90 minutes of runtime and not a single 'ngk' to be found. did this thing even have a beta
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@starsundertheceiling
90 minutes of runtime and not a single 'ngk' to be found. did this thing even have a beta
I'm going to die mad about the character assassination of the angel Aziraphale.
Somewhere Anathema Device caught a glimpse of something in Agnes Nutter’s second book of prophecies, gasped, pulled it out of the fire, got Newt to drive at top speed down the M25 (somehow magically free) dashes into Soho, runs into the bookshop, slams the book down on the counter in front of Aziraphale and Crowley and screams
‘Don’t you two FUCKING dare!’
And leaves.
Several large coffees, bottles of wine and a pile of Eccles cakes and a very long reading and interpretation session later Crowley sits back.
‘Beelzebub and Gabriel, huh? Did not see that coming.’
‘Never mind that, dear,’ Aziraphale says, as he continues carving symbols onto the floor. ‘There. That should do it. The Metatron can’t get in here now.’
‘And you?’ Crowley asks delicately. Aziraphale stands up and primly clasps his hands across his stomach.
‘I have no intention of going up to heaven under any circumstances and especially not now I know how it ends.’ He says. It’s his I Will Not Be Moved tone. Crowley knows it well. He is reassured.
‘Well, maybe pop up and get Muriel. But after that we seal up that lift, agreed?’ Crowley adds.
‘Agreed.’
‘Excellent. Dinner at the Ritz called for I think, to celebrate a very lucky escape. Coming, Angel?’
‘One thing…’ Aziraphale says, and Crowley notices the cheeks of his Angel have gone a little pink, and he is turning that ring on his finger round and round. ‘Prophecy number 547.’
‘547? Was that the one with the butterflies the size of giraffes?’
‘It was not,’ Aziraphale says.
Crowley takes a step closer. He always did enjoy this bit of the temptation, although he was not quite sure who was being tempted right now.
‘Ah, the one with the Welsh Choir serenading the Kraken with excerpts from popular musicals.’
‘No, not that one either.’ Aziraphale appears to have flushed a deep red.
Crowley takes a step closer now. He can feel it - the tingle in his fingers and on his lips.
There’s another first time coming. To add to the Wall, and the Temptation of the Ox Ribs and the Rescue of the Books and all those other first times that have led them step by step to this place.
A first time they had in any timeline, but this would their first time - they, Aziraphale and Crowley in this world, their world.
‘Oh, I know, the one with the crystal the exact size and shape of…’
‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale snaps. ‘You know which one I mean.’
‘Oh,’ Crowley says softly. ‘The one where I tell you there’s an us.’
‘That’s the one,’ Aziraphale says, glancing down at the ground. ‘Of course, if you’d rather not, I understand, it’s asking too much, it’s…’
‘Angel,’ Crowley says, and he steps forward, taking off his glasses, and looks down at his angel, his enemy and ally, his closest friend. His love since he knew what love meant. ‘We have always been an us. We don’t need a prophecy for that.’
And Aziraphale, a soft and gentle angel, not a soldier or a leader, becomes a hero for that moment, and clasps Crowley’s collar and pulls him in for a kiss.
It was a nice day. It would always be a nice day. There would always be a bookshop, and later a garden. Nightingales would always sing and there would be many many kisses to follow that first kiss.
My real roman empire is that Aziraphale:
1. In the end only wanted one thing and that's not what it'd been about anymore but you can't tell me that he would've just wished for him and Crowley to be together in the bookshop without bringing the rest of the universe back. His precious books are BLANK for god's sake, he would've brought people back even if just so he can read their work. He'd caused the F15 because he wanted the Earth and its inhabitants to live, so you can't tell me he wouldn't have asked for them to be safe.
2. He was aware that people had already had free will. He's the one who answers Crowley's question and he's completely disregarded by Crowley. But Aziraphale KNOWS. He'd spent 6000 yrs learning and that's the answer he has for Crowley's question. Free will. And God doesn't disagree.
3. When Crowley says "you know what I want" Aziraphale nods and still seems fine, there are even traces of a smile in his expression. But when Crowley continues "I want a real universe", Aziraphale looks like his entire soul (?) has left his body. As Crowley talks, his face keeps falling. He hadn't actually been expecting Crowley to make the choice he did. When Crowley says "even if there are no angels", Aziraphale nods again, but way stiffer and more resigned than before. He'd adjusted to Crowley's will as Crowley was speaking.
4. Aziraphale disregards Crowley's question "Did I say the wrong thing?". He doesn't say no. He doesn't even let Crowley see as his face crumbles for a moment, and only turns back to him when he manages to plaster on a smile. The moment is then paralleled when Asa asks "Did I say something wrong?" in response to Anthony's "You have no idea how much that hurts me."
5. Aziraphale is the one to say "It doesn't matter" when God tells them they won't be able to experience the new world. He doesn't look like it doesn't matter. His head ticks. He's bottling up the misery in real time.
He gave up his existence that he loved, oh so much, for a cause that he knew was meaningless, just because it was what Crowley wanted. He didn't even suggest a different route. He disregarded his own feelings completely and made sure Crowley didn't know about them more than what his face looked like when he'd heard The Choice.
i hate pointless side plots and i hate wasted villains and i hate ignoring the emotional core of the story and i hate human au’s and i hate when characters we love are replaced with different people who we’re still supposed to care about and i hate fated soulmates and i hate they will find each other in every universe and i hate making decisions on behalf of everyone in the universe and i hate endings that reject the message of free will and carving your own path against the systems that seek to restrict you that was built up throughout the story while pretending to embrace it and i hate martyrdom and i hate self sacrifice for the greater good and i hate not being able to live to see the future you helped create when you deserve it and i hate the idea that you can’t live a happy or worthwhile life in a world with oppressive systems and you should just give up
"i hate the idea that you can’t live a happy or worthwhile life in a world with oppressive systems and you should just give up"
all of the above, but most especially this, in a story with queer protagonists and a queer fanbase
In my heart, Crowley and Aziraphale are sitting in that lovely yet slightly jaded bench in St. James's Park.
Crowley is marveling at the sight before him, a mother duck carefully guding her ducklings whom are following close behind. The mother puts herself infront of her children, but she cannot help constantly looking back at her own creations. They are flowing aimlessly in the vast body of water. One with nature. Basking in what it really means to just live.
Aziraphale on the other hand, has his eyes trained on another wonder of the world.
A young girl sits on a nearby bench, though she carries herself as if life has placed burdens upon her far heavier than her years should allow. There's another girl next to her, it's a friend, prehaps? She wraps her arms around the troubled one and holds her close, offering the comfort of her presence while the other feels whatever she needs to feel.
The wind blows softly, stirring loose strands of hair and carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter, birdsong, and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Neither girl seems to notice. For this brief moment, the rest of the world has faded into the background.
Aziraphale sighs softly, "Extraordinary, isn't it?"
Crowley follows his gaze, his sunglasses reflecting the image of the two girls sitting together.
"Yeah," he says quietly, a softness creeping into his voice. "Funny thing is, they probably don't even realize they're doing it."
"Doing what?"
Crowley looks back toward the lake, where the mother duck nudges a wandering duckling back toward the group, "Saving each other."
The angel smiles softly at that, scotting closer to Crowley.
"Well, it's a beautiful sight to see indeed," he let's out a breath he has been holding for far too long, "but it wouldn't be as beautiful without you by my side."
Crowley sits with those words quietly. He slowly puts an arm around the angel.
"I mean, ducks are nice and all. Tiny feathery weirdos." He gestures vaguely toward the lake, "But I've seen ducks before."
Aziraphale looks at him, utterly perplexed.
"My dear, what on Earth are you talking about?"
Crowley snorts.
"I'm getting there."
"Getting where?"
"Angel."
"No, really, you've lost me."
Crowley shakes his head fondly before looking back out at the lake.
"I've seen sunsets. Meteor showers. Nebulas. Mountains. Oceans." He glances at him, "The thing that makes them worth remembering is having someone to turn to afterward."
Aziraphale's breath catches.
Crowley shrugs, as though he hasn't just said something monumental.
"And I have to say..." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, "If there's one thing I could spend an eternity marveling at, it's you."
Aziraphale is stunned to silence. Not an uncomforble one, the opposite actually. The kind of silence that is at art galleries, where people gaze at something beautiful and find that words would only diminish it.
Crowley shifts slightly under the angel's gaze.
"Oh, don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Look at me like that."
Aziraphale's smile is small and impossibly fond.
"How am I looking at you?"
Crowley opens his mouth, then closes it again. Because he doesn't have a name for it.
Above them, the branches sway gently in the afternoon light. Around them, life continues in all its strange, fragile beauty.
A child happily screams somewhere in the distance, the sound carrying across the park as they race through the grass.
The girl who had been crying earlier is no longer hiding behind her hands. She sits a little straighter now, a small smile breaking through as her friend says something that sends them both into laughter. Whatever burden she had been carrying has not vanished, but for the moment, she does not carry it alone.
The ducklings continue to swim along. The breeze carries the scent of grass and warm earth.
It's all terribly ordinary, really. And yet, these were the very things Aziraphale and Crowley had spent six thousand years fighting for.
Aziraphale leans into Crowley, his face only inches away.
"I love you so," he breathes. Then, he closes the distance between them.
The kiss is soft, tender.
Crowley smiles against it, one hand coming up to cup Aziraphale's cheek. He leans in without hesitation, knowing exactly where he belongs.
The world continues to turn around them. You can hear faint noise in the background. Laughs shared. The rustling of leaves. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks, and a child answers with a delighted squeal.
Then, without warning, a raindrop lands on Crowley's nose.
He blinks.
A second follows, splashing against Aziraphale's coat.
Then a third.
The sky opens.
Within seconds, rain begins to pour over the park, sending people running for cover and prompting a chorus of surprised laughter from every direction.
The girls on the bench scramble to gather their things, one of them grabbing the other's hand as they attempt to dash toward the nearest shelter.
The ducklings, meanwhile, seem entirely unbothered by the development.
Crowley looks up at the sky.
"Really?"
The rain answers by becoming even heavier.
Beside him, Aziraphale laughs.
"Well," he says, beaming, "I suppose that's one way to cool off a warm afternoon."
Crowley stares at him.
"Angel."
"Yes?"
"We are getting soaked."
"I had noticed."
"And you're smiling."
"Of course I am."
Crowley shakes his head, utterly helpless against his own fondness.
"I think this is a sign to head back to our bookshop. Warm up with some hot cocoa before dining at the Ritz?"
Aziraphale's eyes brighten at the sound of that.
Before answering, his gaze drifts across the park.
The two girls from earlier are huddled together beneath a tree, trying and failing to shield themselves from the rain. They're laughing now, but neither seems particularly successful at staying dry.
With a subtle flick of his fingers, Aziraphale performs a small miracle.
A large umbrella suddenly appears over their heads.
The girls blink in surprise.
One looks up at the umbrella.
The other looks around in confusion.
Then, deciding not to question their good fortune, they scoot closer together beneath it and continue talking.
Aziraphale watches them for a moment, satisfied.
Only then does he turn back to Crowley.
"That sounds lovely," he says warmly. "Though I think perhaps a pot of cocoa. One mug hardly seems sufficient."
Crowley snorts.
"Naturally."
"And perhaps a few pastries?"
"Of course."
"And then the Ritz."
"Obviously."
The rain continues to fall around them, drumming softly against the lake. the water nurturing the trees around them.
Crowley rises from the bench and offers his hand, "Come on, angel."
Aziraphale takes it without hesitation.
Together, they start toward the bookshop, leaving behind the ducks, the lake, and the rain-soaked park.
Behind them, the girls sit beneath their mysterious umbrella, laughing.
Ahead of them waits a warm bookshop, hot cocoa, and a dinner neither of them will ever admit they had been planning all along.
The afternoon had been beautiful. The evening promised to be even better. And tomorrow would be just as lovely.
Ordinary days.
The sort of days that, when strung together, become a life.
As they disappeared down the rain-slicked street, hand in hand, neither Heaven nor Hell watched from above, no prophecies awaited them.
Just tomorrow. And the world. The same world they had chosen, time and time again.
A world of shifting weather, of second chances. A world where ducklings finding their way home. A world were people hold each other when life became too heavy to bear alone. A world where tears give way to laughter, where old wounds heal slowly, and where kindness survives despite everything.
.......
The Aziraphale and Crowley I know would've never given up on humanity, or on the humanity that lives within them. Crowley would fight for Aziraphale the same way Aziraphale would fight for Crowley.
The answer to a broken world is not to abandon it, but to keep caring for it. That is the Aziraphale and Crowley I fell in love with, and the ones I will always carry with me.
To me, Good Omens is about finding the courage to build out a life your heart wants, even when the people in power and systems try to decide who you get to be.
There are moments I think I worked through the worst of my grief about the good omens finale and I can just be happy in my bubble full of fix it fanfics and beautiful fanart. And then it's midnight, I randomly go YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE PISSES ME OFF and I'm back in the FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN
I think they really jumped the shark with the Book of Life. Once you introduce a nuclear option like that you have to have a justification for why it hasn't been used before now. (For example, why haven't Aziraphale and Crowley been written out if they're so much trouble?)
The Book of Life is not secret (at least not after s2 when it was retconned in); it's not particularly well-guarded; it's targeted; the cost associated with using it is low (you might go crazy but not before you have time to do a lot of damage); there's no danger of mutually assured destruction as long as you hang onto it. It's the kind of unlimited power that automatically makes things less interesting.
One thing that was really intriguing at the end of s1 was the suggestion that other angels and demons were kind of afraid of Aziraphale and Crowley because they didn't know what they were anymore. (And I was really hoping for a payoff moment that revealed that, bodyswap ruse aside, they actually had becomes immune to hellfire and holy water because they'd been on Earth so long they really had "gone native" and become a little bit human, in the way that Adam Young was human and also a little bit something else.)
And then when they did the accidental 25 lazari miracle I thought what was being set up was the revelation that angels and demons are super powerful when they're able to team up and do joint miracles together, but no one's ever figured it out before because sides, etc. And that this was going to be used in the story either to protect the entire Earth from the meddling of angels and demons, and/or to somehow break down the division between Heaven and Hell.
But alas.
exploding him with my mind powers
And you know what, I think it’s actually so incredibly reasonable and healthy to be angry still.
I think it’s important that folks keep speaking on their feelings regarding the Good Omens finale if they want to and feel safe to, but the sad reality is that so many folks don’t feel safe right now (and for good reason).
I don’t know, y’all. While I can appreciate the sentiment behind “we should all just get along/please stop posting inflammatory takes/we will all feel better soon and reunite/we should be thinking of the fandom at large” posts, they don’t sit right with me. Because why should I or anyone else censor our feelings and opinions? What good is a community if you’re not allowed to express an opinion or emotion that is labeled as negative and undesirable? Why should I force myself to be in community with the people who are showing their true colors right now?
Maybe I’m… not glad, exactly, but sort of grateful to stand corrected on spaces I thought were safe and people I thought were safe, too. Maybe I’m not sure I want to reintegrate with people who think I’m either media illiterate, immature, willfully ignorant or just “stirring things up” on purpose? Maybe I don’t want to be around those saying “if you don’t like the Good Omens finale you should just stop talking about it so those of us who like it aren’t dragged down”?
Maybe the burden of shutting up so as not to offend the more incendiary factions on any side shouldn’t be put on the fandom? Maybe feelings and grief and anger and frustration are messy but that doesn’t make them inherently bad and people have a right to speak on those things without fear?
Maybe all feelings, “good” or “bad”, deserve space?
I also DEEPLY resent this implication that those of us who don’t like the finale are harassing the crew or cast. A very, VERY tiny minority crossed that line while the rest of us would never DREAM of it, so I’m not going to pander to anyone and add on anytning like of course you should never harass the crew or cast because we know that. We all know that. We shouldn’t have to add a disclaimer that we aren’t endorsing aggression and violence just because we hate this piece of public media.
ANYWAY it’s been three weeks and every day I find something else about this 96 minutes of foolery that I cannot stand or that shatters another part of me. I am dedicated to disregarding it as much as I can and I just want everyone to know— everyone who is hurt or decimated or infuriated or depressed or lost or anything of the sort— that it is okay to feel however you feel. I wish none of us had to feel any of this, and god knows we wanted to love this SO badly.
We only feel the way we do because we have such a deep love for Good Omens and its characters and themes.
So don’t let the bastards get you down, I guess is what I’m saying. Your feelings matter JUST AS MUCH as those who loved this finale. Take up space. Don’t let anyone tell you how to feel.
After the last time I (and many many other people) was betrayed by a show I had great hopes for, I raged every single day for over 3 months straight. I'm talking, every day I took an hour to vent into the air about every possible aspect that show failed at. From minute details to making characters OOC, to the hypocrisy of it all, to the way it affected the people it was supposed to represent, to the impact it possibly would've had in the general society, to the political implications of it all – I yapped on about everything that came to mind for 3 months. Angry, confused, grieving.
And now, another 3 months later, I look back at it and don't feel anything. I still remember what'd happened and I can compare it to GO's situation and see the patterns that show up, I still feel anger when I think about how queer people are treated but it holds no power over me.
And now, when GOmens betrayed me, us, again, I let the grief wash over me in a span of a week because airing out my previous disappointment taught me to come to terms with shitty writers and that the story lives in us, not them. We decide what's important to us. We are the community that cherishes the work, and each of us gives the work our own meaning.
So I say grieve. Let all of the hurt and all of the anger out. Talk to each other, scream into the void of the internet or to your pet or a plushie. Support each other. Don't let that disappointment fester inside you. Learn how to choose yourself and the people who actually care to bring joy into the world. I know we'd thought that's what Good Omens was, but it's not anymore. Now we have to learn how to separate the good from the bad, the precious from the rotten. And that's up to each of us to do for ourselves. Sure, you can grieve and shout and just leave and never come back but I think a lot of people value this show too much to just indiscriminately throw the entire thing in the trash. But to still be able to view any moment of the show with a kind eye, without a veneer of pain from the finale, you need to let that grief out.
Its just...maybe I was naive, maybe I should have known better, but I didn't know how much I needed the finale to be okay.
like, not even great, not even good, but just okay, just safe, sad that it was over but happy that it happened, a closed book with a happy if mediocre ending.
and then it wasn't, and it knocked me entirely off kilter, and the worst part was it completely blindsided me, it wasn't just mediocre, or rushed, or boring, or disappointing.
It was all of those things and also tragic. It made me sad.
and the thing is...before that, I never could have imagined that Good Omens would make me sad, would have me break down in tears inconsolable days afterwards, it never even occurred to me as a possibility.
It was one of the few things I had that kept me safe inside my own mind, it was a talisman against sadness, it was where I walked when I needed sanctuary, and now it feels like there is a giant pit in the middle of my former haven that I have to worry about falling into and being trapped.
because Good Omens made me a promise, as a viewer and a reader 7 years ago, that the world is saved because it is worth saving, that everybody lives, everybody, even telemarketers.
That Anti-Christ's grow up with their best friends in their Kingdom of Tadfield because that's enough of the world for them, that Witches fall in love with Witchfinders, that Prophetesses make their own destiny, that Death and all his friends will ride motorbikes to the end, but not today, no not today. Due in very small part, really just moral support, of a Demon and an Angel who wanted to stay, just a little bit longer, maybe another 6000 years, go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz. That promise was broken, if this is the legacy that they want to give Sir Terry Pratchett I would say its as bad as spitting on his grave.
Shame on them.
actually im doing really well except for the fact that everything makes me sad and the things that dont make me sad make me angry. but other than that im fine
—Good Omens fans thinking about the finale
s3 Crowley: All of you will die but...
you know what fucking kills me? all major historical events that happened in our universe (the supposed new universe) also happened in the original universe.
we know that covid happened because the lockdowns were the reason Maggie was behind on rent (+ the whole lockdown audio bit, if you want to treat that as canon). the French Revolution, WW2, the Spanish Inquisition, climate change all happened. Shakespeare, Queen, the Velvet Underground, Shostakovich and David Bowie happened. hell, even on a much smaller-stakes scale, our version of the M25 still looks like Crowley's version.
the universe still worked out the same exact way. what was the point of their sacrifice then? no more cosmic meddling? we've ended up with the same exact thing anyway, so either Heaven and Hell were never that important because it's all humanity's doing (oh hello Book Omens/S1) , or the universe is just so inert that the whole "once you get rid of God you gain free will" thing is just blatantly Not True
"but humanity is now free to exist without the influences from Heaven or Hell!!!" yeah and everything still worked out the same way so ultimately Heaven and Hell never had much of a hand in anything
"but humanity being in control is very Pratchett!!!" yes, but killing the whole universe just to prove that point isn't. the death of 8 billion people was just a device to prove that humanity is capable of both beauty and horror? "sin, young man, is when you treat people like things."
I dunno man, this ending is fucking bleak
I wanted Jesus to find himself a pigeon companion and walk everywhere with a common resident pigeon
get it?? because of the dove thing
02:13 AM lying in bed trying to spell Johnathan with an H. Failing miserably