I see so many people feeling ridiculous for being crushed by the finale (me, that is me!). Terrified that they should not feel such deep pain and such a strong sense of loss because of a TV show. But is that really so surprising?
It is never truly about a TV show, is it?
If you have had a rough time in your real life for quite a while, and you were waiting for the finale to give you a bit of joy, of course this would hit hard. We are left thinking that even in fiction, a happy and peaceful existence is not an option. Love does not conquer all. The universe is rigged beyond saving. And if this is impossible in fiction, what does it mean for us, for our very real lives?
So if this is you, please do not feel that you are being ridiculous. Or at least know that it is me too :)
oh, what is that, buzzfeed? you were called out for a past transgression and you decided to quietly try and remove the evidence?
a real transgression that you deliberately chose for a cheap ‘comedy’ moment, not something done to you.
a transgression published by a ‘professional’ (and i use this term extremely loosely) ‘journalistic’ outlet on their official channel, not dug up from some high schooler’s private account.
a transgression that happened very recently, not a decade ago.
a transgression committed by adult ‘professionals’ (professional in the sense that they got paid for it, not any actual standards!).
a transgression that you profited from financially through increased traffic on your content.
where is your apology? where is your accountability?
As much as I would love to see Hudson and Connor do the puppy or kitten interview I’m too upset with Buzzfeed to want Hudson to have to deal with their racist asses ever again.
So instead I’d like to start manifesting that they get to go on Hot Ones or something. Then at least they’d get asked insightful questions and have some fun while eating spicy wings. Imagine the hilarious possibilities for unhinged things that Hudson and Connor could say!
Thinking about how if Crowley and Aziraphale had actually gone to America like they were supposed to, they would be charmed by the classic American diner
I can see them so clearly: Crowley stumbling in all groggy and sleep-ruffled still, Aziraphale looking serenely refreshed and dressed to the nines no matter the ungodly hour.
The two of them would sink into cracking, brightly colored vinyl booths that would squeak with their every move, or they'd perch on padded chrome stools at the sprawling countertop. Ancient but spotless formica tables splattered with funny, retro mid century designs like pink and grey boomerangs or atomic and celestial motifs in gold and teal and silver and black lining the walls, the smell of fried potatoes and endless quantities of toast mingling with the buzz of scattered conversation between regulars and newcomers alike.
Aziraphale would be intrigued by the excessively large menus, studying them day after day with a wrinkled brow and utmost concentration as a grumpy demon languishes across the table, half awake and suffering from a severe lack of caffeine. He'd delight in things such as a Western omelette ("what makes it Western, I wonder? It certainly doesn't put me in mind of our little stint in the Old West" "Angel, 's too early for waxing philosophical over why Americans do things the way they do) and incomprehensibly placed sprigs of curly parsley adorning a piping hot plate no matter the dish; even pancakes, he’d note with a bemused smile, could not escape their savory herbal adornment.
He'd be tickled by the casual warmth of "what’ll it be, hon?"offered by a waitress who looked as if she'd been running the place for ages, her eyes only slightly curious as she glances at the two of them. ("what's "hon" mean? She keeps callin' everyone that" "I can't pretend to know, but I think it must be something nice, anyway; I quite like it") At first Aziraphale would be concerned that they might draw too much attention to themselves here, what with his arguably outdated if classic fashion sense and Crowley's sunglasses coupled with his complete inability to sit upright for longer than 30 seconds, but they wouldn’t be spared a second look after their first visit; they must be used to all sorts, here.
Even Crowley would fall victim to the seduction that is a bottomless cup of scorching, perfectly brewed hot diner coffee, hotter than Hellfire yet somehow devoid of the bitterness of burnt beans.
"How d'you think they do it, angel," he'd ask one morning, staring down into his chipped, thick-walled ceramic mug. "Usually y'need a miracle to make coffee this good." Before the thought of a top-off could even fully form in his mind, the waitress would be there, pouring from a glass and plastic coffee pot with the precision of a heart surgeon without a word.
"...d'you reckon she can read minds," he'd whisper so seriously that Aziraphale wouldn't be able to hold back a giggle.
The two of them walking through the door with the jingly, cheery bell that reminds them both of the bookshop early in the morning or all hours of the night. Celestial Nighthawks illuminated by the lemony-toned light of an old century as they plot to stop the imminent Second Coming over coffee and apple pie à la mode Crowley would sneak bites of while Aziraphale would pretend not to look. An angel and demon determined to secure all the time in the world, their world, our world.
Ilya is so lucky that Shane proposed. Ilya would have been a nervous fucking wreck for the entire day beforehand. Wake up in the morning. Look in the mirror. Today's the day. Sob. Breathe. Okay I'm good! Turn around and Shane's hair is all in his face, still asleep on Ilya's pillow. I am NOT good. Cold shower. Breakfast that Ilya does not eat. Morning jog wherein Ilya runs like someone is chasing him. Lunch that Ilya does not eat. Drive out to the cottage. Make Shane pull over because Ilya needs to dry heave on the side of the road. "Baby we don't have to drive out today if you're not feeling well." "NO WE HAVE TO." Get to the cottage. Immediately send Shane on some kind of extended fool's errand. Shane wants to stay because Ilya is SHAKING and he is so worried. "No my love I'm fine it's just the breeze off the lake haha." It's thirty fuckig degrees Celsius. Shane finally gtfo's. Yuna, David, Rose FUCKING Landry all descend to help Ilya set up. Well. Ilya is supposed to be helping but he is standing on the deck fully dissociating. Yuna brings him tea. "Are you going to throw up the tea?" "Yes probably." Yuna takes away the tea. 800 electronic tea lights on the deck. In a parallel Ilya has no way of understanding, he both puts on and takes off a suit. Yuna fixes his curls into the hockey boy quasi-mullet that magnetizes Shane's fingers to Ilya's hair and says, "Oh, you're so handsome!" Ilya cries big fat tears. David tells a story about how his proposal to Yuna almost didn't happen because David went to the hospital for heart palpitations that morning. Thank You David That Does Not Help Even Remotely. Ilya slav squats on the lawn for twenty minutes. Shane's car pulls up in the driveway and everyone hides while Ilya vibrates in the entryway. Shane has no less than thirty grocery bags hanging from his arms, still complaining about why the grocery service cancelled their delivery last minute. Ilya leads Shane and all thirty of his grocery bags onto the deck. Shane is doing his favorite thing (bitching) and his second favorite thing (Follow Ilya) so he doesn't notice his own mother tiptoing behind him collecting the grocery bags he drops like breadcrumbs. There is an Oscar-winning actress hiding under his sofa and Shane does not notice because Ilya takes him on the deck and drops to his knees and Shane is like, "Haha, right now?" and then he sees that Ilya has a look on his face like he's just been told the sun is never coming up again and he has his hands on Shane's knees and he is saying, "Shane. Please?" and Shane puts his hands on his head and says "Oh my God baby what's happening to you" as Ilya melts and melts and then from the depths of the cottage someone who sounds a lot like Shane's very own father is whispering "The ring the ring" and when he looks back down Ilya is fumbling a ring box out of his pocket. The first picture of their proposal is Shane glaring into the middle distance with a hand cradling Ilya's curls like a baby while Ilya ugly sobs into his knee.
So just to recap: after MULTIPLE teasers emphasizing the romantic arc of Aziraphale and Crowley and a summary by Muriel showing The Kiss (tm), as well as Prime posting kissing art between the Ineffables, we got:
No second kiss
No I love you
No confession
No 1941 pt 3
No happy ending
No protective husbands
No wing shielding
No hug
No powerful shared miracles
No explanation for az's weird S2 F15 behavior
No acknowledgement of the kiss
No picnic
No Ritz
No surviving main characters
No CATHARSIS
Monkey's paw cottage
Did I miss anything?
There are two things I want to emphasize. 1) They KNEW what we wanted, because that's evident in how they advertised the show. 2) Not giving us ANY of it HAS to be intentional. They had to actually work to not allow the Aziraphale and Crowley arc to resolve satisfactorily. It would have been the most natural thing in the world, and it was actively prevented from happening.
Not to be the Friend Thats Too Woke about this but it is absolutely tacky and gross of Good Omens HQ to be selling a trans flag Crowley pin, as it suggests they may be aware of how queer fans view his story as a sort of trans allegory, but not aware enough to realize the finale had Crowley get all but deadnamed and told his old self was the best version of him (all compliments were delivered in the past tense in that scene) by his love interest before he died in a Big-Bang-Murder-Suicide. Like what, they don’t think pins of their rizzless bodysnatcher hays code ass final couple will sell? Wonder why not?
anyway good morning a crucial tenet of hollanov’s relationship is that they’re equals and they’re the only people in the world who could ever be each other’s equal. they were supposed to stand alone at the top but they’re there together. shane does not view ilya as a lazy useless inconvenience. ilya does not view shane as a nagging killjoy. they are equals and they both think the other is the best thing since sliced bread and they love each other but more importantly they LIKE each other. stop making them not like each other!
like ilya spends his entire life being told (by people objectively shittier than he is) that he’s not good enough, he’s lazy, he’s undisciplined, he lets people down. and then he meets the one person who would actually be in a position to assess whether ilya is any of those things, and shane just earnestly looks into his fucking soul and says no, they were wrong. ‘you’re an awesome player to watch’ ‘i don’t know that side of you at all’ ‘this isn’t what this is. me and you’
and it’s such a fucking tragedy that people are trying to push MyIlya back into a setting where he’s constantly being lectured about his inadequacies by the very person that canonically reminds him all the time that those inadequacies were figments of his dad’s imagination
feel the earthquake in the room, @quitequaintrelle / landscape, anonymous / same sun rising, @fifthstiel / good omens 01x06 / falconry revisited, triedunture / pavement, mallrat / till forever falls, @carry-the-sky (me ♡) / persuasion, jane austen / affection and other cravings, JustStandingHere / hera lindsay bird, from 'pamper me to hell and back' / it's written all over, ark / when harry met sally / first light, inkatesbush / photograph by alan crozier / fate is whatever has already happened, @possibility-left
hollanov fic: sleepy cuddly morning sex + quiet dirty talk
it's cold outside their blankets. ilya lies flush against shane's back. his arms hug him close. their legs lay tangled together in the duvet. shane woke first but allowed himself the lie-in. they don't have practice today, and shane doesn't have any commitments with friends.
ilya woke a few minutes ago, making it known by rubbing shane's stomach, but neither of them have said a word. content to exist in the knowledge of each other's soft attention. ilya's hand continues to move across shane's skin, palm flat and circling his bellybutton. shane's cock is thickening against his thigh. ilya's mouth, which has been releasing warm breaths over the nape of shane's neck, purses into a kiss against the soft hair there.
"malysh," he mumbles, so quietly. shane hums. "are you going out today?"
his words have soft edges, drowsy. "no," shane replies, just as quiet.
ilya's turn to hum. the movement of his hand doesn't cease. he shifts closer and nestles his clothed erection between shane's cheeks, making shane inhale and push back against him. ilya hasn't moved his hand down shane's body.
"are you hard?" ilya asks, without urgency.
they both still have their eyes closed. they're nowhere but here. shane says, "yeah."
quiet noise of acknowledgment from ilya. "do you want my hand?"
shane breathes, "yeah."
"mmm."
ilya doesn't give him his hand. he drags it up shane instead, resting it on one of his pecs. gently squeezes the muscle—once, twice, slow. shane grunts and arches into it. ilya kisses his neck again. then he uses just his first two fingers to begin circling shane's nipple. shane moans, quietly. his cock gives a hard throb. one more.
ilya lifts his fingers to shane's lips, murmuring, "suck."
shane does. ilya's fingers are salty. and warm. he pushes them in and out of shane's mouth, along his tongue, in a slow fuck. when he withdraws, a string of spit extends from the tips of his fingers to shane's bottom lip. ilya either doesn't notice or doesn't care. just moves his hand back down, draping the spit over shane's chin as he does, and starts gently massaging shane's nipple with his wet fingers. shane moans again. longer now. ilya rubs his cock leisurely into the cleft of shane's ass, humming deep in his chest.
"you like that, kotik?" he rumbles. shane nods into his pillow, reaching back to tangle his fingers in ilya's hair. ilya's face nuzzles into his neck. "love touching your tits," he says into shane's skin. "your nipples. they are so hard for me. like your cock, mmm?" shane makes a quiet, plaintive noise. ilya pinches him. "you get so hard for me everywhere."
"yeah," shane breathes.
"yeah?" ilya echoes, and shane lifts his jaw to invite ilya to kiss along his neck. ilya obliges him. shane sighs.
"yeah."
they lapse into a brief semi-silence; shane breathing through ilya's attention to his nipples, ilya moaning low as he works himself up against shane's ass. when his hand finally leaves shane's chest, skating back down along his abdomen, shane finds himself holding his breath. his cock is wet inside his boxer briefs. and aching. ilya whispers into his ear, "breathe, moy lyubov" and shane takes some air in just as ilya pushes his hand beneath the fabric of his briefs and holds his cock, firmly.
shane lets out a sound like it's been shocked from him. his body curls inwards, around the point where ilya is holding him, and ilya laughs softly. presses his wrist into shane's pelvic bone, urging his hips back against his cock. "come back, malysh," he teases. his hand starts working over shane under his briefs, and shane starts moaning in earnest. ilya exhales roughly in his ear. "you are so eager," he murmurs, drawing out the "so". "so horny for me in the morning, hm? just woke up and already need to get fucked? my needy boy... fuck, you are getting me all wet, shane."
and shane whimpers because he can feel it. the way ilya's fist is becoming slick with his precum, easing his movements into an obscene glide. up, down. up, down. ilya draws his hand out of shane's briefs for a moment and tugs the waistband down, tucking it behind shane's balls before reaching back up for his cock. heat rises in shane's cheeks at the sounds ilya's hand makes around his newly freed cock—distinct, wet fwips that cause shane's arousal to spike so hard his body lurches towards the edge. ilya moans loudly, presumably just as affected by it. his hand speeds up.
"mmm, fuck," ilya says. smearing open-mouthed kisses over shane's ear. "does it feel good, kotik? hmm?" shane nods, beyond words. ilya bites his earlobe and shane whimpers. "you are... fuck, moy lyubimyy, you are like a dream. like I am still asleep and fucking you, and when you come for me I will just wake up."
shane rolls his head against his pillow in vague dissent. "no," he slurs. "'m yours, ilya. your—fuck. oh. oh, ilya. oh m'god—"
"shane. are you gonna come, sweetheart?" shane inhales raggedly, nods minutely. frantically. "good. good boy. come for me, baby." ilya's fingers pull quickly beneath shane's cockhead. "yes. shane. come for me now, sweetheart—ah—fuck..."
shane is releasing into ilya's hand. twitching against him. moaning desperately. ilya holds him, kisses him, murmurs a litany of praise and encouragement in his ear. that's it, moy lyubimyy. you are so good. let me have it. good boy, shane.
after, shane relaxes into ilya's arms. spent, panting. ilya kisses over whatever he can reach of shane's face. shane, eyes closed, smiles faintly. he shifted away from ilya in those final moments—now he moves back. finds ilya hard, still.
"are y'gonna fuck me now?" shane mumbles. he hears, and feels, ilya huff a laugh against his cheek.
"oh, if you insist," ilya says, and shane laughs, rolling over onto him.
thanks for reading!! reblogs are super appreciated ❤️
I’m so tired of this fandom constantly dog-piling Hudson Williams. He has openly admitted that when he was younger, he was trying to fit in, made mistakes, and surrounded himself with the wrong people. He’s acknowledged it, taken accountability, and has said he’s ashamed of some of the things he did.
Yet people have been relentlessly attacking him since December, as if they expect him to be punished forever for mistakes he has already owned up to. Do any of you ever stop to think about what this kind of constant harassment does to someone’s mental health?
What’s even more disturbing is seeing people say they won’t stop until he kills himself. That is beyond criticism that is bullying. No one deserves that.
You don’t have to like him, support him, or forgive him, but encouraging or celebrating the destruction of someone’s mental health is genuinely messed up. Do better.
ilya crying during sex is at the forefront of my mind right now, walk with me here (or run idc) but post tampa bay i think he's a lot less scared to let the tears flow even if he is still trying remain very macho and stoic like he usually is, minus the shane hollander heart eyes. ANYWAYS, i think the first time he cries during sex is the type of moment where it just punches a fucking hole through his chest. it isn't the moment in the show after their i love yous (because i like to think they both ultimately fell asleep laying together with ilya on top of him), it isn't any of the times they have sex at the cottage during those two weeks either. i think it during that first week ilya has signed with ottawa and he and shane's schedules lined up magically to give both a complete day of just Them after weeks of phone calls and video chats that left ilya wanting to say fuck hockey entirely and committing himself to becoming a wag
they spend the entire day together in ilya's new ottawa place and its perfect. the closest thing that they can get to domesticity right now and the night is, of course, ended with sex that ultimately starts on the couch but eventually makes its way to the bed. he fucks shane chest to chest for a while, if at all, just a slow moving of his hips as they both hold onto each other and shane is murmuring his butchered attempt at i love you in russian into ilya's skin and he can't help but laugh at how fucking endearing it is but suddenly his eyes are burning and he quickly blinks the emotion away as he pats at shane's thigh and tells him to roll over. the muscle memory is so easy as they move together and there's only a momentary loss before ilya is pushing back inside shane and reaching for the hand that shane offers him, fingers intertwined with one hand as he holds shane's hip tight with the other.
shane is beyond blissed out, his eyes closed as he moans loudly into ilya's bedsheets and there's a brief feeling of never wanting this to end that strikes ilya before the tears are spilling and he can't stop it. it isn't gradual either. he can't remember the last time he's felt this overwhelmed and then a sob slips out and shane notices almost immediately and nearly leaps from ilya to attempt to face him but ilya shakes his head insistently, "fine—i'm fine, shane," he tells him shakily. he can tell shane doesn't really believe him so he instead motions for shane to sit more upright, back to ilya's chest as he's practically sat in ilya's lap as he sniffles and cries into shane's shoulder. shane is trying his best to comfort him too, bicep curled behind him to nudge ilya into the bend of his elbow and he can run his fingers through ilya's curls.
shane can feel the wetness of ilya's tears on his skin and the hiccuping sobs but he's still there, giving shane everything he needs and it doesn't take long before he's coming over ilya's hand where he's gripping shane's dick while pressing kisses against his spine and comes with a soft, broken noise inside of shane. there's a long pause of their paired breathing before ilya sniffles and peaks his head up and allows shane to look at him over his shoulder.
"no, no, ilya," shane comforts him, "baby, it's okay,"
and at that ilya can't help but frown again, his forehead slumping against shane's shoulder. shane chuckles lightly and pats ilya's head endearingly, "hey, i cry during sex, too,"
"mmm, yes, but is hot and because i am making you cum too many times," ilya argues, "not because you are sappy like me,"
"was it the russian?" shane asks playfully.
ilya nods, "is partly, but i am also obsessed with you, i think,"
"well, the feeling is mutual," shane tells him and ilya smiles against shane's shoulder. eventually ilya leans back to wipe his tears with his forearms and sighs dramatically.
"okay, enough, is your turn," ilya decides, both of them separating briefly to wrestle each other into the sheets again. and yes, ilya does make shane cry from a third and fourth orgasm until he falls asleep without even bothering to shower because ilya nearly killed him
idk if anyone has pointed this out yet about GO3 but i just realized something and wow, they really played in our faces.
So, during the scene were Crowley and Aziraphale talk to decide the faith of the world (which their decision was to end the world they have loved for 6,000 years to create a new universe with no angels or demons in the name of "free will", which is useless because free will has already proven to exist in the universe that both Azi and Crowley lived in. They killed themselves for literally nothing, but i digress.)
Anywayssss during that painfully tone-deaf and emotionally manipulative scene, a specific song plays in the background...it's awfully familiar right?
Well...it's quite literally a reprise from the most devastating song in season 2.
It's a gorgeous piece of music and one of my favorite compositions David Arnold wrote for the show. The problem is that it's also the song that accompanies the heartbreaking ending of Season 2, when Crowley and Aziraphale go their separate ways.
I'll never forget sitting through the Season 2 end credits in tears, watching Crowley drive away, devastated, while Aziraphale stands in the elevator with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. There was a sense that neither of them was truly happy with the choice that had been made, and the music only amplified that feeling. It captured the heartbreak, the longing, and the painful distance between them, leaving the audience with the weight of everything that had gone unsaid and unresolved.
That score's title, if you haven't clicked the link, is "The End?"—and I always believed the question mark was important. The title seemed to acknowledge that this was not a conclusion, but a painful pause. A question rather than an answer. A promise that there was still more to come, that Crowley and Aziraphale's story had not truly reached its end.
So, to add a clear reprise from this track in season 3, it just adds to the hopelessness. In a way, they are still in the same spot as they were in season 2, their love remains caught in a tug-of-war between longing and separation.They are unable to truly move forward or build a life together.
The difference is that, this time, the obstacle isn't Heaven, Hell, or their inability to communicate. Instead, the story places them in a situation where they have collectively chosen a course of action that will result in the end of their own existence. (which, as I've explained before, is a choice I find deeply unconvincing given everything the series had previously established about them.)
This use of this reprise is just so devastating and i dare say a middle finger to the fans who spent years hoping for a happy ending. For three seasons, the story encouraged viewers to invest in Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship and to hold on to hope for their eventual romance.
The number of times fans were told that Season 2 was essentially a bridge to Season 3—that the heartbreak and unresolved feelings at the end of Season 2 were part of a larger narrative that would eventually pay off.
So when the finale invokes a reprise of "The End?" again, a track so strongly associated with their separation and unresolved longing, it doesn't feel like the fulfillment of that promise. Instead, it feels like a return to the same emotional wound. All that emotional investment led to another variation of loss.
I genueinly never believed Good Omens was going to end so bleak and hollow in message. I didn't think that we were going to experience an even worse emotional turmoil than we did last season. I believed that there was going to be a fullfilling (albiet rushed) resolution were in which Aziraphale and Crowley would finally get to live happily together, their love becoming the reward for everything they had fought for.
It felt natural to expect that journey to culminate in them earning the chance to simply exist together, free from Heaven and Hell and free from the constant threats hanging over their heads. Instead, the finale left me feeling as though the very future they had spent millennia fighting for was taken away from them.
And the usage of the reprise of "The End?" makes this feel even worse, this song never evoked a a sense of victory or completion. This score reminds me of the promise of a future that always seemed just within reach, only for it to slip away at the last moment.
So not only did the writing take us back to that feeling, but the soundtrack did too. It doesn't feel like the sound of a story reaching its conclusion. It feels like the sound of a wound being reopened.
For some viewers, that may make the ending more poignant. For me, it only deepens the tragedy. Because when both the story and the score are evoking the emotions of their separation rather than the joy of their reunion, it's hard not to feel as though the ending itself has lost sight of the future that so many fans spent years hoping to see.
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