#mr Gaiman if you see this no you didn’t

[thisbisexualbrainrot]

I just finished watching season 2 again for like the 4th or 5th time and we are forgetting when Azi hesitates when The Metatron asks if he’s ready to start(which is weird since he originally said take all the time you need which is SO SUSPICIOUS but anyway…)

First he’s like what about my bookshop and when that doesn’t get him out of it then he starts to say “I think I have to-“

“I think I have to decline” maybe?

He definitely has second thoughts, he has a panic about it that he’s pushing down and that elevator ride is him trying to convince himself he made the right choice

it’s so clear that the kiss ALMOST worked

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable idiots #ineffable lovers #ineffable spouses #good ineffable omens #aziracrow #aziracrow kiss #aziraphale x crowley #mr gaiman if you see this post no you didn’t #I honestly am just too scared to know if I’m wrong but I feel like I’m not

[neil-gaiman]

hello mr gaiman. i’ve just finished watching good omens 2 (i’ve already watched it by myself) with my mom (who is very homophobic), and throughout my entire viewing i was VERY nervous on what her reaction to the kiss between aziraphale and crowley would be.

when we got to that scene, where aziraphale tells crowley about the offer from the metatron and whatnot, i was shaking a lot and trying to not show it, because i was so unbelievably nervous.

during that scene, i could see that my mom had started crying a little bit, tearing up, and whatnot. i think she was trying to hide it, but she’s my mother, and i can read her well, even if i don’t like to admit it.

when they kissed, i looked at my mom and saw she had a slight scowl on her face, but she still looked sad. absolutely heartbroken, which i was not expecting at all. i was expecting her to scoff, complain, go on a rant about how everything is gay nowadays, but no. she was just sad. and it shocked me, because my mother is— well, she’s my mother, and she’s complicated.

something that also surprised me, while watching, is that she didn’t complain at all about maggie and nina, or the few comments characters made referring to aziraphale and crowley as a romantic couple.

the first thing she said to me when the credits started rolling was, “is there going to be a season 3?” not anything about aziraphale and crowley, no complaints, nothing. just asking if there’s going to be a season 3. and i was absolutely shocked, because i had gotten myself all worked up about how she’d react to the ending of season 2.

so, in conclusion, thanks for potentially curing my mom’s long-lasting homophobia with good omens season 2. it was a lovely season, and i cannot wait for the potential season 3. thank you so much for normalizing queer characters in media, it really means the world to me and many other queer people around the world.

I'm so glad she was sad.

#go2 spoilers

[beauspot]

Thoughts on my second watch of Good Omens 2

i heard the fly buzzing in my first watch but didn’t know why and now i know

Maggie my sweet darling angel baby i love you

Aziraphale turning their car yellow

crowleys “no more dying” in extreme scottish.

Disposable Demon i’ll save you from these awful people i promise 😭

Aziraphale’s little smile when he says “smitten” to Crowley

i wonder if crowley was especially hurt because aziraphale seemed to be able to forgive gabriel who tried to kill him but can’t seem to forgive him being a demon.(still seeing all of this as a metaphor for internalized homophobia, like aziraphale knows he’s not the perfect angel he wants to be and he’s projecting his feelings about that onto crowley)

I can’t believe we got an actual ball. like pride and prejudice, bridgerton ball.

the beautiful score that started playing when aziraphale brought the chandelier down

i didn’t even realize that when they walked in the outfits changed. mrs sandwich made me realize(also i love her)

Nina being the only one to question the weird magical shit Aziraphale and Crowley do sends me so bad.

Season 2 took everything i liked about the first season (aziracrow, queer subtext, gay people, archangels, and beelzebub) and expanded on it

The adorable smile on Aziraphales face when he asked Crowley to dance 😭 he’s so pure(i should have known something was up, everything was going too well)

Crowley saying i won’t leave you on your own and Aziraphale saying i know 🤒

why isn’t aziraphale able to miracle nina and maggie??

crowley and mrs sandwich flirting. too cute

crowley saying he’s neither nice nor a lad.

crowleys little run in heaven when he’s following muriel

maggie giving the middle finger to the demons and laughing in their face when they tried to belittle her. queen

defensive aziraphale is so badass. just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he can’t stand up for himself or the people he loves

the random guitar solo in the final episode theme is so bizarre to me. why is it there?

ahh the raining hearts symbolizing crowleys vavoom plan!

crowley’s heavenly outfit not being white but “light grey”

the relief in aziraphale’s voice when crowley came back 😀

also him mumbling about the halo like he did with the sword 😭 but he sure loves to boast about the things he’s done right to crowley

aziraphale and crowley doing magic together has the power to set off alarm bells in heaven and they barely tried, they’re just in sync

saraqael was such a good addition to the cast.

crowley smiling at aziraphale going off on the angels and demons

“where beelzebub is, is my Heaven.” 🥹

the little knowing look after crowley mentions alpha centauri

the way they just interrupted michael’s speech by leaving 😭

i think that aziraphale was about to ask crowley to move in but that’s my opinion

the look the metatron gave crowley is so strange. i don’t like that

“JUST US. NOT YOU.”

“You’re not helping, angel.”

the softness in aziraphale’s voice when he talked about making crowley an angel again? how can you hate him! he thought he was doing the right thing!

also the miscommunication these two have is completely out of hand because crowley asked aziraphale if he said no and aziraphale hadn’t given an answer AT ALL to the metatron. the metatron told him to take his time. he went back to tell crowley the news first.

crowleys confession makes my stomach hurt. the way his voice broke when he said “we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t.”. the way he had to force himself past his anxiety to tell aziraphale he wanted to spend eternity with him? fuck.

the way aziraphale tells crowley to come with him. like and through all of this they are losing each other, oh my god.

“i need you!” god aziraphale punch me in the face next time why don’t you?

i feel like in all this anger towards aziraphale a lot of people are ignoring that he put himself out there too. he was telling crowley he needed him just like crowley was

“no nightingales.” FUCK YOU GAIMAN

the way aziraphale touched his lips after. dear GOD. someone get michael sheen an emmy

seeing aziraphale struggle against his wanting to kiss crowley back and his fear and wanting him to come back to heaven further supports my internalized homophobia analogy

also even knowing the kiss was going to happen because of the spoiler it still didn’t quell my shock. nor did it ruin the scene, i think it actually surprised me more because it did not happen how i thought it would.

side note i saw some people saying they thought the kiss was going to be a cop out in some way. like a body swap or as a joke and i don’t really know why?

it just occurred to me that both aziraphale and crowley thought the other one was just doing that thing they do where they say they won’t help, or they’re on their own but they eventually come back not knowing that the other was completely set on these plans they had. this wasn’t like armageddon or saving gabriel.

the second coming…of jesus…

crowley cutting off “a nightingale sang in berkeley square”...i’m gonna jump

this being the ending for the next 3-4 years. oh.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #muriel good omens #nina good omens #maggie good omens #good omens beelzebub #aziraphale #a z fell #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #archangel fucking gabriel #archangel gabriel

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Ooh! A wonderful interview with Rich Keeble who played Mr. Arnold (the one with the Doctor Who Annual :)) in S2! :)❤

Q: In Good Omens 2 you play Mr. Arnold, who runs the music shop on Whickber Street. Were you a fan of Good Omens before joining the cast, and is it challenging to take on such an iconic story which is already loved by a huge fanbase?

A: “There’s always pressure if you’re working on something with an existing fanbase and people might have an idea already as to how you should be approaching something. To be honest I was aware of the show but I hadn’t actually seen it before I was asked to get involved. I knew it was something special though! I remember talking to Tim Downie [Mr. Brown] about how when you tape for certain things you know if something’s a “good one”. Of course by the time I was on set I’d watched Season 1 and read the book. 

I had an interesting route into the show actually: I was asked at the last minute to read the stage directions at the tableread on Zoom, and Douglas [Mackinnon] the director called me up to discuss pronunciations of the character names etc. To prepare further I quickly watched the first episode on Prime Video, and I was very quickly drawn into it. A couple of hours later I was on a Zoom call with David [Tennant], Michael [Sheen] (with his bleached hair), Neil [Gaiman], Douglas and the whole team, including Suzanne [Smith] and Glenda [Mariani] in casting. After that readthrough I asked my agent to try and see if she could shoehorn me in and she came back with a tape for Mr. Arnold saying “you play the piano don’t you…?” They wanted me to demonstrate my musical playing ability, so I rented a rehearsal studio room in Brixton for an hour and filmed myself playing piano (and drums just in case), then I did my scenes a couple of different ways and I guess it wasn’t too terrible!”

Q: During episode five you mimed to music written by series composer David Arnold alongside a real string quartet – this must have been very immersive! How did it feel to work with David, and bring the ball to life?

A: “I actually didn’t meet David Arnold sadly, but I did work with Catherine Grimes, the music supervisor who is lovely. David was at the London screening but I missed an opportunity to go and say hello to him which I kicked myself about. 

I remember before I was in Scotland there was a bit of uncertainty as to whether I would need to play anything for real or not, so I practised every day playing loads of Bach and other music I thought was era-appropriate just in case they asked me to do anything on the fly. So yes, it was very immersive as you say! They sent me three pieces of music to learn which I practised in my Edinburgh apartment on a portable folding keyboard thing I bought. They introduced me to the string quartet (John, Sarah, Alison and Stephanie) and I tried to hang out with them when I could. On the day we all had earpieces to mime to. I had to mime while listening out for a cue from Nina [Sosanya] from across the room, then deliver my dialogue and carry on playing, which was tricky! The quartet and I helped each other out actually: Douglas would say something like “let’s go from a minute into the second piece of music”, I’d look at the sheet music and whisper “where the hell is that?” and one of the quartet would say “we think that’s bar 90” or something. Here’s a little bit of trivia: the shooting overran and the string quartet couldn’t make the last day, so they found some incredible lookalikes to replace them for the scene when we get lead out of the bookshop through all the demons, although I think they also kept them deliberately off camera.” 

Q: What did you think of your music shop when you first saw the set? Did you have a favourite poster or prop?

A: “I thought it was incredible! It could’ve been an actual music shop with all the instruments hanging up with the “Arnold’s” price tags on. The attention to detail was incredible, well IS incredible as I understand it’s all still there. It’s hard to pick a favourite to be honest. I did a little video walkaround on my phone at the time so maybe I’ll post that if I won’t get in trouble. Interestingly the shop interior itself was elsewhere on the set to the shop entrance you see from the street. You walk out of Aziraphale’s shop, over the road, through the door of the music shop and… there’s nothing.” 

Q: Mr. Arnold is tempted into the ball by a Doctor Who Annual and is playing the theme in the music shop scene – are you a fan of Doctor Who in real life? And what was it like making those jokes and references in front of the Tenth Doctor David Tennant?

A: “I’ve always dipped in and out of Doctor Who over the years since Sylvestor McCoy, who was doing it when I first became aware of it when I was growing up. Even if you’re not a fan it’s one of those shows you can’t really get away from, so doing that particular scene in front of David was really fun, and of course Douglas had directed Doctor Who as well. Apart from the amusing situation of two supposed Doctor Who fans talking about Doctor Who without realising they’re in the company of a Doctor Who, I also seem to remember Michael being the one to suggest that he would deliver his “due to problems at the BBC” line directly to David.

Oh, and I think it was actually my idea to grab the annual off the harpsichord before joining the queue behind Crowley at the end of the ballroom scene (which we’d shot weeks earlier at this point). When we were blocking it out and rehearsing I knew I had to leave my position and get to the front for my “surrender the angle” line, and then later it just felt like I wouldn’t leave without the annual so I ran back through everyone to grab it. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me doing that so I just carried on doing it when we shot it! I do remember it being a fun set with Douglas and the team being very open to suggestions.”

Q: How did you balance filming both Good Omens and BBC Ghosts at the same time?

A: “Luckily both shows were a joy to work on, and everyone seems to know about both of them. We were shooting them in early 2022 and I also had a little part in an ITV drama called ‘Stonehouse’, starring Matthew Macfadyen. I usually never know when I’m working next so to have three great TV jobs at once was very unusual. There was all this date juggling and I actually almost had to turn down Ghosts due to clashes. Luckily both shows had to move some dates so it worked out. But yes, I spent two weeks up in Scotland shooting all that Good Omens ballroom stuff, then I came back down to London to do Ghosts, knowing I’d be back up to shoot my scenes in the music shop in a couple of weeks. Now, when I found out who was playing my wife in Ghosts I couldn’t believe it: Caroline Sheen – Michael Sheen’s cousin! She was amazing and that was another great set in general. I say “set”, but it’s all filmed in that house which surprised me. I’d worked with Kiell [Smith-Bynoe] and Jim [Howick] before, and Charlotte [Ritchie] was in the Good Omens radio play a few years ago and a big fan of the book. Charlotte’s very musical of course and we got talking about my folding keyboard I had for practising my Good Omens stuff, and she ended up setting it up in the house for us to have a play on!

Now, when we’d shot all our internal scenes there was this big storm forecast, and our external scenes were scheduled for the day of the storm, so that had to be moved into the next week. It meant I ended up shooting those scenes outside the house, then going straight back up to Scotland to shoot the Good Omens music shop scene the next day! When I mentioned to Michael I’d just worked with Caroline he said “ooh she’s in Ghosts is she!” and revealed that she’d texted him about me which was rather surreal. Then later after the Ghosts wrap party Kiell gave me a part in his Channel 4 Blap, so at the time I felt like I was killing it career wise, but the industry quietened a bit after that and my workload eased off over the year so I was in my overdraft by November.”

Q: What are your plans for the future – can we expect to see you in something else soon?

A: “This year, after a bit of a quiet start, I was very fortunate to work on a Disney+ show called Rivals which stars… David Tennant! I think I’m allowed to say my character is called Brian, and I shot five episodes so that was another really amazing job, and great to work with David again (I told him he must be my good luck charm, although I hope he’s not sick of me). That should be out at some point in late 2024. Other than that I’ve filmed a few other bits I presume will be out next year, one of which is called Truelove on Channel 4 which actually looks really good. That starts early January. Of course now Season 3 of Good Omens has been greenlit, I would love Neil and the gang to have me back on that… but I can only keep my fingers crossed!”

#good omens #gos2 #season 2 #swirlywords #rich keeble #mr arnold #2ep5 #2i5i4 #2i5i15 #bts #photos #bts photos #interview #rich keeble interview #rivals #skittles #eric #disposable demon #paul adeyefa #ann louise ross #demon skittles #donna preston #mrs sandwich #tim downie #mr brown #magic shop #fun fact #s2 interview

[colleendoran]

The Secret Language of a Page of Chivalry: The Pre-Raphaelite Connection

Adapting Neil Gaiman’s Chivalry is a decades-long dream fulfilled. The story as text can be enjoyed on multiple levels, and so can the art. You look at the pages and see the pretty pictures, but the pictures also have meta-textual meaning. Knowing this secret language adds to the experience.

Some people pick up the references quickly, but I’ll share with you some more of what’s going on under the surface.

In Ye Olden Days of Art Making, most painters made pictures that contained visual narrative cues. Flowers in a picture might be heraldic signs that signaled political affiliations, or could indicate purity, anger, or love. Purple was the color of kings. A dog in a picture might represent faithfulness, and butterflies could represent the soul.

There are Pre-Raphaelite paintings with so many symbols and ideas in them that you need a deep working knowledge of Victorian and Edwardian social mores to understand what’s going on.

For example, Ford Madox Brown’s Work, a painting which took some 13 years to complete, was first exhibited in 1865 with a catalogue explaining all its symbols and elements. There is nothing in that picture that doesn’t mean something.

I brought some of that visual meta-textual sensibility to Chivalry, (and I’ve written about the symbolism and meanings in the work in other essays.)

I also brought into the work direct Pre-Raphaelite art references.

From 1868-1870, Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones created four paintings illuminating the tale of Pygmalion and Galatea, entitled Pygmalion and the Image, and wrote a poem with each line titling one painting:

The heart desires

The hand refrains

The godhead fires

The soul attains.

A perfect little poem for Chivalry, and I think of it often when some people present me with what I think is a very strange question: why didn’t Galaad just take the Holy Grail from Mrs. Whitaker?

It kind of breaks my heart that people would even ask that.

Burne-Jones painted two versions of this series of which this is the second.

In the first panel of this page, Sir Galaad kneeling before the Grail is derived from the figure of Pygmalion kneeling before Galatea: The Soul Attains.

Sir Galaad’s restraint even in the face of his greatest desire makes him worthy of his prize.

There are two Pre-Raphalite references in this page, the most obvious being in panel 2: it’s Sir John Everett Millais’s 1857 work A Dream of the Past: Sir Isumbras at the Ford.

The painting was very poorly received on first exhibition, compelling Millais to redo significant portions of it. It was caricatured and ridiculed, and then ended up becoming influential and popular, and isn’t that the way it goes.

That’s an art career in a nutshell, really.

The Sir Isumbras image also influenced John Tenniel’s illustrations for the Lewis Carroll Alice in Wonderland novels.

Sir Isumbras derives from a 13th century Medieval romance poem about a good knight whose pride causes him to fail in his Christian duty. He is presented with a series of difficult challenges before he can find happiness again, reunite with his family, and be forgiven his sins. The painting by Millais is based less explicitly on the poem than it is on a later parody of the poem. (It’s complicated.)

My using Sir Isumbras as the base for the shot of Galaad with the children is obvious here. In the Millais painting, Sir Isumbras carries a woodcutter’s children across the ford. In Chivalry, Sir Galaad carries the children of Mrs. Whitaker’s neighborhood down the street.

While Sir Isumbras spent many years learning humility and Christian duty, Galaad has a long quest to fulfill before he can achieve his goal. And on the way to that goal, he’s humble and nice to children, too.

That the Millais painting was such a huge influence on many a depiction of knighthood over the years made it a perfect reference point here, and the story behind both the painting and the poem give it further layers of meaning.

The next panel has a far less obvious reference, but the source is Arthur Hughes’s painting The Rescue.

Arthur Hughes is one of the lesser-known Pre-Raphaelites, but his art is widely seen and influential. He’s certainly been a big influence on me, as many of his paintings appear again and again in Arthuriana references, as he was a prolific King Arthur picture tale teller.

The Rescue (1907-1908) was originally part of a diptych which was separated and sold back in the 1920’s. His style was becoming unpopular by the time Hughes painted the work, and little is known about this work except that one panel was in the collection of Andrew Lloyd Webber at some point. Maybe still is. Dunno.

Anyway, the diptych depicts a little child kneeling in prayer menaced by a dragon in one panel, and in the next, safely trotting away with a knight on horseback. I like that this is a diptych, a kind of proto-comic art form common in medieval religious art, so this was perfect to use here.

Another reference to Arthur Hughes is in this double page splash from later in the book as Galaad on his quest encounters the Hesperides.

I didn’t set out to reference this Arthur Hughes piece at first, but it’s one of my favorite paintings. When I realized my sketches for this scene kept echoing the Hughes composition, I went with it. The Hughes painting of Galahad is one of the most famous depictions of the character, so it makes me happy to have this referenced in Chivalry.

Kindly ask for CHIVALRY, published by Dark Horse Comics in the USA and by Headline Books in the UK at your local comic shops or bookstore. Written by Neil Gaiman. Adaptation and art by me.

For further reading on this project, go HERE.

HERE.

And HERE.

Thank you to my Patreon patrons for sponsoring my work and this post.

Colleen Doran Illustrates Neil Gaiman will be a solo exhibit at the Society of Illustrators in New York City this spring. Watch this space for updates.

Have a wonderful holiday season.

#neil gaiman #dark horse comics #king arthur #Sir Galahad #Comics #graphic novel #fantasy graphic novel #watercolor #pre raphaelite #pre raphaelism

[myosotisa]

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ  summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 12k

ǁ  Part 1 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more. 

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started. 

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before��?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances  without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake. 

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.” 

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

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thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4munson

[mamuscript]

They Had To

After we watched the season finale - and then rewatched it, then rewatched both seasons, then watched about a hundred hours of YouTube edits (that last one may have been just me) - we had an hours-long argument about who was “at fault.” After the last ten agonizing minutes of GO2, my hubba was very anti-Aziraphale.

I can’t really blame him for feeling that way - that “I Forgive You” is seared into my soul in a way I’m not ready to forgive Mr. Gaiman for, yet. It was crushing, and the way you could see the hope draining from Crowley is a study in expertise by David Tennant.

I heard someone say recently that you know a storyteller has done their job when you get to the end and, however much you never saw it coming before, once you arrive there, it seems as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning. 

This is the beauty, the agony, and the absolute mastery of the final fifteen minutes of GO2.

Because neither Crowley or Aziraphale could have done anything else in that scene. 

Crowley was cast out of Heaven for what we have reason to believe was a minor infraction. He’s spent millenia witnessing the cruelty, unfairness, and incompetence of Heaven. He looked into Gabriel’s face as the archangel told (who he believed to be) Aziraphale to shut his stupid mouth and die, already. In the deleted scenes, we see that he witnessed Heaven giving a demon permission to humiliate Aziraphale, just for fun, before they killed him - which is the height of cruelty; cruelty for cruelty’s sake. There is no question in Crowley’s mind that Heaven are the bad guys just as much as Hell - possibly more so, since they wear a cloak of righteousness while they commit their atrocities. At least Hell is honest about what they’re doing.

There’s no world in which Crowley could ever agree to go back to working for Heaven, and part of the pain of that scene is that if Aziraphale had taken a moment to really think about it, he would have realized that.

But.

First (and I identify with this way too strongly), Aziraphale is a company man. He knows that there are problems in middle management, but he still believes in the rightness and goodness of God. As far as he’s concerned, Heaven isn’t the archangels or the Metatron; Heaven is God. And while God, as far as he knows, is responsible for the eviction from Eden, and for the flood, and for allowing humans who start off in abject poverty to be judged by the same standards as those who are given more advantages, he also truly believes in the ineffability of God. He was told, long ago, that all of these things are part of the Ineffable Plan, and Aziraphale would never think to believe that anybody was deceiving him - either intentionally or otherwise - without being explicitly told so.

And crucially, he hasn’t seen what Crowley has seen. He didn’t witness - and hasn’t been told about - whatever transgression Crowley committed that resulted in his fall, and however much he has grown to love Crowley for who the demon has become alongside him, he doesn’t have enough information to know that Crowley didn’t deserve to be cast out at the time. And Aziraphale was not there when Gabriel told him to die; he didn’t look into Gabriel’s face and see the pure, cold malevolence there, the proof that however much goodness there may still be in God, She isn’t actively calling the shots, and the beings who are are ruthless and capable of malevolence. He hasn’t had that experience and doesn’t have that depth of understanding.

But most importantly, Aziraphale is, at his core, a being of justice, of love, of goodness. He has seen things like the flood, he knows there are problems, and he has been powerless in the face of them - but now, he can help. “I can make a difference,” he says. Aziraphale, because of his core nature, cannot see an opportunity to make the world and Heaven a better place and not seize it. 

He can’t have made any choice other than the one he made. And if Crowley had taken a moment to really think about it, he would have known that he was asking the impossible.

So, for my money, the tragedy of that scene didn’t begin when Crowley said, “And you told him just where he can stick it, then?” even though that was the beginning of the most painful moments of the series, perhaps of all of television (at least for me). All of that - Crowley’s rejection of Heaven, Aziraphale’s rejection of Crowley’s declaration of love, their brutal separation - was inevitable the second the Metatron put the offer on the table. 

(Which, among other things, means that the Metatron is a deeply manipulative villain.) That’s what makes the final scene so riveting, so painful. It’s not only that we want these two beings to be happy and in love and together, and due to pride and miscommunication they aren't. It’s that with who each of them is in their soul, as things currently stand, they are incapable of being together.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #neil gaiman #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

[mtvatlas]

NOTE: This is Billy's general and frankly MAIN universe. it is HEAVILY inspired by the works of Joe Hill and a smidge of Neil Gaiman for vibes. The Night Road is an element of Joe Hill's works and their adaptations and is first mentioned in his novel Heart Shaped Box.

Something happened to Billy all those years ago, what it was exactly he doesn’t say and no one who was around for it is either gone or conspicuously won’t talk about it. But he’s different now. Never been the same since— assuming he’s even alive. He certainly hasn’t been back there and if the people who knew him saw him, they’re not saying anything. It’s not clear if it’s because he doesn’t want to go or because he can’t go. There’s a story though, an urban myth really.

Here’s how it goes:

Back in the 80s there was this real hard glam rock kinda guy, real poster child for the whole 80s vibe— mullet, single earring, leather jacket, muscles, heavy metal, hot rod and a fuck you attitude. His name was Billy Hargrove and he was from California. His mom left him with his bastard of a dad when he was a kid then Billy got saddled him with a younger sister when he remarried. It wasn’t a good time for anyone but it was especially bad for Billy. See Mr. Hargrove was a real piece of work, he beat Billy just for looking at him wrong. Didn’t like anyone that wasn’t himself. And that made Billy mean too. When Billy was 17 things went really south and they ended up in some loser podunk midwest town to get away from the fall out. Billy got real angry after that. Drinking, fighting, sleeping around — the whole 9 yards — he really got wild. Like he had a death wish or something. And maybe he did seeing how things went.

So one night Billy had this date with some girl and he’s speeding along in his Camaro — as usual — and he doesn’t come back. It’s like he just drove into the night and got eaten up by it. Not so crazy either on those rural roads, all those trees and no street lights make it darker than dark. Most people thought he’d finally gotten into an accident somewhere or bailed out of town. But they never found a wreck and if he did skip town he’d left with nothing but the clothes on his back and a lot of very sellable shit behind — not exactly the actions of a dude who’s looking to head back to Malibu.

Only people could still hear his car roaring down the road. I mean you could NOT mistake this for anything else. Billy Hargrove was the only guy in town with a hot rod and the only one who drove like he wanted you to know he was coming for ya. His old man swore he heard it all the time, even as he had one foot out the door sayin’ he was dumping his wife and step-daughter and moving on to somewhere better. Every night he’d hear that fucking Camaro and sometimes in the day, sometimes just outside the bank where he worked as a security guard. Claimed he heard weird shit on the radio too, Billy’s heavy metal and some DJ talking about The Night Road. Said he heard screams of the damned. First he blamed the step-daughter for it but how the hell could she hack the airwaves? Finally he seemed to totally snap and said he was leaving this godless place and going somewhere better, somewhere a man like him deserved.

Never got somewhere better but he did get somewhere he deserved. He went missing one night, truck still in the driveway, headlights on and the driver’s door open. The only evidence was tire tracks. They matched Billy’s Camaro. They never found a body but his wife did get a call a few days later. It was Billy saying he’d took pops for a little bonding trip, wished her and the brat a nice life and hung up. She knew was a widow now and whatever trip they’d took it wasn’t any kind she’d ever understand. Or want to.

See whatever happened to Billy it made him different. Like some kinda fucking ghost rider or whatever. See there’s this road the NIGHT ROAD — it runs from from north to south following the I-95 but also it’s everywhere and it’s nowhere. Either way it ends in Florida cause you see it ends in HELL. And Florida’s pretty 1 for 1 on being Hell. To get on the Night Road there’s gotta be something a little dark in you, a little wrong, and once you’re on it you can get to places you never knew existed. It’s like Route 66 for the supernatural or something. And Billy? Billy’s on that road now, some kine of 80s grim reaper blaring Metallica while he comes to take someone to Hell.

He’s not Santa, he doesn’t have a naughty or nice list. No one really knows when he’s gonna show up or why most of the time. But if you piss him off or summon him well, we’ll never forget you. So if you’re ever driving on an empty road at night and suddenly there’s headlights behind you and a radio blaring, it just might be Billy Hargrove making his rounds on the Night Road. And maybe he’s there for you.

#meta / ooc. #tbt / ooc. #BEHOLD! THE NEW CANON!

[idkhow-but-im-here]

OK OK OK OK OK

I finally finished Good Omens season 2 and I have so many fucking thoughts which I will list in no particular order:

The Doctor Who references are always golden. (somewhat related: that part when Crowley was bullshitting about war regulations in front of Shax & co in the bookshop? super reminiscent of Ten’s speedy sci-fi jargon)

The music, as always, fucking slaps, especially at the end of each episode when the theme is played in a related style I love it so much

Nina and Maggie!!! I do really like them as a ship (coffee shop + record shop? that’s a built-in au fic) but I also like how they’re not actually together at the end. I love how they’re so healthy in how they go about their potential relationship, both acknowledging how messed up it was for Aziraphale/Crowley to meddle with their lives and how dumb it would be to rush into something headfirst regardless of all the shit they had been through both togther and as individuals. Also Fuck Lindsay all my homies hate Lindsay, as much as I liked what they did with visualising her shitty messages (the blackboard and crumpled notepad sheets? because of coffee shop reasons and how Nina’s work and love life was suffocatingly forced together by the incessant behest of Lindsay)

<The dancing/ball/Jane Austen vibes3

Beezelbub and Gabriel!?!? When I first came across this ship on ao3 I thought this ship made somewhat sense but would stay in the realms of fanon yet here I am disproven and I can’t lie… they’re kinda cute together. I was caught off guard (like every other character) but fair dues to them. Their parallels with the ineffable husbands are just ughh *chef’s kiss*

^alpha centauri!!!^

Peter Davison and Ty Tennant??? Their appearances did make me giggle for meta’s sake. Perhaps a Georgia Tennant appearance in season 3? (if they make it please please please say they’ll make it)

WAS CROWLEY ACTUALLY RAPHAEL??? I thought it was just a headcanon/fan theory (which I did fall in love with after watching this beautiful animatic years ago) but Crowley having access to classified files and the Metatron mentioning that an archangel being cast out has happened before??? it’s becoming more and more plausible.

AND JUST PRE-FALL CROWLEY IN GENERAL HE LOOKS SO HAPPY all he ever did was ask valid questions goddamnit (literally). nebulae are very pretty I would also be indignant if they weren’t gonna stick around for long. AND THE PARALLEL TO THE FIRST EPISODE WITH THE WINGSSS

Crowley just being a good nice decent person all throughout time (the goats, children, helping out elspeth, ect) it makes me happy

ANDD Aziraphale’s reactions (both positive and negative) to aforementioned deeds create a great moral foil to Crowley and perfectly builds up to what we see at the end (I’ll probably write about s2 Aziraphale in a different post because man I have so many thoughts)

Crowley’s callbacks to the date lunch at the Ritz!! Him talking to Nina and Maggie about taking Aziraphale to the Ritz again to him pointing out the lack of a nightingale (idk if that was leaning into meta a little but it didn’t bother me) just HURT so damn much

“Emotional damage support angel” you’re damn right he is/was

The battery-powered candles lmfaooo and literally any reference to the fire, including the absurd number of fire extinguishers, had me giggling

Muriel is a goddamned (or not so in some sense) treasure, a little ray of sunshine with a heart of gold and dumb of ass. I adore her and found Aziraphale and Crowley humouring her hilarious.

THE SECOND COMING??? I’m sorry wHAT WE ALREADY HAD THE ANTICHRIST NOW WE’RE DEALING WITH CHRIST CHRIST? YOU CAN’T LEAVE US WITH JUST THAT MR. GAIMAN

and of course the bloody

K I S S

THAT WHOLE SEQUENCE OF CROWLEY FINALLY FINALLY OPENING UP AND JUST BEING WHOLEHEARTEDLY HONEST (going against his predisposition and entire NATURE to lie/omit or walk around the truth)

CONFESSING HIS TRUE FEELING AFTER COUNTLESS MILLENNIA OF PINING EVEN AFTER AZIRAPHALE DROPPED THAT BOMBSHELL

AND HALF STORMING OFF BEFORE GOING BACK TO KISS THE SHIT OUT OF HIM AND THEN FULLY STORMING OFF

with aziraphale clearly unsure of how to react BUT STILL TOUCHES HIS LIPS IN SHOCK AS HE WATCHES CROWLEY LEAVE

That shit had me fully standing up on the sofa, arms in brace position, gasping, screaming, close to tears, indignantly repeating “NEIL GAIMAN!” every couple of seconds

Truly a brilliant scene and a brilliant season overall.

As always the cast, the writers, the set designers, the effects artists, the costumers, the camera crew, everyone who had a part in creating go2 was fucking fantastic.

#i’m genuinely not ok after watching it #there’s so much more to talk about but i have been typing for well over an hour #season 3 is not a want it’s a NEED #please i beg #everything needs to be resolved #good omens #good omens spoilers #go2 spoilers

[notalostcausejustyet]

As most everyone who circles around the internet knows by now, the Good Omens fandom exists. And it has gone rather feral since the release of S2. And I want to talk about that a bit, because while I’m sure it all very eye-roll inducing from the outside, there are a myriad number of reasons WHY this book and this show in particular have resonated the way they have. I grew up in a very religious household, Baptist, fundamentalist Baptist in fact. Nowadays considered extreme even by a portion of the Christian community. When I was growing up there was “The Way Things Are”. The “TRUTH” and there was the world from which you must be sheltered at all cost so as not to lose your “innocence” (please forgive the gratuitous use of parentheses through this). I was young when the novel was released, 7 and I did not discover it until I was a bit older, round about the time I started managing to get peeks at the wider world (Star Trek was one of the first glimpses I had) and it began to raise questions. Something was amiss in the version of morality that I had been taught, vs the actual world and morality as it pertains to the conundrum of humanity. Morality was not black and white. Good and evil, right and wrong, these were not a thing that could measured by the yardstick I had been given. And then, Good Omens. In the pages of this book (that I most decidedly did NOT have, it lived at the library and was read in bits and pieces) I found language for what had been only a tiny spark at the back of my mind. Language that that laid out my questions and discomfort in a way I didn’t know how to express. Language that drove me to know more, to learn more, to ask more. And in doing so I set my mind free. So many of us come from a background of religious trauma. We struggle SO much to make sense of what we intrinsically KNOW to be good and just against what we were indoctrinated into growing up. Here we find a mirror and then we are given the means to look beyond it. Good Omens is, at its heart a love story. But not only, or even just, that of an angel and a demon. It’s about being a lover of truth. It’s about love not in spite of flaws, but because of them. It’s about loving humanity and ourselves and all of the extremes and dichotomies that we are made up of. The truth is that humanity is not perfect. Far from it, but the agony and the glory and the sheer unfiltered raw mess of it all is what creates the human experience. These extremes are where art and music and fast cars and good food and wine and the perfect cup of coffee and LOVE is born. And morality, true morality is rarely wholly good, or wholly evil. It exists in the liminal spaces that we all dwell in. Good Omens allows us to see that, to accept it in the world and in ourselves and to love, not in spite, but because of it. So thank you Mr Gaiman, and Sir Pratchett who now wields his pen in the stardust. You have given us more than you perhaps you knew.

#good ineffable omens #ineffable idiots #good omens #books #ex religious #religious themes #religious trauma #growth #terry pratchett #niel gaiman

[milli0n-dollar-fool]

spoilers

since mr gaiman said we could maybe write our notes as we watch each episode i’m going to start doing that because i need to understand what happened the whole season LMAO im so distracted by ep*s*d* s*x

Episode 1 – The Arrival

The thing Crowley is holding looks like the thing he used to stop time

His hair is GORGEOUS

He’s so bubbly and wholesome

Aziraphale didn’t know he was helping to make the stars

This is why Crowley wanted so badly to go to the stars with Aziraphale last season

Crowley sort of refers to Aziraphale as kind of below him? Like rank-wise (note Aziraphale is a cherub?)

Aziraphale looked so hopeful introducing himself to Crowley then he doesn’t even tell him his name LMAO

HIS EXCITED SQUEAL

Is this how he wanted to watch the world go in season 1? From space with Aziraphale?

Not aziraphale thinking Crowley was referring to him with the “look at you, you’re gorgeous”

“and I think you’ve done an excellent job” shoot me now

So this is what Crowley is like with a will to live (JOKING)

“stars everywhere” didn’t he say that in the “what are they putting in bananas these days”

Help the music sliding down when aziraphale breaks the news I didn’t notice that before

Crowley’s face

‘call it a nebula’ HE’S SO PROUD OF IT

‘if I was the one running it all’ *immediately looks around nervously*

‘how much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions’ honey you’ve got a big storm coming

THE STARS RAINING AND THE WING AHHHHHH

Love David tennant getting his name before Michael sheen in the credits

We didn’t see the blimps or raining rabbits in this season – s3?

Switched little sign thingies

THE SIGN CROWLEY WROTE ABOUT CLOSING TIMES AHH

“hello Maggie” HIS VOICE IS SO GENTLE

“what if I were to take these Shostakovich records without paying for him” HE SAYS IT SO MISCHIEVIOUSLY  

Also I love some of shostakovich’s pieces

“I’m very good at forgiveness, it’s one of my favourite things” PARALLEL TO “I FORGIVE YOU” RAHHH

I like how you can see crowleys eyes behind his sunglasses

“frozen peas” he’s not letting down his man aziraphale

She has her order memorized AHRIOAA

Head empty no thoughts goob intro

HELP ME THE BARE HUG SQUEEZE I WOULD RATHER DIE

STOP LOOKING UP AND DOWN AZIRAPHALE

‘near one particular person’ ‘no certainly not’ bffr

Was the something terrible thing heaven hunting him down

His smirk at “his royal smugness is in trouble that’s so sad” AHHHH

“you’re funny. I love you” hello?

The fly in the box heh

Aww his face after ‘what box’

I will die for Muriel  

TONE OF VOICE

“go back a long time’ ok

‘because there’s a naked man there?’ JEALOUSSSS

“is it something I can help you with?’ JEALOUSSSS

So like we were right about Crowley eating/drinking really fast

“purely selfish action’ not very angelic of you

I wonder what the rest of his keys are for

HIM PUTTING HIS GLASSES ON THE HORSE LMAO

“ask him properly” I jumped

“I am dusting” HE JUMPED LMAO

Dartmoor sherlock reference I see you

Arguing 25 minutes into the show I see

‘precious, peaceful, fragile’ man

‘if you refuse to help me you’re at liberty to go’ paralleling ep*s*d* s*x is gut wrenching  

“no, I would love you to help me” im crying he really is picking up the pace

How long was that blue car out there for  

Ngl him smiting everywhere was kinda

“you’re misunderstanding me uriel” “im understanding you very well. You think somebody should be giving orders and that someone is you” PARALLEL TO THE END

I unironically love Michael

Crowley looks so tired in his Bentley :(

For a sec I thought we were going to get traitor traitor Crowley  

The way he sprawls lmao

Beelzebub trying to find the man theyre down bad for lmao

The way they converse comfortably instead of Crowley being afraid of Beelzebub  

Aww Maggie being sheltered :(

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

“theres only room for one of us in this lane and it’s not you” crying

I love how nina remembers people based off their coffee order – That’s Mr Six Shots of Expresso

“my bad” aww

The way he was listing when he did the I was wrong dance WHAT HAPPENED

Were those the years of the flashbacks I’ll check later (1650, 1793, 1941)

I love the dance I need the backstory

“very nice” rolling

“together” im crying

Parenting is going well

‘it would barely move the dials’ okay

They look so determined

Their smiles when they thought they did the miracle right aww

And theres the end of the episode folks what do we think

#this is for my use lmao #might be interesting for other people to see as well #please tell me your thoughts i can't hold this in forever #not me being the only friend with prime none of my other friends have watched it :( #i have a class tomorrow with my favourite teacher who's already watched it can't wait to lose our minds together #good omens show #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #spoilers #go2 spoilers #ready to marry anyone who diligently tags spoilers

[neil-gaiman]

Hullo mr. Gaiman!

Sure as hell you receive quite the number of asks, can only hope you’ll see this one. It may be my second ask of this kind and I’m not trying to spam but I happen to have… slightly miscalculated something. Trying to ask does no harm though.

Some time ago, like a bit more than a month, I sent you an ask saying that I’d mailed you a drawing, but there’d been a bit of a mess with the address and I couldn’t be sure wether you’d receive it, asking if I could send it here just in case. You did answer (thanks!) and I did send it some time after, cause well I kinda was on a stage in the meantime, so I guess you didn’t see that at all, and well. I underestimated my curiosity ‘bout what you’d think of it. A Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall-sized bit of curiosity. It’d just be really really really cool if I had the certainty you saw this drawing here. It has some meaning to me, at least. It’s only that like, I use art as my only way to express positive emotions since I was quite little, I seem to be learning only now at almost 21 (and thanks to your works I’d add) to do so other ways than that. My approach to life seems to have been a bit of a mess since… well, always. And a bit of an unusual life it’s been. So here it is:

Some of it is charcoal, some is sewn, some is sand. I just kinda skipped the choosing-technique part.

Thank you again,

V.

It looks like real art and it looks like me as well.

[ariaste]

hi just read magic trick you didn’t see for the first time. was super impressed - both you and of course mr. gaiman thought all this through incredibly well and it’s very clear you’re very good at your jobs. just wanted to say thanks for making it! thank you for sharing your lovely incredible analysis with everyone! i’m excited to see where s3 takes us now and i’m excited for YOU to have your suspicions confirmed or maybe denied to be replaced with something even more exciting! overall i just think what you wrote made ME feel so much more excited for s3 and has really brought back my passion for this show. will definitely be checking out some of your fantasy novels as it’s clear you’re a wonderful magician/artist. no need to respond if you don’t like - i’m sure you get plenty of these messages a day. just wanted to let you know how appreciative of and excited and intrigued by your essay/analysis i was!!!!! it was AMAZING!!! thank you!

Thank you, that's so kind! It's really heartwarming to hear when people say they're going to check out my published books after reading my analysis! :) I hope you enjoy them!

#good omens #ask #alexandra rowland #writing

[nice-and-accurate-ramblings]

⚠️WARNING: GOOD OMENS 2 EPISODE 1&2 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!⚠️

I need to get my live reactions out because I am LOSING IT. Do not read beyond this point if you don’t want spoilers for the first two episodes!!!

I am going insane after the prime premiere so here are my insane ramblings externalized:

THE COLD OPEN IN EPISODE 1 KILLED ME IN MY SEAT INSTANTLY

THE NEBULA. ANGEL CROWLEY (whose name we don’t get, ofc, that made me laugh). HE WAS SO EXCITED AND AZIRAPHALE’S “I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU GET INTO TROUBLE” AND THE W I N G.

The fjuckin. WING. I AM UNWELL. I AM GOING INSANE JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

AAAAAAAAAA

And then the title music played and I apologized to my friend that I dragged to the premiere for being Extremely Not Normal. And then told her it Would Get Worse.

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY, IM-

Maggie: Oh nooooo, we’re locked in the coffee shop together,,, what will we doooooo (every fanfic author in the room just got so many ideas.)

Hm. Lindsey, huh? Hmmmmm.

That’s uh. Not a normal amount of texts. That seems a bit Not Great. I’m watching you Lindsey. I haven’t seen you yet but I am watching

THE APOLOGY DANCE AHSHDJFJF!!! Stan Pines and Crowley have something in common apparently. Also. Aziraphale what do you mean you had to do it in 1941. what were those other times. Where did this come from. I need EXPLANATIONS.

There’s no way their two-halves-make-a-whole miracle is what set off alarms in heaven. Gabriel Absolutely Did Something.

There are too many flies in the book shop for this to NOT come back to Beelzebub somehow

Re: Beelzebub- why ask Crowley to keep them in the loop if Shax already asked him that? Are they just not communicating, or is this somehow connected to Beelzebub???

My heart fuckin stopped when Gabriel started singing Everyday.

Crowley. Crowley I need you to repeat that bit about Jane Austen. CROWLEY YOU CAN’T JUST DROP THAT, I-

Good to know that scene overlooking the ocean was in fact as emotionally intense as expected. aaaAAAAAA

Re: Job minisode- “I’m a demon. I lied.” Gives a whole new fuckin context to the “Would I lie to you” “You’re a demon” from season 1. AaaAAAA

Another one from that minisode: Aziraphale thinking that heaven could be convinced to not destroy the earth if they just understood properly in season 1… aziraphale being disgusted by human food and drinks until he was tempted to try it and understood… Mr Gaiman I am in your walls for this

Anthony J “You can’t kill kids” Crowley strikes again. And we still don’t get clarification on what kind of kids he meant, which is incredible honestly. Plus, the goats were adorable :)

How is the jukebox doing the same thing as the Bentley. Is this a “every record eventually turns into Everyday in the same way music left in a car too long turns into Best of Queen” or is this a Pointed Thing

Have I mentioned that I would die for Muriel? I would die for Muriel. It has been two episodes and I simply adore the low ranking sunshine angel.

They are so fucking married

“OUR CAR” “OUR BOOKSHOP” they are so fucking married. Crowley why are you sleeping in your car, pls it’s OUR bookshop 😭😭😭

Aziraphale took drivers tests before they were cool (aka mandatory) 🙄 come on Crowley keep up

Aziraphale driving the Bentley is something I didn’t know I needed and yET-

First the “naked man friend” comment and then a random guy stealing the seat across from Aziraphale in the pub… rip crowley

Gabriel with the Terry Pratchett paperback… Gabriel reading off the first line of Good Omens… wait the book exists in the world of the show- Aziraphale owns the book in the world of the show- what

Never thought “Archangels don’t know where babies come from” would be a plot point and yet. Here we are.

Pausing one more time to go absolutely feral over the ending of the Job minisode because that played my heartstrings like a FIDDLE. “I’m like you now” “I’m a fallen Angel” and “I’m not here to take you to hell, don’t think you’d like it”; “I’m on my own side” “Sounds lonely” and “I’m a demon. I lied.”; how heckin PRETTY THE WHOLE SCENE WAS

someone please send help because idk how I’m going to be normal after this.

Okay, scheduling this for a little after the episodes drop and spoiler tagging like crazy! SOON, THE REST!!!

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #goodomenss2spoilers #gos2 spoilers #gos2 #good omens liveblog

[americangodstalk]

American Gods’ incomplete bibliography (3)

If you want to have access to the full, original bibliography as prepared by Neil Gaiman (it has a lot more info I do not put in my posts - my posts are just summaries and recaps of the original bibliography) you just need to go check Neil Gaiman’s website right here: https://www.neilgaiman.com/works/Books/American+Gods/in/183/?type=Books&work=American+Gods

7) First Nations myths

God is Red: A Native View of Religion

Neil Gaiman considers it a “very readable book about religion from a Native American standpoint” - though he was a bit puzzled by how the middle of the book “wander into Velikovsky”. 

The Religions of the American Indians

American Indian Myths and Legends

The mythology of North America

8) Background books

On the Rez

A book about the Oglala Sioux on Pine Ridge Reservation, one of the porrest places in America (at least at the time Neil Gaiman put together his bibliography), and about SuAnne Big Crow, a basketball player. 

Confederates in the Attic: Despatches from the Unfinished Civil War

Neil Gaiman bought and tried to read it in preparation for American Gods, but couldn’t get into it... It took him two whole years to get into it again, as he was writing American Gods, and he devoured it. 

The Forbidden Zone

Neil Gaiman first read a chapter of this book while doing online research about slaughterhouses. Despite the book being out of print, he managed to obtain a copy from a New Mexico bookstore - and this book ended up shaping and informing American Gods in many ways, both direct and indirect. Neil Gaiman is really sad that it is out of print ; and he points out that he has been a fan of the author, Michael Lesy, ever since another one of his books, “Wisconsin Death Trip”, about painting a darker and disturbing picture of the Wisconsin in frontier times. Wisconsin Death Trip is in fact another one of the books that influenced American Gods: some anecdotes and attitudes from this book ended up being present in the Lakeside parts of the novel. 

The Day of the Dead and other reflections

(Of its actual title, The Day of the Dead and other mortal reflections)

Neil Gaiman considers the author one of his favorite essayist alongside David Quammen - and it is from this book that Neil Gaiman “got” Coatlicue. 

Stranger from a Distant Shore: A History of Asian Americans 

Neil Gaiman used this book to research a lot of stuff that “never worked its way into American Gods”, but that will maybe appear in another book. At least, this is what he writes in the bibliography, but since we are all American Gods fan of modern days, we now know what he referred to in the bibliography: the “Somewhere in America” deleted section about a kitsune ending up in a Japanese internment camp of WWII America. 

9) African heritage

As Neil Gaiman says, these are the books he used concerning Mr. Nancy, and “the tale of the twins” (Wututu and Agasu).

A Treasury of Afro-American Folklore + A Treasury of African Folklore, by Harold Courlander

The African Slave Trade, by Basil Davidson

The Slave Trade: The Story of African Slave Trade, 1440-1870

(Of its actual name, “The Slave Trade: The Story of the Atlantic Slave Trade)

Neil Gaiman precises that he took a lot from this book, written by Hugh Thomas, alongside Bullwhip Days (see below) - but he also admitted that he had to downplay what actually happened historically when writing “American Gods” because he didn’t want to turn his scenes into an “atricity exhibition”.

Bullwhip Days: The Slaves Remember - An Oral History

In Neil Gaiman’s words, “Urgent, human narratives and utterly heartbreaking”, as this book is a collection of the testimonies of the last surviving Americans who had been slave, collected in the mid-1930s.

Voodoo in New Orleans

Neil Gaiman explains that this book does not manage to convey the actual feel of the New Orlenas Voodoo, but it is an excellent book when it comes to the history of the “various Maries Laveau or Marie Laveaux”. However, if someone wants a better book by Robert Tallant, they should check Gumbo Yaya (see below)

Gumbo Yaya

Neil Gaiman was offered this book as a gift by Nancy Collins, and he realized he did need it a lot. It is an excellent book covering the folk beliefs, magic and folklore of New Orleans and Louisiana. 

Voodoo in Haiti

A “fairly useful and interesting book”, according to Neil Gaiman. He does say that there is a lot of better books about the topic of Haitian voodoo, but he included it in the list because it was the book he used to check stuff when writing American Gods.

#neil gaiman speaks #american gods bibliography #american gods #voodoo #african mythologies #afro american history #history of slavery #native american mythology #american history #asian american history #bibliography #references #books #neil gaiman

[thebcnfblog]

13 Books

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Not tagged by @softest-punk but I saw it on their page and decided to get involved.

1) The Last book I read:

Just finished Tana French’s “Broken Harbour”. I LOVE Tana French, particularly her Dublin Murder Squad series. I wasn’t very satisfied with the ending. It required too much suspended disbelief for me. Too many characters descending into madness at the same time very conveniently. But it was interesting to consider how many issues we cause for ourselves by attempting to be someone we think we should be.    

2) A book I recommend:

Not to be basic Tumblr bitch but Neil Gaiman’s “The Ocean at The End of The Lane”. The way he can articulate the terrible things that happen in childhood, how we deal with them, how we carry the memories, and the effect they have on us for the rest of our lives left me shaken and breathless. ”You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.” I wish I didn’t need this reminder but I do, so thank you, Neil.

Plus, I find it fascinating to see the difference between people who can intimately relate to it and those for whom it is just a story.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

Stephen King “The Waste Lands” The third book of The Dark Tower series. A book series that started out so promising and ended with me throwing the final book against the wall in disgust and cursing Mr. King to high heavens. For all the issues the final books in the series had “The Waste Lands” was an absolute masterpiece. I remember reading it on a train to work and nearly missing my spot because I needed to find out what happens next.   

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

One book?? Right. Stephen King’s “Salem’s Lot”. It absolutely terrified me when I read it as a teenager. I loved the feeling of small town America invaded by the supernatural which he writes so well. Plus, vampires!  I have a habit of re-reading it every time I go home, don’t really know why. I probably should get around to reading it in English at some point. 

Sometimes I re-read books by accident. I consume so much crime fiction that occasionally I will pick up a book from the library and happily read it with no recollection of the plot only to be told by GoodReads I’ve read it years ago.

5) A book on my TBR:

I am beginning to think this list was made by someone who isn’t a reader. One book? I guess it has to be R.F.Kuang “Babel”. I really want to read it. It's like The Secret History but in Oxford! I know I will enjoy it but I only have it on Kindle. I prefer reading long books in their physical form but the library copy is in hardback so it’s cumbersome to carry around. Thus it stays on my TBR.

First world problems of a bookworm.

6) A book I’ve put down:

Dan Brown “Angels and Demons”. I knew about his reputation when I picked it up, but I wanted something mindless to read and thought it would be fine. Reader, it wasn’t fine. Terrible, terrible writing. I couldn’t deal. Turns out I do have standards even for my trash reads.

7) A book on my wish list:

Stephanie Foo “What My Bones Know: A memoir of healing from complex trauma” I’ve read so many books on trauma and complex trauma both for my degree and for personal understanding. Surprising no one most of them are written by men. I’m very excited to read female perspective on it, plus she talks about generational trauma which is such an incredibly fascinating topic. 

8) A favorite book from childhood:

Alexander Dumas “The Three Musketeers”. I was obsessed with this book. OBSESSED. I’ve read it so many times I could recite pages of it. It introduced me to my first problematic fictional crush Athos, starting my love affair with all the sad tortured blorbos which going strong till this day. I named my dog Count de la Fere after him. I wanted to be a musketeer so bad. Still kind of do.  

9) A book you would give to a friend:

It does slightly depend on a friend but Amor Towles “A Gentleman in Moscow”. I was so blown away when I read it. I gave copies to my friends. I talked to everyone about it: friends, people on the internet, strangers in bookshops or on public transport (In London! Imagine the horror!) One of my friends refuses to read the last chapter till this day because she does not want the story to end. This is probably my proudest book gifting achievement.  

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own

The OG problematic bae Lord Byron Selected Works. It’s a second hand school library's copy from 1950’s full of underlinings and scribbled notes. I love seeing evidence of other people engaging with writing and thinking about words. 

Such a problematic person. Such a great poet. 

11) A nonfiction book you own:

Cindy Crab “Things That Help: Healing our lives through Feminism, Anarchism, Punk & Adventure”. I found this book in the feminist bookshop in Brighton when things weren’t going so great for me for the umptheen time and it was like pouring healing salve on my soul. It’s not a book in a traditional sense but a collection of self-published zines collected into a little tome. It destroyed my very conservative idea of what a book is and how “professional” it should look that I did not realise I held until that moment. Most importantly, it reminded me there are other ways of being in the world that a conventional way of living.    

12) What are you currently reading:

Teo van den Broeke “The Closet”. It’s a memoir of a fashion journalist who tells of growing up, coming out and figuring out himself through clothes that were important to him. It’s written in an easy, conversational style. As someone whose wardrobe consists of jeans, leggings and t-shirts I find it so interesting to peek into fashionista’s world.   

13) What are you planning on reading next?

Isabella Hammad “Enter Ghost”. It is a book set in Palestine about staging Hamlet and possibly also a queer love story. What more could you want from a book? Cannot wait to start this one!! 

#books #bookworm #reading #nobody asked but I'll tell y'all anyway #13 books