Fannibalmesian

I started watching Good Omens because it's a series that allows you to think and question religion without following the rules of Docma, and without denying its existence either. With its many contradictions and imperfections, but with the idea that everything has a meaning we can't quite grasp, but which is ultimately good. And this ending took that away from me.

It concluded that the rules of religion and the existence of superior beings interfere with free will. That since the system is flawed, it must be destroyed. But wasn't the world worth saving even if it's imperfect? Wasn't the fact that the world is flawed a reason to fix it, not destroy it?

For me, the problem that the series had to solve was the black-and-white mentality. That the world could be better by accepting imperfections and creating a gray area. That the fight between heaven and hell was what made no sense, and that they didn't even know why they were fighting any more.

I would have liked that, in the end, Aziraphale and Crowley gave the angels and demons the possibility to choose. Because it's them who couldn't choose and only did what they were told by god or the Metatron or satan. Humans had always been able to do whatever they wanted. And that way, the black-and-white mentality would end. Some entities would choose to be human, some would want to help humans after death in Purgatory. And Crowley and Aziraphale could stay on Earth, not to influence humans but to give them options. Because sometimes when humans don't know what to do, what we need are options so we can decide better. Not to be told what to do.

And i also wanted for aziracrow to watch over us, to protect us. And they could stay with humanity because the love that they have for each other and the love they have for the earth is one and the same. They learn to love earth because of each other and love each other because of the time that they had on earth. You can't make them choose.

Not spoiling you anything guys but I love them so much it hurts

Crowley pulled a thin volume from the shelf. The spine cracked when he opened it—old, well-loved, the kind of book that had been read in the bath and left in the sun and carried through six moves across four continents.

Francis Thompson.

He stared at the title poem. The Hound of Heaven.

"I fled Him, down the nights and down the days," he read aloud, voice flat. "I fled Him, down the arches of the years."

Aziraphale appeared in the doorway like he'd been summoned. "That's not a demonic text, if that's what you're looking for."

"I know what it is."

Silence. Aziraphale's fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for the book but had been told not to.

"You used to read this to me," Crowley said, not looking up. "In the garden. Before the wall, before—" He stopped. Swallowed. "You said it reminded you of us."

Aziraphale's voice was careful. Measured. "I don't recall."

"Liar."

The word hung between them like smoke.

Crowley turned the page, found the corner folded down—*Aziraphale's fold, not Heaven's*—and read the underlined passage in a whisper so quiet it was almost a prayer:

"For, though I knew His love who followèd,

Yet was I sore adread

Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside."

He looked up.

Aziraphale's eyes were wet. He didn't seem to notice.

"You underlined that," Crowley said. "You told me it was the most romantic thing ever written. You said—" His voice cracked. "You said it was about choosing someone even when the universe tells you not to."

Aziraphale opened his mouth. Closed it. Something flickered behind his eyes—a door opening, then slamming shut.

"I don't remember," he said again.

But his hand was trembling.

And Crowley, who had known him for six thousand years, knew a lie when he heard one.

He put the book back on the shelf. Alphabetical. Correct. Dead.

"Right," he said. "Course you don't."

For the full experience play all of me wants all of you by Sufjan Stevens.

Well I defrost like a flower in spring to bring you my second art of hannigram, thoughts ?