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neil-gaiman · 1 year

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Hi, Neil! You've mentioned that Brian May was initially reluctant to give you permission to use Queen's music in the miniseries (because of competition with the Bohemian Rhapsody film, I think?) but I don't remember you ever telling us why he finally relented. Unless it involves a secret phrase not unlike why the sheep finally obeyed Babe the pig, how did you get him to change his mind?

He wouldn't let us use Queen when we did the BBC Radio 4 adaptation. He was concerned that people might think that Queen was being made fun of, or that Queen was being seen as something old-fashioned or something. For Good Omens the TV show I wrote him a letter, which said...

Dear Brian

Terry Pratchett and I had a private joke, back in the 80s, that any cassette in your car would eventually turn into Queen's Greatest Hits. We put the joke into our cowritten novel GOOD OMENS, and wove a certain amount of Queen magic through the book. Done because, pretty obviously, we love Queen. The book went on to sell enormous numbers over the years, and whenever two Good Omens fans got together, they would talk about Queen.

I know that when Dirk Maggs approached you when he did the Radio 4 adaptation of GOOD OMENS, you were wary about getting involved, due to concerns about, well cassettes, and the possibility of it positioning Queen in people's minds as something old fashioned or silly.

Which, I thought, when Dirk told me about it, was fair enough.

I've now spent the better part of the last four years writing scripts for, and shooting, a TV adaptation of GOOD OMENS. It stars Michael Sheen, David Tennant, Miranda Richardson, Adria Arjana, Michael McKean, Derek Jacobi, Jon Hamm, Nick Offerman, and lots of other amazing people, and it will be narrated by Frances McDormand. It is directed by Emmy-award-winning Douglas Mackinnon.

Douglas loves Queen. I love Queen. David Arnold loves Queen.

And the millions upon millions of Good Omens fans around the world love Queen too. So we have put various moments in there just for them (including a brass band playing "Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon"). We want Queen music to comment on the action.

The show will come out from Amazon, and then from the BBC, next year. This year we are in post-production.

We'd love to show you some of what we've got. We'd love to pick your brains and to get your take on what we're doing. To find out if there's a way we can include you, or just brief you on what we've planned so far.

And Brian cheerfully apologised for having said no before, and said yes.

(Queen didn't want us to use the song Bohemian Rhapsody initially, because of concerns about the movie, but after a while they were happy even with that.)

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

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hello! absolutely love your blog <3!! just thought i could share since idk who else to dump my ghost infested brain.. but lately i’ve been brainrotting for fluffy and domestic ghost hh something about helping him shave in the morning before cooking breakfast together and just lazing around in the afternoon drives me insane

Lazy Sunday with Simon

A/N: I got this ask before I decided to turn off the anon option for a while! I’ll let you know when I turn it back on :) There’s more A/N at the end; meet me there!

———————————————————————

He usually wakes up at 6 a.m., regardless of the day of the week. You’ve always marvelled at this trait, secretly envious of his ability to jump out of bed immediately. You wonder if he’s a morning person by nature or if his past military training instilled this reflex. Regardless, you rarely wake up at the same time. And on the rare occasion that you do so, he’s eager to get up as soon as possible, as though laying in bed simply served his survival needs for sleep and nothing else.

But today is different. It’s almost 9 a.m., and you sit on your shared bed, watching him sleep. His chest rises and falls, and you mimic his breath, momentarily experiencing life from his perspective.

As you shuffle to retrieve something from your bedside drawer, he stirs and wakes up.

“Shit!” He curses, shooting up like a spring.

“Simon,” you say to him, your hand halfway to the drawer, “it’s Sunday.”

He checks his phone to confirm your statement, then sighs. Rubbing his eyes, he turns to look at you.

“Good morning,” he says sheepishly.

“Morning,” you respond with a chuckle.

He crawls over to your side of the bed and kisses your lips.

“You, sir, need a shave,” you tease, gesturing to his stubble.

He rubs his chin. “I do, don’t I?” he admits, rising from the bed and heading to the bathroom.

You hear the sound of the toilet flushing, the faucet running, and teeth brushing, followed by a silence that makes you tune in. You can listen to him unscrewing the cap of his shaving cream, whistling as he applies it to his face.

You rise from the bed and enter the bathroom. Simon catches your eye in the mirror’s reflection and raises an eyebrow.

“This room ain’t big enough for the both of us,” he quips, mimicking Nick Grindell from The Western Code.

You smile and press against his back, wrapping your arms around him. “Looks like there’s enough room now,” you say playfully.

He resumes shaving, and you watch him closely; tiny strokes with the razor, then a rinse and repeat.

“Can I try?” you ask, and he stops mid-stroke to look at you.

“I don’t know, can you?” he teases.

“I’ve shaved my legs before,” you reply.

“Exactly,” he emphasizes, “your legs, not my face.” But he hands you the razor anyway and instructs you on how to proceed.

You seem to be doing fine until he suddenly jerks back from the razor and lets out a yell. You panic, but he quickly bursts out laughing.

“Asshole!” you exclaim. “I thought I cut you!”

“That was the point, love,” he chuckles. “You should have seen your face.”

“And you should have seen your face if I had actually cut you!” you quip, brandishing the razor in mock threat.

No matter how long you two live together, he remains his old, caustic self. He is kind and gentle, except when pulling one of his “jokes.” You’ve had to learn to adapt to his sense of humour.

You announce that you’d go to the kitchen to get breakfast started while he keeps on shaving, and he gives you a thumbs up.

———————————————————————

As the kettle on the stove begins to whistle, you deftly mix the pancake batter. He approaches you and stands beside you, watching you whisk.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” he comments, gesturing towards the bowl.

“Whisking batter?” you question, eyebrows raised.

“You shouldn’t be doing pancakes in general,” he elaborates, lifting his shirt to reveal a hint of a soft belly. “Look.” He says and gives it a slap.

He has put on some weight after leaving the army, but this didn’t bother you as much as it bothered him. The weight gain was not the real issue but rather a manifestation of how he felt - insignificant. He didn’t talk about it directly, but it showed up in other ways. Mumbling to himself while watching the news, for example, reciting what his team would have done differently in that case. Or by reflecting on how he could have helped in recent disasters while discussing with your friends. In this case, it manifested in the form of fishing for compliments.

“You look fine.” You comment, but he rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he says, “stop lying.”

“Hey,” you wave the whisk at his face, “I never lie, ok?”

He shoots his arms in the air. “First the razor, now the whisk,” he says, “you’re too aggressive today, don’t you think?”

“I like you, no matter what. Understood?” You keep threatening him, and, with a manoeuvre, he takes the whisk off your hands to continue the mixing.

You prepare the table, and he serves the pancakes he cooked. You both sit down at the table, enjoying your breakfast. As you eat, your mind keeps going back to your previous conversation.

“Hey, I was thinking,” you say between bites. “There’s a veterans’ group in town that meets every week. Maybe you could check it out?”

He looks up from his plate and then shakes his head. “No,” he states.

“Why not?” You ask, “it could be good for you to connect with other veterans and share your experiences rather than arguing with the TV.”

He keeps staring at you, and you’re unsure if he feels exposed or contemplates your idea.

“There are other people like you, Simon,” you explain, “good people who went through similar things.”

He shrugs and takes another bite. “What do they do in that group?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply, “but I can find out if you want.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’ll do that.”

You smile. “That’s great,” you say, relieved, “I think it could really help you.”

He nods and takes another bite. The two of you continue eating and talking, enjoying the simple pleasure of a warm, late breakfast.

———————————————————————

You both lay sprawled on your living room couch. You’re glued to the TV, binging on the new season of “Love is Blind,” while he lies next to you, engrossed in a book.

You notice his eyes flickering towards the screen occasionally, but he tries to hide it. You catch him peeking again and can’t resist poking fun at him.

“Interested, I see?” You ask with a smirk.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks you back with a sneer.

“It’s a reality show,” you explain, gesturing towards the screen. “People date each other in these rooms called ‘pods’ without seeing each other.”

“Huh,” Simon scoffs, “and how do they meet?”

“One proposes, and if the other accepts, they finally meet.”

He puts down his book, stares at the screen, and then back at you.

“Like a marriage proposal?” He asks with raised eyebrows, and you nod.

“You’re kidding,” he states in disbelief.

“No,” you shake your head, giggling, “I’m afraid I’m not.”

He opens up his book again and shakes his head. “What a load of bullshit,” he grumbles.

But as the episodes keep rolling, you can see his resistance slowly crumbling. His book is closed for good now and placed on the side table next to him. “What a load of bullshit” has now turned into “what a fucking nob head!” and “can you believe them?!”

And as the day turns into dusk and the marathon draws ungracefully to an end, he waves his finger at the TV.

“Put the next episode!” he orders.

“It’s not aired yet.”

Simon’s face contorts into a look of pure shock and horror, and you stifle a laugh.

“You can’t be serious, love!” he yells. “When are the next ones supposed to be aired?”

“In two weeks, Si-”

“TWO WEEKS?” he exclaims in a high-pitched voice. “What are we supposed to do for two weeks?!”

“There are three more seasons before this o- “

“Now!” He commands, slapping the cushion with enthusiasm. “Put. The first. Season. Now!”

———————————————————————

Hey, sweet person who requested this and fellow readers! 🍫 Hope you enjoyed it! Maybe I got Simon a little out of character with the “Love Is Blind” scene, but I saw a similar TikTok/IG Reel (I can’t remember where exactly) and instantly thought of him. So I wanted to include it! Also, my stupid ass kept writing “whisker” instead of “whisk” until I thought to google it. Glad I did.

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boopboops22 · 7 months

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I'm bound to be proposing on a Saturday night / I'll be lazing on a Sunday afternoon

#good omens #book omens #ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #aziracrow #coloring this took me like. 3 hours #I haven't drawn anything with daylight in so long and I forgot how to #so I redid the coloring 3 times #misery and pain ect ect #im happy with how it came out tho!!!#wowie look at that #air conditioning

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kentomilk · 5 months

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ᴺᴬᴺᴬᴹᴵ ᴷᴱᴺᵀᴼ ᴵᴺ

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it seems there is never an activity too lackluster or intimate for this couple to find pleasure in each other's company with their busy lives.

husband!nanami kento x wife fem!reader.

catalogue. fluff, slice of life content, non-sorcery au/ non-curse, modern au, salaryman!kento, sick & soft kento, (1) mentions of praise kink. wc: 1.95k thea’s preamble. inspired by this incredible art, i must admit i look at this at least once a day. → ✨ also this is my first published work, it's a bit rough but hopefully with time it gets better. thank u for reading <3

kento is a man of routine and order, we all knew that. he wakes up at a set time, kisses his beautiful sleeping wife, carries out his morning routine of showering and oral hygiene, dons his best suit, light breakfast, and is out the door by 8 AM. the evenings he returns home aren’t any less lax, whether he’s home at 6 PM on the dot or late by a few hours, he’ll always greet and kiss his beautiful wife, have dinner in his study whilst he continues more work while the lovely missus reads on the chaise or continues unfinished work of her own as well, then shower and oral hygiene, sleep.

perhaps that was an oversimplification, but don’t be fooled one may think the man adopts and follows this lifestyle out of a need for security, financial or otherwise. or that he loves the unrelenting and perpetual cycle of working painstakingly 10-hour days, he certainly isn’t given highly-coveted tasks for being a slacker. he’s grateful for what the occupation provides, the salary and bonus that come with his overtime, to lavishly spoil his family, but that's all.

he has no ambition to climb the ladders that will put him in places he doesn't care to be, to rub elbows and kiss ass with scummy executives, leeches, and conceited thugs, only to trash talk and scheme against the moment he steps foot in his home.

all he asks is for saturdays and sundays, as they happen to be Kento’s favourite.

the days he has off from his draining 9-to-5, to be spent properly with his lovely wife. who was ever so patient with him, ever so supportive, and ever so his to love and cherish so as long as his body would allow him. even if his body was battered down to a pulp, he’d find alternatives as necessary, but let’s hope it never comes to that.

there would be times when not much would differ from the previous weekend, and well into the next, spent doing the same activities, or nothing at all. he never wanted to take for granted the time you spent together, and sometimes that meant not always making the most of those days, and he’s okay with that.

whether the two of you lazed in bed until the afternoon or spent a whole day cooking a feast completely from scratch, starters to dessert. visiting the farmers market to cook said feast, reading in your cozy home library, or even the sudden bouts of spring cleaning.

there is always a welcome invite for spontaneity, a picnic under the stupendous aspen tree you simply adored at the local park. a quick overnight trip to a scenic and quaint town, whether your destination is reached by train, plane, automobile, or even boat. the occasional painting date has become a more frequent activity as of late. but there is one “special” activity that some might consider, unique. one that is relatively low cost, that is done from the comforts of your humble abode, that further advances the intimacy (according to kento), and is reserved solely for you, one that kento absolutely adored, shaving.

usually, it was something he’d done alone after showers with either a rechargeable or disposable razor or by his barber when it came time for his bi-monthly hair trim. but recently it became a task that you’d undertake by kento’s request, sort of.

while you didn’t mind what would grow from a days of not shaving, he preferred maintaining a clean shave for the clean-cut classification for a man of his occupation, it also became supplemental to his hygiene routine that he grew to love.

it wasn’t something you saw often, kento so dishevelled with the most tragic undereye bags from the lack of sleep from what you’d think was months suffering from insomnia, condensed into a few days. a coarse stubble emerged from the days he’d spent in bed, and his nose was flushed with how often he’d been blowing it with the nearly empty box of tissues that was full just the night before. his eyes were dull and watering, a sight you truly hated.

"honey, have you seen my hard drive?" he'd sorely asked for the 3rd time today, "it's in the laptop, kento." you called back, changing the towels in your bathroom.

he was delirious, with a runny nose and little to no comprehension of where he was or what day it was, thanks to the combination of flu medicine and kento’s determination to finish a work proposal whilst in bed, common sense would also call it overworking. despite your gentle commands that he needed rest, there was no triumph on your end, as duty calls. he was relentless, in his defense there was a conference that was meant to be held in person had it not been for his sudden ailment. though a live video conference was able to be arranged, owing to the urgency of the matter at hand.

so you figured the fastest way to get the man back into bed was to help him complete this ordeal swiftly, that meant helping him in the shower, given his sore muscle ached. applying small dots of concealer under his eyes as to not bring attention to his fatigued face, deterring from the presentation at hand.

dressing him in his warmest wool suit, but only the upper half, kento was sound enough to know there was no need to abandon his fleecy Pompompurin pajama pants. the executives were only to see from the shoulders up after all. and lastly ridding him of a heavy five o'clock shadow that was speckled with smears of dried rice from the porridge you had made him earlier.

“ok, that should be enough,” you whispered, carefully taking off the damp towel that no longer retained warmth, and squeezing out the shaving cream from the canister into your hand.

you proceed to spread the milky foam in a thin layer across the lower half of his face, letting out a soft chuckle at the finished outcome. you picked up the brand-new razor from the counter, puffing your cheeks and letting out a deep breath.

“i trust you.” kento whispered, his voice scratchy and hushed.

you smiled in response, quietly informing him that you were starting. you crouched to his eye level, pulling his cheek upward with one hand, so the skin where you would shave would be taut. you intently watched his face as well as the area that you had just removed facial hair, making sure that there were no nicks or alter in his relaxed expression, verging on sleep. once you gained confirmation of such, you proceeded to shave the next row, and the next, working inwards towards his lips.

rinsing the razor after each use, and wiping on a towel you had draped on the counter. though nerve-wracking for a first try, it had been executed well and was quite therapeutic. your eyes were attentive and your hands steady with every down stroke. as you continued to rinse and repeat, literally, you looked up into the bathroom mirror to see your husband rotating his head to view the work that had been done, then looking straight at you with a simple grin and tired eyes, asking what he thought so far.

“you’re doing so good, my love.” he plainly states, but those watery eyes said otherwise with an innuendo you couldn’t miss, in a singular eyebrow raise. stupid praise kink, you thought, looking him up and down, wondering how even in this state, where he acquired the audacity. it wasn’t long until the two of you burst into a fit of laughter, kento being cautious as to not rub off the shaving cream with one hand that covered his eyes as he leaned back in the chair.

“what even are you.” you snickered, quickly calming yourself with the reminder of the razor in your hand.

you proceeded to shave, on the brink of completion, now focusing above his lip, where you took even more caution than you had before, due to the sensitivity of his skin in that area. opting to sit on his lap, nearly chest-to-chest with his sore arms that maintained enough strength to have a secure hold on you, even though your knees were bent, and your feet touched the heated floor effortlessly.

a few stolen kisses on kento’s behalf, and nothing more than a restrained smile that he was fighting from getting any bigger as you finished the last few strokes. in his mind, it was anticipated that the minute kento finally got better, you were going to contract what he had afterward anyway. and in turn, he’d take care of you.

so what's the harm in a few more kisses?

“so my dear husband, how would you like to start our weekend?” you asked, still cozily tucked under the blankets, looking at your husband who was similarly bundled under the toasty blankets, with your hand situated on top of his, placed gently on your cheek.

“well dear wife, it’s been days since i’ve last shaved.” he simpered, looking down at you with sly eyes.

it was something the both of you saw coming, once again he hadn’t been shaving for a while, but of course, it was deliberate. you softly laugh in response with your voice still heavy in slumber, “i’ll go get the facial steamer— in a few minutes, i want to savor every second of this vacation.” further burrowing yourself into his chest.

it had been a few months since the first time you had to shave kento’s while he was recovering, the proposal went flawlessly if you omit the booming sneezes that startled the executives even through the screen.

you had since made the switch to a straight blade like the ones you’d see used in old school barber shops, watching tutorials on methods exercised by professionals for efficiency and safety.

invested in a proper kit that supplied everything you’d need. from shave oil, pre-shave oil, shave cream, a velvety brush to spread the lather, after-shave (which smelled phenomenal), and blade replacements.

it’s been even longer since his barber last gave him a proper shave after a haircut, and that time will only continue to be prolonged. he loved how close you’d be when focusing, but time after time you’d only grown to relax the tension in your muscles. you’d sit on his lap for more of the session, and those sessions would only go longer from the last.

where there would be conversation taking place about your lives, now and the future. sometimes there would be easy-listening music playing from the speakers that would lay the cornerstones of an “impromptu” dancing session, where kento’s hands would be politely placed on your lower back, and his hand strong in yours, waltzing all around your bathroom for what felt like forever.

he was shirtless, and truth be told a little chilly, and you were wearing an old shirt of his, to him you always looked beautiful. even though there was still plenty of shaving cream on his face, it would eventually be smeared on yours. there wasn’t much more he wanted in life.

if you ask him, any weekend is well-spent, even if you do spend the entirety of it in bed, painting beautiful sceneries, cooking your favourite dishes, dancing with ardour despite having taken one class on ballroom waltz, or you shaving his grown-out stubble. as long as you're by his side, nothing is ever a waste of time. that’s how it’s been, that’s how is it, and that’s how it’ll be.

and who knows, maybe next time kento will convince you to cut his hair.

[interactions] reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated ₊˚⊹♡

#[🎠] — .thea’s chronicles #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami fluff #kento fluff #kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #nanami x fem!reader #kento x fem!reader #nanami kento x fem!reader #kento nanami x fem!reader #kento x you #nanami x you

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callme-darling · 2 months

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speaking of baden baden shower scene...... shower makeouts drabble mayhaps? 😇 hand on throat laughing giggling dripping wet and all

this kind of domestic shit is what i live for 😩

word count: ~650

swann strikes me as the type to revel in quiet intimacy. spending the evening reading aloud to you, allowing you to watch as he rehearsed his lines, idle sunday afternoons spent lazing in the Parisian sun, and, naturally, sharing the occasional shower.

it’d be late in the evening, shortly after he got home from a script reading. you were already in the shower, shampoo suds dripping from your hair when you hear the bathroom door softly push open. you don’t have to look when the sound of a tired sigh follows, just barely audible over the water hitting the tiled walls.

you only turn when you hear the shower curtain pull back, a thick screen of steam emitting from your cocoon of heat.

it’s mundane, natural, the way he slips in under the shower head. his eyes close with a small groan as hot water saturates his scalp. you smile to yourself. your hands are gentle when they reach his hair, fingers threading through the soaked strands to make sure no spot is missed.

“that feels nice.” swann’s alto voice made your smile widen.

you lathered a dollop of shampoo into your palms before massaging it against his scalp. “you should let me cut your hair,” tone playful as you bring the hair atop his head to stand upright. “i’m sure a nice buzz would suit you.”

his eyes peek open with a grin. “come near my hair with scissors and you’ll be the one walking away with a nice bowl cut.”

you pout, mimicking the act of cutting off a large portion of his hair with your fingers. “just a little off the top, something fresh.”

he leaned in closed, making your elbows rest on his shoulders as his hand trailed from your cheek to your neck. his lips ghosted over yours, his fingers tickling the sensitive flesh of your jaw as he whispered, “only if you let me cut yours first.”

you bite your lip, the action causing it to tease against his ever so slightly. for a moment, all that could be heard was the pelting water hitting swann’s back and part of the wall. then, without warning, you feel his tongue dart out to poke your mouth.

your hand instinctively covers the offense, a loud laugh coming from you as you gawk at him. he only wore a smug smile, chuckling lightly as he began to rinse out his hair.

“threaten to cut my beautiful hair again, and it’s going in your nose next time.”

you use your hand to splash a minuscule amount of water in his face, your expression scrunched up in revulsion, “you’re disgusting.”

a hand on your naked waist pulls you against him and back under the stream of hot water. he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. it quickly escalates until his tongue is prodding against yours, quiet moans slipping from you when you feel his hand roam to your neck again. this time he keeps it there, adding the slightest bit of pressure to keep your head still.

eventually you break the kiss, smiling to yourself. teasing lilt still playing on your tongue, you giggle through your words, “perhaps i should shave you bald.” you braced yourself, rushing out the next, “the world deserves to see mr. arlaud’s shiny bald head! hey!” you cry out with a laugh when you feel a mouthful of recycled shower water hit your face and chest. “you’re so nasty!”

he’s laughing just as hard. his hand takes your shoulder and your back is against the tile wall as he nips at your jaw. “if i go bald, you’re going bald with me.”

“deal,” you giggle back. your hands are on his chest as you give him another short kiss. “now let me rinse out my conditioner. you’re hogging all the water.”

#ꕤ ₊˚✧ mailbox .#❀₊˚✧ thots .#swann arlaud #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute

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