partners. They are assuming that this is somehow a guarantee of the same profound understanding of the characters and their connection, despite there being no evidence of such a correlation. (I mean...I fooled around with my former grad school professor last year, but that doesn't mean I have a PhD...)

What it also seems to indicate is that these folks are not thinking of what is best for the characters, either, or indeed if playing female!Aziraphale and Crowley is something AL or Georgia would even want to do. Neil recently said that Georgia turned down a role in GO 2 supposedly because the character was older than her and she didn't feel it was appropriate. If this is the case, why would Georgia want to play the role of a middle-aged character? Because that is what Aziraphale and Crowley are--ageless celestial beings, yes, but beings who have chosen to present as middle-aged. That is a key part of who they are, so to have the female versions of them played by younger actresses makes no sense and seems downright disrespectful.

There is also what you said, about AL's cringey tweet from a little over a week ago. Georgia could have absolutely responded to or acknowledged it by now, as she has responded to several other tweets since then...but she hasn't. Not a reply, not even a 'like.' And I agree with you that that seems to speak volumes, and that it would probably be a good idea if people looked beyond the Staged-driven narrative of "Georgia and AL are BFFs" to see how Georgia actually seems to feel about her.

(And to echo another thing you said, I will never understand how it is somehow completely fine for fans to ship Georgia and Anna/want to see them make out despite neither of them showing that level of affection toward each other or having any visible chemistry, yet not okay to ship Michael and David who do have that chemistry and have been making their feelings for each other very obvious for the last several years...)

So yes, those are my thoughts on the whole female Aziraphale/Crowley fancasting situation. I just hope that if we do get them as fem!presenting in season 3, that it is Michael and David, because there is no way any other two actors could give us what we got with Aziraphale and Crowley the way Michael and David did. I guess we'll see what happens...

[thealogie]

I find it so funny that David Tennant and Michael Sheen are relatively normal for actors/artists yet they never cease to interest me. Like if I ever do look into an actor/celebrity’s life/interviews a bit less casually I start to get bored or put off pretty fast but Michael sheen and David Tennant have me riveted. I don’t know what spell it is they have

It’s all about comparing and contrasting two different flavors of normal but crazy guys who have had parallel but different but similar careers. At this point I’m like one of those girls doing a masters in 1950s homosocial culture in Hollywood except it’s about two guys in present day doing a combination of high brow theatre and low brow live action cartoon

[karuuhnia]

Okay, I doubt anyone’s ever gonna read this, but I just need to write down my thoughts on Good Omens Season 2. (Beware of spoilers) 

The Characters

First of all, I love, love, LOVE the writing and especially the acting of everyone involved! Both Michael Sheen and David Tennant (and everyone else) gave absolutely stunning performances! I also like that the main cast was a lot smaller than in season 1, so everyone had more time to shine. Great choice! (I did however kinda miss God’s narration and meta commentary).

My favourite new character is Muriel by far. She is like Aziraphale's cute, naive, dorky little sister or niece and I had the biggest smile on my face whenever she was on screen! I hope to see more of her in season 3 (which we probably will since she now runs the bookshop).

What I also liked was that Nina and Maggie don’t just magically fall in love in the end. I mean, they barely know each other and Nina is still in a relationship for most of the season. I liked that they even call out Crowley and Aziraphale for trying to force a romance between them instead of treating them like real humans with free will. (Was that a slight call-out to shippers in fandoms? Who knows lol) I hope they'll find love along the way, but I'm glad they were portrayed as realistic human beings.

Gabriel goes from smug, condescending asshole everyone loved to hate to adorkable himbo and I'm all for it! lol I wasn't in the fandom back in the day, but apparently Gabriel x Beelzebub was a popular ship and I can only imagine how happy the fans must be now that it became canon! I didn't see it coming at all, but it played out really well and didn't come across as forced. I just found it a bit funny and sad that these two fell in love and decided to break away from Heaven and Hell to be together in only a couple of years whereas Crowley and Aziraphale haven't managed to do that in more than 6000 years.

Which brings me to...

The Last Episode

We all know the last 20 minutes of episode 6 were absolutely heart-wrenching, but I wouldn't have it any other way! It was the perfect ending/cliffhanger in all regards and both their decisions make perfect sense. I wouldn't have wanted Crowley and Aziraphale to get their happy end at this point in the story because they're simply not there yet, character-wise. 

Also, then a huge plot point and conflict would miss from the final 3rd season. I live for the angst and the drama and I can't wait for satisfying character development and the ultimate, heartfelt conclusion. (Please, Neil! ;__;)

Character Analysis

Crowley: 

The most interesting things for me were the several hints that Crowley used to be a very high-ranking and powerful angel before he fell (maybe Gabriel’s predecessor?). 

In S2-1 Aziraphale already knows who Angel Crowley is and looks at him with awe and admiration. (In German we have the great expression "jemanden anhimmeln" - roughly meaning sth like "to admire someone as if they came from heaven")

Crowley was part of the designer team of the universe and worked together closely with the higher-ups. He was also entrusted with starting the engine of a quadrant.

He is a creator and visionary who loves the stars, the planets, the whole universe and sees the big picture. He also uses critical thinking and encourages others to do the same.

The miracle he performs with Aziraphale to hide Gabriel’s identity is so strong that Heaven thinks the most powerful of Archangels must have done it. Since Aziraphale hides Gabriel from Hell and Crowley hides him from Heaven, but the alarm only goes off in Heaven, we can assume that Crowley had a bigger part in the miracle.

He can somehow deceive other angels from recognizing him as a demon: Gabriel, Michael & Co. in the Ijob episode and later Muriel when she first comes to observe Aziraphale. 

He can change the weather and cause fire or lightning at will.

He still has access to classified files for dominions or above.

He literally brings the guy who was killed by the demon horde back to life like it's nothing.  Short update: Neil recently said that Mr. Brown wasn't actually dead but only held captive during the battle. Well, Crowley at least healed Mr. Brown's injuries and removed his traumatic memories.

He is the only one in a room full of high-ranking angels who recognizes Metatron as what he is.

But it’s also implied that Crowley may have memory loss after he was kicked out of heaven because the angels did to him something similar to what they want to do to Gabriel now.

He doesn't remember working on the universe with Saraqael.

He remembers being in the Great War, but not battling right beside Furfur.

He vaguely remembers discussing gravity with the other angels, but he doesn’t remember why it was a good idea.

He seems to know exactly what the amnestic Gabriel is going through (the empty house metaphor, the physical pain of trying to remember etc.)

Crowley is hiding a huge trauma and it becomes really obvious how hurt and lonely he really is. 

In S1-5 we learn Crowley was tortured by being thrown into a pool of boiling sulfur, just because he dared to ask a few questions and make suggestions. Heaven is cruel beyond all measure! (But because of their chronic lack of communication I doubt Aziraphale knows exactly how much Crowley suffered both physically and mentally.)

At the end of the Ijob episode in season 2 he laughs at the distraught Aziraphale because he knows what it’s really like to have fallen. The thought of someone like Aziraphale going to Hell is ridiculous to him. And he wouldn’t wish something so terrible on anybody anyway, especially not Aziraphale. He knows first hand what Heaven does to “traitors”.

He’s been tortured and kicked out of Heaven, but he doesn’t resent creation itself like the other demons do, quite the contrary. He often goes out of his way to help humans, even if it means punishment from Hell. 

Because both Heaven and Hell are cruel and toxic, he decides he doesn’t want to be on any side in this eternal and pointless conflict. This, of course, leads him on a very, very lonely road.

Maybe this is why he (consciously or unconsciously) latches onto Aziraphale so much: He notices Aziraphale’s own doubts about the heavenly plan really early on. So he constantly encourages him to question his beliefs and own morals. 

I don’t think he does it for overly selfish reasons, he just wants to show someone else that not everything is black and white and that Heaven’s plans are not always as good as they want to come across. But of course he also doesn’t want to be all alone anymore.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale is, first and foremost, a guardian, a protector. But we can’t forget he is also a warrior and a leader. 

In the beginning he was wielding a flaming sword, in S1-5 he is supposed to lead the heavenly troops into battle, in 1941 we learn he owns and knows how to use a gun. In S1-6 he is willing to shoot the Antichrist (who is in the body of a child I might add!!), but Madame Tracey stops him.

He likes spending his time helping others and indulging in his quirky little hobbies, but if he needs to, he steps up and becomes a leader (e.g. the stand-off in S2-6 when the demons and angels shout at each other and he takes control of the situation).

Aziraphale embodies many positive core values: Love, loyalty, politeness, kindness, forgiveness - which sometimes lets him come across as naive. He is also a big people pleaser. 

In Season 2 we once again see how much Aziraphale values and loves humanity (more than we deserve tbh). His heart is so big and full of love for them. He is his best self when he can do good for humans and he thrives off it. The thought of innocent people, especially children dying is really the only thing that ever convinces him to go against Heaven’s rules/orders (seen in the entirety of season 1 and in season 2 in the Ijob and graverobber episodes). 

But because of these core values he sometimes acts pretty holier-than-thou and hypocritical: He tends to try to make others do the dirty work so that he can wash his hands of responsibility.

We also learn that he sometimes abuses his heavenly powers to get what he wants. I mean, organizing a ball itself is a very wholesome idea, but he literally manipulates everyone’s clothes, feelings and behaviours, making them do or feel things they wouldn’t normally do in this situation. Nina is the one affected by this the most: She just got dumped and is sad and angry, but Aziraphale’s magic doesn’t allow her to feel those very valid emotions. He only means to do good, but ultimately he forces his will on the participants of the ball. And he doesn’t even realize it! This is not okay. 

There is this one very meaningful line in Season 1 where Aziraphale says: "You go too fast for me, Crowley". And it really shows in every aspect of his personality and character design. 

Aziraphale always wears similar, familiar clothes and barely changes his hairstyle over the centuries. Crowley on the other hand looks completely different in each time period we see him. Crowley lives in the present, goes with the time, Aziraphale lives in the past, can’t catch up. 

No matter how often Heaven disappoints and mistreats him, he still desperately clings to the idea that their plans and institution are good at their core. Even after more than 6000 years Aziraphale is still so obsessed with the idea of good vs. evil, Heaven vs. Hell and to an extent even Aziraphale vs. Crowley. Yes, the two have become visibly closer and more familiar with each other since season 1, but Aziraphale still thinks in the good side vs. the bad side ("my people" vs. "your people", “Of course you said no to Hell, you [not “THEY”!!] are the bad guys!”) absolute, whereas Crowley has distanced himself from both sides long ago and only wants to be with Aziraphale.

Besides their lack of communication this is their biggest problem: Aziraphale can’t accept Crowley for what he is - or is not anymore. 

First there is some sort of resentment and caution towards this fallen angel, of course. But Aziraphale wouldn’t be Aziraphale if his big loving heart held onto those feelings for long. He quickly sees that Crowley isn’t purely evil as demons are supposed to be. He likes and WANTS to see the good in everything and everyone.

Aziraphale begins to enjoy Crowley’s company over the centuries and eventually trusts him completely. But due to his indoctrination by Heaven he still unconsciously believes that Crowley, as an evil demon, is beneath him, Aziraphale, who is a righteous and morally superior angel. And while he has compassion and sympathy for Crowley and his terrible fate - he also somewhat pities him. (And being pitied is certainly nothing Crowley wants.)

This is the reason he is so incredibly happy about the thought that he could give Crowley his angel status back. As sad as it is to see how little Aziraphale understands Crowley after all those millenia, it feels completely in-character why he wants Crowley to be an angel again. He sees that there is still so much good left of the former angel he admired so much. He witnessed how brilliant Crowley used to be, an angel who loved creating and gazed at the universe with such exaltation. How happy he was, how bright, how enthusiastic in what he was doing! 

This plays right into Metatron’s hands in the last episode. 

Early in the season Crowley is offered a huge promotion in Hell if he finds Gabriel. And Crowley doesn’t even consider it for a single second - even though he hates Gabriel (He still clearly remembers the "Shut your stupid mouth and die" and all the other horrible things). When Aziraphale is offered the new position as Supreme Archangel he hesitates at first, but as soon as Metatron suggests reinstating Crowley to angelic status, he agrees in delight. Aziraphale thinks now they wouldn't have to be separated, they could even be together officially and it wouldn’t be reprehensible anymore because they’d now both be angels, both on the “good” side. They’d finally be equals and could even do good together, change the system.

So of course, from Aziraphale’s perspective, making Crowley an angel again would solve all of their problems (or what he perceives as problems). He, Aziraphale, wouldn't have to have a bad conscience anymore for spending time with someone who should be a mortal enemy. He could finally “fix” Crowley, make him truly good again. But of course it backfires horribly.

Their relationship:

As much as I loved the funny banter, the wholesome and adorable slice-of-life moments, this season made one thing really obvious to me: There is a big power-imbalance (for the lack of a better word) between them in their relationship. 

As far as we've seen, Crowley is almost always the one who gives, Aziraphale is almost always the one who takes. When Aziraphale wants something (e.g. protect Gabriel, take the Bentley to Edinburgh, have Crowley take care of the bookshop in his absence, organize a dance etc.), Crowley initially refuses - but in the end always gives in to what Aziraphale wants. 

Aziraphale is very outgoing, has a whole little community with the vendors in his street, actively mingles with humans and has hobbies (reading, collecting books, eating at fine restaurants, listening to music, practicing magic, going on little detective adventures etc.). What I’m saying is: Aziraphale has a life for himself, even after becoming a persona-non-grata in Heaven.

Crowley on the other hand... He either goes along with what Aziraphale does/wants or sleeps in his car (and takes care of his plants I guess). That's pretty much it. He doesn’t get any new tasks from Hell and only communicates with Shax on occasion when she brings him his mail or random news. He is so isolated from Hell, Heaven and Earth that literally his only reason for existing at this point seems to be Aziraphale. He practically has no ambitions or life of his own. Aziraphale always lets Crowley be his rescuer because it makes Crowley happy. But isn’t it sad that Crowley is only ever happy when he can protect and be around Aziraphale? Crowley’s whole life revolves around him and nothing else. This is not healthy!

Think back to season 1 when the bookshop burns down and Crowley thinks he’s lost Aziraphale forever. He is a mess, he screams and cries and breaks down. It was only for a couple of hours, but he’s experienced what a life without his one true friend is like and the loss hits him so hard, it hurts even us as an audience! 

And the worst thing: I don't think either of them really notice all that - because they don't TALK! Nina and Maggie were so right: The two idiots never really talk to each other about their true thoughts and feelings. 

There is so much miscommunication and misunderstanding of each other's needs because of that:

Aziraphale is internally conflicted about what he wants (be a good angel of Heaven vs. be with the enemy, an "evil" demon).

Crowley knows exactly what he wants (to be with and ONLY with Aziraphale), but he can’t muster up the courage to say it. After all, the last time he spoke freely about his thoughts, he was branded a traitor, tortured and cast out by Heaven.

So they constantly fail to find a solution that both of them are happy with:

Both in Season 1 and 2 Crowley asks Aziraphale to leave everything behind and run away with him, not acknowledging Aziraphale's undying love for and loyalty to humankind. And he gets rejected for it both times.

In S2-6 Aziraphale asks Crowley to come to Heaven with him, not acknowledging how Heaven has hurt Crowley, not accepting him for who he is. Instead he wants to fix him. Over the years he has also become so used to Crowley always being there for him, he takes his help for granted. So when Crowley actually stands his ground for once and refuses to do what Aziraphale wants, it shocks Aziraphale to his core. He’s never been rejected like that.

They aren’t humans, they are both ageless, sex- and genderless, asexual, otherworldly beings, so human relationship standards don’t apply to them. We can also see that in Gabriel’s and Beelzebubs relationship. Their love is something emotional, not physical. They don’t kiss or even hug, they just look at each other and sing "Everyday" - their personal love song - before they go off together. 

Crowley and Aziraphale have spent so much time away from Heaven and Hell and lead almost human-like lives on Earth. So in a desperate, last ditch effort Crowley chooses to show his emotions in a very physical, human way, a way that beings like them wouldn’t normally do. But it’s his very last chance to make Aziraphale understand. So he kisses him. It’s an angry, sad, messy, utterly unpleasant kiss, it’s painful to look at. 

Aziraphale doesn’t kiss back, his hands are erratic. He is so torn. His heart and his brain tell him two different things. He needs Crowley, but Crowley refuses to come to Heaven with him. 

And what is the first thing that comes to Aziraphale’s mind after the kiss? “I forgive you!” Because that’s what he’s good at, right? Forgiveness. He told Maggie that in the first episode of the season. I don’t know what exactly he wants to forgive and I’m not sure he knows himself. 

When they part they’re both in emotional agony, they both feel betrayed. Crowley storms out, but still waits outside his car. He still has this tiny bit of hope left that Aziraphale will come with him after all. He only gets in and drives off once he sees the doors to Heaven close behind Aziraphale and Metatron.

Metatron’s plan

I read some theories that Metatron poisoned Aziraphale’s coffee, but I really, REALLY hope that this isn’t true. It would take away all the gravity of Aziraphale’s decision if he is just drugged to go along with Metatron and comes to his senses once the drug wears off. That would be boring and lame!

I also don’t think that Crowley and Aziraphale switch appearances again as they did in Season 1: Clearly Metatron would be able to see through the disguise, he is much more powerful than the angels after all.

No, I think Metatron cleverly manipulates Aziraphale by giving him the opportunity (or rather the illusion thereof) to make changes in Heaven with Crowley at his side. Aziraphale is so convinced that Crowley would be full of joy and gratitude at the prospect of becoming an angel again. He once again fails to understand that this is the exact opposite of what Crowley wants.

Metatron on the other hand appears to know Crowley much better in that regard. He remembers how powerful Crowley is and how far he fell for asking the wrong questions. He loathes Crowley and would never want him in a position of power in Heaven ever again. So from the outset Metatron knows that Crowley would not agree to become an angel again, that’s why he makes that specific offer to Aziraphale in the first place. It’s his clever way to make the two fall out with each other, to separate them and still win Aziraphale over for his plan.

I just wonder what his real goal is here. Michael or Uriel seem like a much more logical choice for Supreme Archangel if he really only wants to go through with the next Armageddon. That can’t be everything, right? He knows that Aziraphale actively worked on preventing the first Armageddon. Why would he think Aziraphale would now be on board for the second one? Metatron can’t underestimate Aziraphale that much, right? He’s way too cunning to believe that Aziraphale is weak-minded and gullible.

I mean, I’m not too versed in religious mythology, but doesn’t the Second Coming of Christ mean Judgement Day and that God’s kingdom takes over the world after smiting all enemies? That doesn’t sound like something Aziraphale wants (especially the smiting of all enemies which would include Crowley). So why does he still agree to go with Metatron after learning about this??? 

Does Aziraphale think he can outsmart Metatron and all the other high-ranking angels and avert the end of the world when he’s in a position of power? I mean, he is intelligent, he must have a plan after hearing about the Second Coming, right? That would at least somewhat explain his very weird and uncanny smile during the credit roll. I just don’t know what to think about all this.

My best guess is that Aziraphale will first try to undermine Metatron and speak to the Almighty Themselves (something he already wanted to do in season 1 but was denied), and also to make positive reforms in Heaven. But Metatron sees this coming of course. To make Aziraphale his obedient puppet he will simply threaten to erase Crowley from the Book of Life should Aziraphale ever dare to step out of line.

Crowley never told Aziraphale about what he and Muriel found out in Heaven - that Michael & Co. were actively planning Armageddon 2.0 before Gabriel went renegade. But now Crowley can’t do anything to help prevent it because he knows that Aziraphale is completely at Metatron’s mercy.

I’m dying to see how this will all play out, but at this moment I’m just confused and unsure about all of this. 

So what do I want/expect from season 3?

I want Crowley to overcome his trauma, his pain, his trust issues, all the rejection and loss he faced. I want him to be able to be himself: Free, loved, respected, cared for, accepted. I want him to live a happy life with, but not live FOR Aziraphale. I want him to make other meaningful connections. Maybe with Muriel? She is the only other kind and good-hearted angel we see in the show and a friendship would benefit both of them greatly in my opinion. 

I want Aziraphale to fight for Crowley, to protect him for once. When they meet again I want him to do the stupid apology dance for three hours. I want him to finally accept Crowley as his best friend, his soulmate, his true love, his equal. I want him to take Crowley’s glasses off, look him in the eyes and then be the one to lean in for a kiss. A kiss that isn’t forceful and desperate, but heartfelt and genuine.

As for the plot of season 3… I’d really like to see a flashback of the often mentioned Great War between the angels and soon-to-be-demons. I’d also like characters from season 1 to make a cameo appearance if possible. Apart from that I don’t have any predictions or big ideas (as I said before, still very confused about Metatron’s plan). 

I will put my faith in Neil Gaiman and Wait and See (TM) what he ultimately comes up with. :’)