#good omens heritage post

[fellshish]

Whats all this about Neil Gaiman setting David Tennent on fire? They don’t actually set him on fire do they? I’m confused

It’s just a running gag neil has with the fans. Feast your eyes on this heritage post

[crowleys-curl]

Well this clearly deserves to do the rounds again!

It’s bound to happen, and you know it.

[clockw0rkvaudeville]

Ev’ry day, it’s-a gettin’ closer

Goin’ faster than a rollercoaster

Love like yours will surely

Come my way.

[good-omens-heritage-posts]

hey, i'm noah! so, every other fandom seems to have a heritage posts blog and i thought we deserved one too :] please tag me in any posts you think are heritage post worthy! (there are pretty much no criteria, just posts that you consider Important to the fandom/the vibe fits - they can be from tv omens, book omens, radio omens, anything!) and my ask box is open :D any posts referring to season 2 will be tagged 'GO2' so if you aren't up to date you can block that tag to avoid spoilers (side note, my main is @queerestqueertoeverqueer and my normal GO sideblog is @mx-anthony-janthony-crowley)

[rainbowpopeworld]

(The original post is no longer shareable)

Reading through the initial outfit brought this outfit from Staged to mind:

[ineffable-xenanigans]

There’s commitment to the bit, and then there’s COMMITMENT to the BIT

A Letter from “Crawly” to Azirapil

This remarkable letter of unknown provenance surfaced recently in the cuneiform collection of the University of West Wessex.  Addressed to Azirapil from a Mr. “Crawly,” it appears to be begging for the other’s return to Ur from a western journey with another individual, Abiraham.  The relationship between the two (brothers? business partners? friends?) is unknown, and all three names are quite unusual.  The letter also mentions a Mr. Ea-naṣir in Ur; if this is the same Ea-naṣir as the merchant mentioned in UET V 22, 29, 71, and 81, then the original letter would be dated to the Larsa period, around 1800 BCE.  However, this particular copy appears to be a scribal exercise; the writing is relatively unskilled, and the cuneiform is Neo-Assyrian in form.  It is unclear whether the text is based on a historical letter, or if its unusual names and content were invented for scribal practice.

Text:

Tell Azirapil [1]:

Thus says “Crawly” [2]:

When will your time in the West be finished?  Abiraham [3] seems very dirty, and I am weary [4] in Ur.  [There is] a talented mirsu-maker [5] on Wide Street!

Watch out, for I have acquired a new friend.  His name is Ea-Naṣir [6], and I may play wickedly with him if you do not return.  

Come quickly!

Keep reading

[cloud-based-and-rainpilled]

Nina: You and your twink are fuckin right?

Crowley:

Shax: We know you and Crowley are fckin lmao

Aziraphale:

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

you know when i went to ikea this week they had a playroom for children that they called Småland and it was just...a giant room. with a ballpit in the corner.

i don't think i need to say more.

[demon-in-the-details]

So Neil was just asked what his favorite Jane Austen novel was and what Aziraphale's was. His answer got a bit buried because the person asked lots of other questions, but GUYS:

Aziraphale's favorite Jane Austen novel (probably, says Neil) is Persuasion and Neil's is Northanger Abbey.

Persuasion: The story concerns Anne Elliot, an Englishwoman of 27 years, whose family moves to lower their expenses and reduce their debt by renting their home to an admiral and his wife. The wife's brother, Captain Frederick Wentworth, was engaged to Anne in 1806, but the engagement was broken when Anne was persuaded by her friends and family to end their relationship. Anne and Captain Wentworth, both single and unattached, meet again after a separation lasting almost eight years, setting the scene for many humorous encounters as well as a second, well-considered chance at love and marriage for Anne.

Northanger Abbey: The story concerns Catherine Morland, the naïve young protagonist, and her journey to a better understanding of herself and of the world around her. How Catherine views the world has been distorted by her fondness for Gothic novels and an active imagination.

*whoa*

@good-omens-heritage-posts

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Ahahaha! Good Omens heritage post 🤣

This… this is the best thing I ever drew. I will never top this.

[jilted-love]

Hi Good Omens Fandom. Do you remember this tumblr post about this dildo-looking malachite stone? There was a long discussion of whether it's safe to use as a dildo. You can check it here:

https://www.tumblr.com/verilymissvx/162339953478/polished-malachite-stalactite-copper-crescent

But you don't have to read all of that because I think Aziraphale and Crowley can use miracles to use that stone as their au naturel dildo, thank you.

[good-omens-heritage-posts]

hi! i was wondering if you could help me find a good omens post — i remember someone in like 2019 did some really cool art of the wings of all go angels and demons, and gave them each a different bird’s wings (gabriel was an eagle, uriel a sparrow i think, etc) do you happen to have this post?? tysm and love your blog💛

hello!! i'm afraid i haven't seen that one before :( i did find this after a quick search, although i'm not sure if that's the right one? if anyone else knows this art please do link it here! :))

(and thank you :D)

[embracing-the-ineffable]

I love looking into the time capsule of Good Omens history! You never know what interesting things you might read - and the photo of Neil's chair made me laugh!

NEIL’S BLOG ENTRY ABOUT GOOD OMENS SEASON 2

Many, many years ago (it was Hallowe'en 1989, for the curious, the year before Good Omens was published) Terry Pratchett and I were sharing a room at the World Fantasy Convention in Seattle, to keep the costs down, because we were both young authors, and taking ourselves to America and conventions were expensive. It was a wonderful convention. I remember a huge Seattle second-hand bookstore in which I found a dozen or so green-bound Storisende Edition James Branch Cabell books, each signed so neatly by the author that the bookshop people assured me that the signatures were printed, and really ten dollars a book was the correct price.

I could afford books. Good Omens had just been sold to UK publishers and then to US publishers for more money than Terry or I had ever received for anything. (Terry had been incredibly worried about this, certain that receiving a healthy advance would mean the end of his career. When his career didn’t end, Terry suggested to his agent that perhaps he ought to be getting that kind of advance for every book from now on, and his life changed, and he stopped having to share a hotel room to save money. But I digress.) Advance reading copies of Good Omens had not yet gone out, but a few editors had read it (ones who had bid for it but failed to buy it) and they all seemed very excited about it, and thrilled for us.

On the Saturday evening Terry left the bar quite early and headed off to bed. I stayed up talking to people and having a marvelous time, hung in there until the small hours of the morning when they closed the hotel bar and all the people went away, and then headed up to the hotel room room.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed in the dark across the room to where my bed was located.

I’d just reached the bed when, from the far side of the room, a voice said, “What time of the night do you call this then? Your mother and I have been worried sick about you.”

Terry was wide awake. Jet lag had taken its toll.

And I was wide awake too. So we lay in our respective beds and having nothing else to do, we plotted the sequel to Good Omens. It was a good one, too. We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD™ and there wasn’t ever a good time.

But we never forgot it.

It’s been thirty-one years since Good Omens was published, which means it’s thirty-two years since Terry Pratchett and I lay in our respective beds in a Seattle hotel room at a World Fantasy Convention, and plotted the sequel. (I got to use bits of the sequel in the TV series version of Good Omens – that’s where our angels came from.)

[Terry and I, in Cardiff in 2010, on the night we decided that Good Omens should become a television series.]

Terry was clear on what he wanted from Good Omens on the telly. He wanted the story told, and if that worked, he wanted the rest of the story told.

So in September 2017 I sat down in St James’ Park, beside the director, Douglas Mackinnon, on a chair with my name on it, as Showrunner of Good Omens. The chair slowly and elegantly lowered itself to the ground underneath me and fell apart, and I thought, that’s not really a good omen. Fortunately, under Douglas’s leadership, that chair was the only thing that collapsed.

So, once Good Omens the TV series had been released by Amazon and the BBC, to global acclaim, many awards and joy,  Rob Wilkins (Terry’s representative on Earth) and I had the conversation with the BBC and Amazon about doing some more. And they got very excited. We talked to Michael Sheen and David Tennant about doing some more. They also got very excited. We told them a little about the plot. They got even more excited.

[Rob Wilkins and David Tennant on the second day of shooting.]

I’d been a fan of John Finnemore’s for years, and had had the joy of working with him on a radio show called With Great Pleasure, where I picked passages I loved, had amazing readers read them aloud and talked about them.

(Here’s a clip from that show of me talking about working with Terry Pratchett, and reading a poem by Terry: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p06x3syv. Here’s the whole show from YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OsS_JWbzQ with John Finnemore’s bits too.)

I asked John if he’d be willing to work with me on writing the next round of Good Omens, and was overjoyed when he said yes. We have some surprise guest collaborators too. And Douglas Mackinnon is returning to oversee the whole thing with me.

So that’s the plan. We’ve been keeping it secret for a long time (mostly because otherwise my mail and Twitter feeds would have turned into gushing torrents of What Can You Tell Us About It? long ago) but we are now at the point where sets are being built in Scotland (which is where we’re shooting, and more about filming things in Scotland soon), and we can’t really keep it secret any longer.

There are so many questions people have asked about what happened next (and also, what happened before) to our favourite Angel and Demon. Here are, perhaps, some of the answers you’ve been hoping for.

As Good Omens continues, we will be back in Soho, and all through time and space, solving a mystery which starts with one of the angels wandering through a Soho street market with no memory of who they might be, on their way to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

(Although our story actually begins about five minutes before anyone had got around to saying “Let there be Light”.)

[higher-noon]

Thinking about post-canon with the king being frozen in the House of Change and what happens to him.

Like, he's frozen there. They can't move him without unfreezing him. He's just there presumably forever. In a House. Forever.

Vanguardians seem... a bit too nice, to turn his name into a curse and his image into an omen, so I doubt he will become the next crab, but either way his existence is a monument to the shortcomings of their beliefs and the impossibility of eternal entropy.

Do they just lock the room and keep him hidden away? With kids and travelers being dared to venture inside and touch and/or vandalize the pseudo-corpse of the man who tried to embalm their country? Knick knacks and dust building up around him until someone decides on some spring cleaning and almost reverent wiped the dust from his shoulders?

Does his emporium become another lecture hall for the philosophy students to argue in? Does his form become a good luck charm for housemaidens to pet before their pilgrimage until eventually the tips of his armor are rubbed dull and it is recognized that he too can change and time is only one factor in the process that enough effort and persistence can eventually wear down?

Do refugees who eventually come to recognize their heritage find themselves drawn to the house, looking for whatever hints of home might remain? Do they look into the king's joyous eyes and beg and wish for a glimpse of what he sees? Does his sanctuary become a mass grave for a culture that has no other chance to mourn? Is he all but swallowed by flowers because even in his violence and his fear and his greed, the king was important, too?

And years down the line, when the country has healed and it's citizens at peace, when the saviors are hardly more than a folktale or a history lesson, when Mirabelle is old and tired and she forgets herself one last time, passing as she falls asleep, does the king wake up?

[dyns33]

His Dark Sun

Time for me to post a bit more about Feyd Rautha.

"I dreamed of you."

First strange sentence from her betrothed when they met. Not really what Y/N expected from a Harkonnen, but not from anyone either. There were probably few people in the universe who would have dreamed of marrying her.

Children born under a dark sun were not highly regarded in most cultures. Bad omen, the certainty of something bad coming.

Absurd, according to the Bene Gesserit, who had often repeated that this had no impact on genetic heritage.

This kind of belief could serve them, like disrupting their plans.

This was almost the case following Y/N’s birth. Her parents, from one of the last great families of the empire, were afraid of her. They even wondered if it would not be wiser to kill her immediately, or if that would not risk bringing even more misfortune to them.

But they were also afraid of the witches, who ordered that they not touch the girl. She could be very useful in the future.

This was certain when Lady Jessica gave a son to Duke Leto Atreides. It was planned that she would only give him daughters, one of whom would marry one of the Harkonnen descendants, to ensure peace between the two families, but also for more confused projects.

Since it was not possible to marry young Paul to the Baron's heir, a new wife had to be found, because the lineage had to be assured.

The people of Giedi Prime worshiped their beloved Black Sun, so they were not the type to think that those born under an one were a problem. All their children were like this.

Under other circumstances, parents might have been reluctant to marry their daughter to a Harkonnen. They didn't really have a good reputation.

But at the same time, they remained an important family, one of the richest and most powerful in existence. In addition to forming an interesting alliance, they also allowed their clan to get rid of Y/N.

They could do whatever they wanted with her, even kill her, it would no longer be their problem the moment she left their planet.

As the eldest, it would have made sense for her to be given to Glossus Rabban, the Beast. But Baron Vladimir had favored his younger brother as his heir, and so she came to this dark city praying that Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was not as terrible as the rumors said.

He was more handsome than she expected. Anyway, as handsome as a Harkonnen could be, with no hair, eyebrows or eyelashes, his skin pale and his eyes icy.

Calm, polite, he advanced towards her before his uncle or brother could speak, making it clear that he wanted no one between him and his future wife.

"I've dreamed of you. Many times, since I was young." He said, kissing her hand to welcome her, his voice trailing slightly. “I suspected a witch.”

"I did not follow the teachings of the Bene Gesserit."

"I know."

The Harkonnens did not like witches. They had little esteem for their order and only respected them out of political concern, seeking every means to circumvent their authority.

It had been a surprise to everyone that the Na Barron would agree to a marriage they had orchestrated.

But Feyd Rautha was a man of honor, intelligent, ready for anything. On top of that, he had been intrigued by this story of black sun. He had inquired, he had seen a portrait of Y/N, and then declared that she was his.

Y/N had never dreamed of the Na Baron, and his attitude seemed strange, frightening.

She didn't believe in destiny. This was just another legend used by the Bene Gesserit for their own gain, nothing more.

But the Na Baron looked at her with amazed eyes, convinced that she was special.

It was very proud that he killed several prisoners in her honor in the arena, tearing out the heart of the strongest to offer it to her with fervor in front of the cheering crowd, delighted by the spectacle and the discovery of their Na Baroness.

Secretly, she thought that he could kill her like this the day he understood that there was nothing special about her, despite everything he might believe.

Y/N tried to make him understand it on their wedding night, afraid of what he was going to want to do while being convinced that she could accept anything from him.

"I am not as strong as my noble husband. I know that you have… You have particular tastes. If your expectations of me were too high…"

“Everything will be perfect.”

"Husband…"

"Say my name. Without shaking. My wife doesn't have to be afraid of me."

"… Feyd."

He didn't know how to be gentle, that was obvious, but for her Feyd Rautha did his best. At every nervous reaction from Y/N, he stopped for a moment to contemplate her, checking if she was just anxious because she was ignorant, or if she really didn't like what he was doing.

All her life, she had been mistreated, by her family, by other nobles, by her people. They were too afraid of the curse to touch her, but she had suffered greatly.

She never would have thought that the first person to treat her with tenderness would be a Harkonnen.

“No more tears for my Na Baroness.” whispered her husband, kissing her.

He didn't talk about it, but Y/N guessed that they had a past with similarities. It was common knowledge that young Feyd had been taken by his uncle to be raised on Giedi Prime, rather than staying with their parents.

In gratitude for this sacrifice, Glossus had killed their father, and his brother had killed their mother.

The slanderers claimed that they had acted on the Baron's orders, or with the aim of securing his favors.

But Y/N knew. She knew this bloody, dark desire that she had suppressed for a long time while standing next to her sleeping parents' bed. It would have been easy to slit their throats and be freed.

Feyd remained a prisoner, and not being able to kill his jailer, he attacked those who had allowed him to put him in a cage. Revenge, pure and simple.

Everyone had heard of the Baron's love for children. Why wouldn't he have loved his own nephew ?

He didn’t talk about it and Y/N didn’t force him to talk about it. Before each meeting with his uncle, he took her hand as if to give himself courage, and afterwards he avoided her for hours, days, because he did not wish to soil her.

Either he took out his rage in the training room and the arena, or he went to see his concubines.

He would have killed them all if Y/N had asked him to, just as he would have killed everything that had made her suffer.

But she saw that he cared about these creatures, obedient, without judgment, whom he could torture as he pleased knowing that that was all they were waiting for. There were things he couldn't do with his wife. He didn't want it, and neither did she.

So the Na Baron could continue to have his fun, while making sure his wife was happy.

The only time Y/N dreamed of Feyd, he was on a yellow planet. Sand everywhere, the sun beating down, and blood. A lot of blood. Bad omen.

Y/N could have said nothing. It was just a dream after all, nothing more, as all of Feyd's dreams meant nothing either, but he had been good to her, and she felt she had to talk to him.

He looked at her for a long time in silence, before nodding.

"Witches say there isn't just one path. Only possibilities. I saw us, ruling Giedi Prime, side by side, with our children. Your smile being the only thing that gave color at this place."

"… You think I saw your death."

"On Arrakis. My uncle just gave it to me. Rabban has failed, I must restore order there."

"It was very blurry. Feyd, I…"

"I will be careful, my Na Baroness. My sun. Now that I know of this possibility, I will be careful."

If she hadn't told him, no doubt he would have died with the Baron and his brother. Y/N could have said nothing, and she would have been freed from the Harkonnens, sent home where her family only wanted her dead, deciding to become the Baroness, or running away, far away.

But she had made a choice, and her husband was very honored by it. If she wanted him to live, then he would live, even if it meant some sacrifice.

He hadn't seen himself as emperor in his dreams, although he wouldn't have minded.

When a champion was asked to face Paul Atreides, Muad Dib, it was terribly tempting.

But he thought of Y/N, he thought of the dreams, and he bowed, knowing what awaited him if he accepted the fight.

In response to the emperor calling him a coward, he sneered that the old man should only take a sword and fend for himself.

Just before his uncle's death, Feyd had several tons of spices evacuated, to ensure a significant stock, while sending a message to the other great houses concerning the Imperium's betrayal of the Atreides.

Muab Dib had looked at him as if he were crazy, then something had changed in his face, a revelation, and all traces of judgment disappeared.

"… You dreamed too." he whispered, his face turning slightly towards a young Fremen girl, but his eyes not leaving Feyd, before quoting him. “Your pet.”

"My wife." the now Baron corrected him with a growl, refusing to let the Atreides compare Y/N to this savage he was going to betray to marry the Emperor's daughter. “My Baroness, who is waiting for me.”

"For her sake, I will let you go."

“Wise decision, because if you try to hold me back, I will cut your throat.”

And if they both knew the outcome of a fight for power, it was not certain that Feyd would not be capable of killing the young Duke with the motivation of finding the woman of his dreams again.

Both clever, none of them took the risk.