by [email protected]

(I am french, english is not my first language so I am sorry if I make mistakes)

The Impact of an Unforgettable Work

At the end of 2023, I discovered Good Omens on Amazon Prime. At the time, the only work of Neil Gaiman’s I was familiar with was Lucifer, but I had no idea he was involved in Good Omens, nor did I know anything about Terry Pratchett's work. Usually, I do not invest myself emotionally in TV shows. Works like Sherlock or Hannibal had deeply moved me and influenced me on a creative level, but I watched them long after their original broadcast.With Good Omens, , it was different. Experiencing the wait in real-time, speculating with the fandom, enduring the anxious uncertainty during the hiatus at the end of 2024... All of this etched the series into my heart.What won me over was its tone: a sharp, quirky satire capable of addressing heavy, profound themes with lightness without ever defusing the actual high stakes. Heaven and Hell were ridiculous yet genuinely terrifying. It was a true love letter to humanity, where even a character like Shadwell, introduced as a grumpy, misanthropic old eccentric becomes endearing through his relationship with Madame Tracy, without needing an artificial redemption arc. The show successfully avoided the trap of simplistic moral binary: Heaven was not purely "good," Hell was not just "misunderstood," and humans remained masters of their own free will, even outdoing Crowley in horror during the Spanish Inquisition or World War II.

Yet, watching Season 3, I found absolutely nothing of what made the essence of Good Omens. After initially trying to rationalize this bittersweet ending just to comfort myself, I had to face the facts: this finale is a disaster in terms of writing. And I am no longer a

“fan who goes along with the end as far as she can”.

I. Budgetary Constraints That Shatter Immersion

The 90-minute finale suffers from a blatant lack of resources, which severely hinders its ability to deploy its stakes. A deserted Soho, a Hell emptied of its demons, and the near-total absence of Aziraphale’s bookshop create a sanitized, deeply unsettling atmosphere. The behind-the-scenes features actually reveal that the eternal flame scene and the cottage scene were shot right next to each other in a tiny studio space.This lack of time and budget led to poorly executed antagonists. How are we supposed to care about the threat posed by Brian Cameron or Misty? Crowley knows them, but we do not. In a span of 90 minutes, their warnings ring entirely hollow, completely lacking concrete actions to back up their dangerous nature.

II. The Psychological Deconstruction of Aziraphale and Crowley

The very heart of the series relied on the alchemy of our duo, bickering like an old married couple. In this finale, that quick-witted, back-and-forth dynamic completely died out.The reconciliation process is nonexistent. Crowley rattles off complaints in the Bentley without ever showing his vulnerability, while Aziraphale walls himself up in an unprecedented level of pretentiousness. His famous “I forgive you," far from being an acceptance of apologies (which were never even offered), serves as a lazy narrative shortcut to sweep the plot under the rug. Even the highly symbolic Apology Dance was brutally cut short.More troubling still, the scene with God betrays Aziraphale’s core characterization when he self-proclaims to be "the best of the angels." Aziraphale has never considered himself good enough; he has spent his entire existence blaming and hating himself for falling short of his own high moral standards. We are light-years away from the character who, in the Job minisode, collapsed into tears upon realizing the gravity of his rebellion:

“I lied. I lied to thwart the will of God. [...] I’m a demon. That’s what I am now.”

III. The Destruction of Crowley’s Philosophy: The Collapse of a Rebellious Optimist

The Season 3 finale achieves the unthinkable: it destroys the very substance of Crowley's character, turning him into a cynical being whose actions contradict his deepest convictions.Throughout the book and Season 1, Crowley is depicted as an observer fascinated by humanity, someone fundamentally "optimistic" about the capacity of humans to choose their own destiny. He is the first to recognize the absolute power of free will. He knows that humans need neither Heaven nor Hell to achieve either the best or the worst. This is the exact meaning behind his famous tirade where he admits that humans completely outdid him by inventing the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition or the atrocities of World War II. For Crowley, Earth is precious precisely because it escapes the rigid, predictable plans of Heaven and Hell thanks to human choice.To see this very same Crowley declare in Season 3 that free will is nothing but "rubbish" and actively accept the creation of a new world is an absolute psychological contradiction. That is simply not him.Crowley has always loathed mass destruction and the sacrifice of innocents to serve some "higher purpose." From the very beginning, during the Deluge, he shouted his incomprehension at divine cruelty while watching Noah's Ark:

“You can't kill kids!”

Crowley is the demon who refuses the slaughter of the innocent, whether in Noah’s time or during the trials of Job. So, how can this same character now validate a plan that erases billions of human beings and condemns to non-existence the children, adults, and friends he spent centuries alongside? He who refused to let a single child be harmed under the Old Testament now agrees to sacrifice the entirety of humanity just to secure his own artificial safe haven. By making Crowley an accomplice to this cosmic tabula rasa, the script breaks his moral compass and betrays his finest quality: his rebellious humanity.As for the choice not to include a real kiss in the final timeline, it leaves an open wound.

The only kiss the audience will ever have witnessed remains the one from Season 2: an act of desperation, a painful last resort. The contrast feels incredibly cynical when one recalls Amazon Prime’s marketing campaign on Instagram, which tried to sell the romance of the script's stage directions for the garden scene just to mask the utter lack of emotional fulfillment in the actual broadcast.

IV. The Betrayal of Job: Replacing is Not Repairing

The greatest shipwreck of Season 3 lies in its philosophical message, which completely tramples on one of the most beautiful moral lessons of Season 2: the Job episode.In that biblical minisode, Heaven and Hell cruelly agree to destroy Job’s life, kill his children, and then simply "give him new ones" as if they were nothing but commodities or interchangeable objects. Faced with this bureaucratic horror, Crowley and Aziraphale unite and rebel. Why? Because they refuse to let those children die. They understand that a human being is unique and irreplaceable. Giving Job new children does not repair the loss of the old ones; it merely masks a crime under the illusion of divine generosity. For Crowley and Aziraphale, the entire purpose of their existence on Earth has always been to protect, preserve, and repair what already exists, never to destroy in order to replace.Yet, that is exactly what they agree to do in the Season 3 finale. By acquiescing to the creation of a "new universe" to run away from their problems, they surrender to the cold, accounting logic of Heaven that they once fought against. It is the return of Archangel Gabriel’s doctrine: We are replacing the dead world with a new one, what’s the difference? The difference is humanity.This narrative choice also revokes the ending of Season 1. When the young Antichrist, Adam Young, faces the Apocalypse, he uses his boundless imagination to save the Earth. Fortunately, he does not create a perfect, sanitized, brand-new world: he restores the old universe back to normal, complete with its flaws, its chipped teacups, and its imperfect humans. Crowley himself displayed this rebellious imagination by driving through the flaming M25 at the wheel of his Bentley. In Season 3, this imagination has burnt out. Worse still, God explicitly offers them the option to put everything back in place to *repair but they refuse and choose creative destruction instead.

At one point in the finale, when they want to call upon God, the script tries to give a nod to Season 1 by showing that imagination and will can still bend reality: if you decide a blank notebook is the Book of Life, then it becomes just that. This rule is reintroduced with great fanfare to make us believe our heroes have found their creative power again.But the illusion deflates immediately. Five minutes later, this very same logic is thrown in the trash. When it comes to saving the old world, preventing the genocide of humanity, or preserving their own memories, suddenly, imagination no longer works. They become utterly powerless and resign themselves to destruction.This is a glaring logistical inconsistency (or rather, a clumsy narrative convenience): imagination works only when the script requires a brief "magical" moment or a quick trick, but it shuts off the moment it threatens to solve the actual problem and prevent the tragic ending the writer was stubborn about executing. It completely reinforces the reality that this finale is rushed and contradicts itself from one scene to the next.

V. The Erasure of Characters and the Paradox of the Absurd

While Aziraphale, Crowley, and Muriel are fully aware of the cosmic transition taking place, the fate reserved for the rest of the secondary characters is a piece of narrative violence. Major figures who grounded our attachment to the show like Maggie, Nina, Anathema, Newt, but also Beelzebub and Gabriel, as well as Shadwell and Madame Tracy (whom I love so dearly)were wiped out in an instant, stripped of their memories, their past, and their very existence.Granted, the story shows us that they "find each other again" in some form within the new world. But from a writing standpoint, this choice is an absolute failure that runs into a double, insoluble paradox:

-First option: If they possess the same soul in the new world. If these characters are destined to meet and lead the exact same life without having chosen it, it means the new world is governed by absolute predestination. Free will is dead, and humanity is nothing more than a puppet show orchestrated by God.

-Second option: If these are not their original souls.Then the conclusion is even more horrific: this finale depicts a senseless cosmic genocide. The entirety of humanity and the beings we grew to love were purely and simply killed, erased from reality. They were replaced by substitutes, carbon copies meant to populate a counterfeit world that thinks like ours, but is no longer ours.It is a deeply horrifying and cynical outcome. This mass sacrifice fixed nothing, achieved nothing, and completely diverges from the moral trajectory and evolution of Aziraphale and Crowley. It was all for nothing. It retroactively means that everything we followed from the very beginning never actually existed in our reality, stripping the series of all its historical and emotional weight.

VI. The Neil Gaiman Syndrome, or the Contempt for Comedy

This conclusion felt strangely reminiscent of the series finale of *Lucifer*, another show tied to Gaiman's universe. We find the exact same mechanics at play: a show that is initially comedic which, for its denouement, introduces a gratuitous, circumstantial, and pointless sacrifice, solely to buy itself a fake sense of gravity and give the illusion of high stakes.For Neil Gaiman, a memorable ending must apparently be definitive and completely stripped of comedy, as if the seriousness of a narrative can only be felt through absolute drama. This feels like an insult to the genre of satirical comedy that belonged so uniquely to Terry Pratchett. Here, humor no longer drives the story forward; it is relegated to a few disposable one-liners. By removing the lightness, you remove the very DNA of Good Omens.

VII. Love for the Cast and Crew Facing the Shipwreck of the Script

While the scenario of this Season 3 is a disaster, we must separate the text from the dedication of the technical crew and the actors.I want to commend director Rachel Talalay, who managed to deliver beautiful, inspired shots despite tight budgetary restrictions and a disjointed script. A massive thank you to Michael Sheen, David Tennant, Derek Jacobi, Doon Mackichan, and the rest of the cast. They agreed to reprise their roles despite the lack of budget, the controversies surrounding Gaiman, and the certainty that this condensed project would not be profitable. They did it out of respect for the audience, out of love for their characters, and out of loyalty to the memory of Terry Pratchett.The story of Season 3 that I choose to remember is not the one written in its script, but the story of the resilience of a crew and a fandom united to deliver a conclusion.

To summarize the violence of a finale that sought to flatten, crush, and replace the identity of its heroes rather than repair it, these few words from *Small Gods* resonate with profound sadness:

“ I could ground them into dust,” said Vorbis. “I would only have to say the word.”-No, thought Om. That’s worse than war.” — Terry Pratchett

How Can We Change This? My Alternative: Repairing Rather Than Destroying

Faced with an official ending that breaks our hearts and denies the core philosophy of the work, what do we have left? As fans, we are entirely free to forge our own canon. Rather than accepting a tragic and cynical outcome, we can imagine a denouement that truly respects the heroes.In this ending which I came up with and which satisfies me perfectly after experiencing the show. Season 2 integrates harmoniously right into the heart of Season 1. After the failure of the Second Coming, Crowley and Aziraphale did indeed swap bodies to face their respective camps. It is at that exact moment, just before they find themselves back on that famous bench at the end of Episode 6 (specifically at the 45-minute and 45-second mark of Season 1, Episode 6), that all the events of Season 2 actually take place.In my rewritten version, the ending unfolds like this: Season 2 begins, plays out, and after Aziraphale departs for Heaven, he goes there off-screen to play his cards. Thanks to his genuine benevolence and eloquence, he successfully convinces the celestial authorities to definitively abandon the Second Coming, breaking the cycle of destruction once and for all.Once this is achieved, he swaps bodies with Crowley yet again. Being a smooth talker, Aziraphale is best suited to go down and convince Hell to abdicate in turn a diplomatic task far too delicate for Crowley's impulsive nature. With peace permanently sealed between both realms, the universe is saved.The story then catches up with its original course as the two companions reunite on the bench in Season 1 (at the 45-minute and 46-second mark). Far from being clouded by any heartbreaking goodbye kiss, this scene becomes a pure celebration of their survival. They then decide to head off to the Ritz to toast their victory. Even if Crowley's forgiveness toward Aziraphale is not explicitly voiced right then and there, their shared happiness foreshadows a certain reconciliation. As for whatever follows next within the privacy of the bookshop or the flat, it will forever remain theirs and theirs alone.

Woman holds the bow, keeping the whole fragile structure from collapsing forward. Man holds the string, the arrow nocked and trembling inches from her heart. They lean into each other’s weight. Perfect tension and trust.

Sam’s life is literally resting on Dean’s control, his choice not to let go. Sam isn’t in charge (he never was). The power is uneven by design: Dean could end it in an instant and Sam has to trust him with everything. Total vulnerability on one side, total responsibility (and the ability to destroy) on the other.

If Sam lets go? The bow snaps forward uselessly. It hurts a little, maybe snaps the string across Dean’s hand, but the arrow doesn’t fly. The arrow will never land in his chest, he will never die because of it. If Dean lets go? The arrow launches straight into Sam’s heart. He will bleed and die. It’s Dean’s choice to let Sam suffer or not.

That’s the imbalance. Sam can only stop holding it together. Dean can actively destroy.

And Dean lets go, over and over. Each time Dean releases his grip — chooses anger, violate autonomy, to rape, coerce, guilt trip — he fires the arrow. Sam bleeds, he carries the weight of being the one who has to keep holding the bow even when the string burns his fingers raw. Dean wounds Sam more often and more deeply than he ever truly protects him. Sam, though thinks about Dean’s wellbeing. He would never treat Dean the way he treats him.

They trust each other enough to keep holding. but trust doesn’t make it equal. The other has the power just to end the performance. They’re not equals, if one of them is always the target & victim.

Vielleicht bin ich delulu und erneut beweist das dass ich zu viel drüber nachdenke ABER.

Achtung: milde spoiler für 1. Botschaft aus der Unterwelt und 2. Schattenwelt.

Ein wunder Punkt der ddf Community seit JAHREN ist : Justus hat, als Grey ihn vor die Wahl gestellt hat, wen seiner beiden Kollegen er retten wollte, Peter gewählt.

Und es wurde nie wieder erwähnt. Bob & Justus haben nie wieder drüber geredet.

Und ein paar Leute haben argumentiert, dass es am Rätsel selbst lag - Justus hat mit einer sportlichen Herausforderung gerechnet und deshalb den sportlichsten Detektiv gewählt.

Ich glaub dass es an was ganz anderem lag und ich finds witzig (dumm) dass ich da nicht vorher drauf gekommen bin.

Wir erinnern uns an die erste Detektivregel: 😤😤😤 die Wahrheit liegt direkt vor dir.

Also stellen wir uns mal ein paar Fragen:

Mag Justus einen der beiden Kollegen mehr als den anderen? -> Absolut nicht und deshalb waren auch alle so entrüstet über seine Entscheidung.

Ist Justus der erste Detektiv und hat immer eine Strategie im Hinterkopf? -> Ja, ok vielleicht nicht immer, aber meistens, und auch wenn es nicht der sportliche Punkt war, hat er sich etwas dabei gedacht.

Ist Justus ein wenig verbissen und behält alles für sich? -> Ja

Würde er sich opfern wenn es darum geht, seine Freunde zu retten? -> Ja

Wenn die Drei Fragezeichen eine Schiffscrew wären, wäre er der Kapitän, und Peter als 2. Detektiv seine rechte Hand / 2nd in command / nennt es wie ihr wollt. Und warum gibt es diese Reihenfolge?

Ich hab ja schon mal darüber gepostet, wie die Dynamik der 3 abläuft und wie sie sich ergänzen. Justus gibt die Struktur vor, Peter bringt das Ganze in Schwung und Bob gleicht alles aus. In Momenten der Gefahr ist es auch ganz klar, wer welche Aufgabe hat (zb in Schattenwelt, als eine Schlange in Bobs Bett auftaucht, gibt Justus Anweisungen, Peter führt sie schnell aus, und Bob hilft da wo er kann.)

Jeder hat seine Position.

Wenn ihr euch jetzt denkt: ok aber wieso laberst du so lange und kommst nicht auf den Punkt?

IHR KENNT MICH. ICH LIEBE ANALYSEN BRUDER. ALSO HOLT EUCH KEKSE UND HÖRT ZU <3 vor allem ist es so simpel dass es - besonders aus Justus Sicht - total Sinn macht und offensichtlich logisch ist.

Ein Vizekapitän (2nd in command) laut google: der offizielle Stellvertreter des Kapitäns in Sportmannschaften, der die Binde bei dessen Abwesenheit oder Verletzung übernimmt. Er gehört meist zum Mannschaftsrat, unterstützt die Führung, regelt Aufgaben auf dem Platz und ist ein wichtiges Bindeglied.

Rollen und Funktionen des Vizekapitäns:

Vertretung: Führt die Mannschaft bei Abwesenheit, Krankheit oder Auswechslung des Hauptkapitäns.

Führung: Unterstützt den Kapitän im Mannschaftsrat und übernimmt Verantwortung auf und neben dem Platz.

Kommunikation: Vermittelt zwischen Trainerteam und Spielern, oft mit strategischen Aufgaben, besonders wenn der Kapitän (z.B. Torwart) weit vom Geschehen entfernt ist.

Sobald also Justus ausfällt, übernimmt Peter die Führung und erneut unterstützt Bob an den Stellen, an denen es nötig ist. Auch dafür sehen wir Beispiele. Genau das sehen wir AUCH in Schattenwelt! Ja! Ich höre diese Folge gerade im Moment. So bin ich da auch drauf gekommen.

Als Justus hypnotisiert / auf Droge / in Trance auf dem Klo gefunden wird, reagiert Peter sofort und gibt anderen Anweisungen, um zu helfen.

Und genau darauf verlässt sich Justus.

Auch wenn sie komplett unterschiedliche Persönlichkeiten haben, haben sie die gleichen Werte und Ziele : Fall lösen. Sicherheit gewähren. Und was Peter noch besser kann: loslassen, wenn er weiß, dass Bob in etwas besser ist als er. [ als Justus durch die Schmerztablette ausgeknockt ist, übernimmt er erst die Führung, lässt sich dann aber von Bob strategisch anleiten. ]

Würden sie niemals zugeben, is aber so.

Aber vor allem, und das verbindet Justus und Peter am Allermeisten, ist eine Sache klar.

Und genau darauf verlässt sich Justus, wenn er Peter auswählt, dem dementsprechend gewisse Freiheiten gewährt werden, weil Justus schon damit rechnet, durch ein Gefecht auszufallen und selbst nicht in der Lage zu sein, Kontrolle über die Situation zu behalten.

Der Unterschied zu Sherlock Holmes ist aber :

Sherlock Holmes hat einen Watson.

Justus hat zwei. Oder?

Falsch. Und genau da liegt Greys Denkfehler.

Er sah Justus als Sherlock Holmes, sich als Moriarty, und demnach soll er sich für einen Watson entscheiden. So als gäbe es eine Hierarchie. Denn das muss es ja geben, weil es ein Machtspiel ist. So denkt Grey. Und er liegt falsch. Denn das hier sind nun mal nicht Sherlock und Watson (2), sondern die drei Fragezeichen. Und wenn die Dynamik überhaupt existiert, dass jemand Watson sein soll, dann ist Justus in dieser Situation Sherlock Holmes und Peter ist sein Watson.

Aber in dem Moment, in dem Justus seine Kontrolle abgibt, ist er eben nicht mehr Sherlock, und demnach übernimmt Peter seine Position - und wer ist dann Peters Watson?

Ganz genau.

Die eine Sache, auf die sich Justus verlassen kann, egal in welcher Lage, den Wink den Peter immer versteht, auch wenn Justus ausfällt, ist die Priorität, seinen Watson aus der Situation herauszubewegen.

Justus hat Peter gewählt, weil absolut klar war, dass er Bob in Sicherheit bringen würde.

Hätte er Bob gewählt, hätte der sich völlig auf das Rätsel fokussiert und nur auf die eine Ebene des Falls die vor ihm liegt. Er ist in dieser Denkweise strukturell ähnlich zu Justus, nur behält dieser eben alle Ebenen gleichzeitig im Blick. Deshalb ist Bob auch für Recherche und Archiv zuständig. Er hat den Hyperfokus und fuchst sich tiefer in jedes Thema rein, weil er eben den Tunnelblick der Recherche hat. Dafür müssen die beiden Kollegen ihm den Rücken freihalten damit er so arbeiten kann.

Peter jedoch juckt der Fall IMMER nur zweitrangig, das wichtigste sind immer seine Kollegen, und sie in Sicherheit zu bringen.

Justus, der in Botschaft aus der Unterwelt also das Ziel auf der Ebene A hatte : Grey das Handwerk zu legen = ihn zu besiegen (egal ob mit oder ohne Kollegen tbh) und B: seine Kollegen in Sicherheit zu bringen, hat diese Aufgabe an Peter abgegeben als Grey dachte er hätte sich entschieden. Er hat aber bloß die Verantwortung aufgeteilt. Er wusste, wenn es hart auf hart kommt, holt Peter Bob da raus.

Bob hätte versucht Greys Spiel zu gewinnen - er hat gar nicht darab gedacht, einen anderen Ausweg zu suchen, weil er zu fokussiert war. Demnach hätte er aber kleinbei gegeben und mitgespielt.

Peter war schon dabei, Fluchtmöglichkeiten zu suchen und auf das Spiel zu scheißen, ums freundlich zu sagen. Dem ist gewinnen in dem Sinne egal, und genau deswegen ergänzen sich die drei so gut.

Justus hat auf zwei Ebenen mindestens gespielt und eine Peter überlassen. Womöglich hätte er sich auch selbst geopfert um mit Grey unterzugehen, weil er wusste, dass seine beiden Freunde in Sicherheit gewesen wären. EGAL wie das Spiel ausgeht.

Und ich glaube, vielleicht auch nur um mich selbst zu trösten, dass Bob das hinterher auch begriffen hat, weswegen es nie mehr ein Thema war.

Justus hat auf Sicherheit gespielt, aber nicht auf seine eigene, sondern auf Bobs, und auch nicht auf die Weise, die Grey erwartet/gesehen hat. [That's my boy🙂‍↕️🤝😤]

Anyway, after making a cup of tea and thinking a lot about the last two minutes of the episode, I have a couple of theories (or, well, a couple of observations and like one theory.)

Okay, so throughout this series, we've been getting hints sort of alleging to the fact that sbk2! Legundo is aware he's in a minecraft world, and beyond that, a youtube video. For example, in the latest episode, where after the 'video' has supposedly ended, we cut to sbk2! (?) Legundo standing in one of the jungle kingdom buildings, and he straight-up addresses us, the audience, saying things like "You thought I was done talking to you" and just monologuing at us, at the camera.

Trust me, we're going to be coming back to some of the latest episode stuff, but for now, there's something else I want to bring up.

So, we've established that sbk2! Legundo is at least somewhat meta-aware of being in a video, but throughout the series, he's also given throwaway mentions about something being 'off-script' or 'not supposed to happen.' It's breaking the fourth wall pretty obviously, but also, it tells us that this Legundo knows, or at least has a vauge idea or what is meant to happen. He has the script, and knows when it's going off course from what was pre-planned. The question is, who is writing the script? Is it him? Some sort of sbk overlord, puppeteering the content, or another, more meta force at play? Does it affect everyone on the server, or just him? And why is he the only one who seems to be aware of it?

Lots of questions, I know, but the latest episode has given us a few answers (and like 20 more questions but we'll get to that in a bit.)

This next example has not yet made it into an episode, but it was from an sbk stream where they were recording a bit for a future episode, so it's close enough to canon. Legundo, M1G, and Nukeri were recording a lore(ish) sequence on stream (very fun stream btw, it's called SBK for sexyman on Legundo's vod channel if you're wondering) and Legundo tells Nukeri "Can we take that line again?" which he does, and Legundo later told M1G that he was keeping that bit in his video, not cutting it out. Again, take this example with a grain of salt, because things change and it could totally end up being non-canon, but at the moment, it seems like another piece of evidence pointing towards the fact that sbk2! Legundo is 100% aware that he's in a video, and actively breaking the fourth wall to better suit the narrative.

Anyway, now it's finally time to talk about the latest episode, and the massive lore drop that was the last two minutes. There were some potentially lore-y moments throughout the bulk of the video, but I can't quite put my finger on exactly what they might mean/are indicating, so I'll just skip to the outro for now (spoilers for that, obviously.)

We cut to Legundo standing in the jungle storage room, finishing the outro and saying goodbye to the viewers, something that I don't think has really happened in a Legundo sbk video before, but is all and all pretty standard for the genre. Then, the screen glitches for a spilt second, something that's been a re-occuring sort of theme throughout the series.

When the glitch ends, Legundo is standing facing away from the camera, and seems to be talking to us, the audience, when he asks if we thought he was done, and says that he's not listening anymore. This 'he' clearly isn't Legundo, but someone...else. He mentions how he and so many others get out through the ringer for 'our' entertainment, talking to us viewers directly. But then he talks about how this time, he's in control.

So, to answer one of my earlier questions, who is he? Who is calling the shots, writing the script? Or, if this Legundo is to be believed, who is not in power anymore?

Well, this is where my theorising starts. In those last two minutes, Legundo mentions how He is not listening anymore, how he's off to sleep, and how Legundo never gets to rest. And how this will be explained eventually, when he gets around to it, summarising his actions.

So, from all the evidence we've seen, we can gather that there is another force at play here, one that Legundo is aware of, who writes the scripts, explains Legundo's actions, and summarises the what happens for the episodes. And that sometimes, when the episode ends, he goes to sleep, while Legundo is still waiting in the world of sbk, never getting to rest. Legundo is aware of his place in a minecraft video - as he puts it 'being out through the ringer for our entertainment' - and if that's true, there has to be someone making the video. Doing the voiceovers, writing the script, and going to sleep at the end of it. I think that person, whoever they are, is the one sbk2! Legundo keeps talking about, the one he seems so annoyed with.

But, as he tells us, Legundo has control now, not whoever this person is, and if we look back a little further, I think we can see how that happened. See, when Legundo is talking about the new kingdoms (Scott & Drift and Shelby & Cam) arriving in sbk, he talks about how 'this changes everything' and how a pivotal rule of sbk has been broken - every kingdom resides over a different kind of wood, whether now, two kingdoms have been duplicated (doak 2 and birch 2.) That doesn't really relate to the lore, sure, up until he talks about how now that one rule has been broken, what's to say others can't be? Anything could happen, it's created more wiggle room, in a sense. I think that the breaking of one of sbk's core rules (did you know sbk only has five rules, remember?) Legundo has gotten the opportunity to take power for himself. He's the one controlling the narrative now, not this other person.

And finally, one last piece of information from the latest episode that, really, creates a whole lot more new questions than it does answer old ones. As one of the last things he says, Legundo tells us, the audience, that we can call him Eight. Like the walls.

I honestly have no idea what the wall part means, except that it might relate to the 'fourth wall', something which Eight keeps breaking. But that's definitely a stretch, and whatever it means, I think we'll be getting more information on it shortly.

But with this new name, we can quite confidently say that there is a difference between the Legundo in Skyblock kingdoms, the one who goes by Eight, and the person who used to be in control of the script, the narrator of sorts. I guess all that's left to see is what happens now that Eight has control of the story he's in.

Anyway, if you've made it this far...wow you have dedication. This was my first kind of attempt at theorising/analyse, and it's very much just my random thoughts all over the place. Still, the lore had me in a chokehold, and I wanted to try and make sense of it all.

But apparently not. There are still fans out there claiming they know A, B, or C about Sam and Caitríona’s lives as if someone delivered a certified PowerPoint presentation straight to their front door. And the best part? Many of them swear they’re “neutral.” Neutral. Right up until the first contradiction slips out — and suddenly their “side” materializes like a hologram.

Fandom memory is selective, isn’t it? A full decade of chaos, cover-ups, messes, theories, narratives, random “leaks,” spontaneous “coincidences”… yet every new wave of fans seems to start from scratch. Some got tired. Some pretend they didn’t. And some stay just to see how far this soap opera is willing to go.

If you look only at Caitríona’s perfectly curated life… well. What a masterclass in image engineering. Everything placed just so, everything polished to perfection — and yet somehow they forgot to close about twenty open tabs in the process. A supposedly happy marriage with absolutely no visible affection, public appearances that look more rehearsed than organic, the famously vague references to “the husband” that always sound like a placeholder, no wedding photos anywhere, and a pregnancy hidden like a state secret.

All of that wrapped in this new “private, low-profile” persona she tries to project, which is almost funny, considering how genuinely spontaneous, open, and unfiltered she used to be. The contrast is impossible to miss.

But sure… totally normal, totally healthy, absolutely transparent. Of course.

On the other side, we have Sam Heughan: for years shaped by Starz into the golden bachelor, the favorite son, the premium product. And naturally, to keep that image alive, came the long parade of beards. Beards to cover… what exactly? No one knows, but the circus goes on.

Then comes the question no one really wants to say out loud: Is he actually this “ladies’ man” or this walking “red flag” he’s being alternately shaped into and sold as? Because let’s be honest, the public Sam we see today feels less like himself and more like someone performing a role. A corporate robot with a pre-programmed smile, always “on,” always acting, never quite real.

Meanwhile, every woman who’s ever been “linked” to him… is now married, happy, and living an actual normal life. Real relationships, real partners, no photo manipulation, no strategic video drops, no curated narratives. Just… normal. Imagine that.

And it’s also interesting how most of these women appeared from obscure sources, sketchy websites, or “mysterious insiders.” These little gems always come from the same place. Coincidence? Oh, of course. It must be.

After everything, when you look at the public image they’re trying so hard to sell, it’s all very simple: No connection, no interaction, each pretending they’ve fully moved on, even with the new Outlander season on the horizon.

And sure, we did get a recent “interaction,” if that’s what we’re calling it now… but that’s a story for another post entirely.

Because the moment you look past the surface, the coincidences start showing up. The same “coincidences” that have been happening for more than a decade. They just keep coming. Over. And over. And over.

And there’s one thing we all know by now: They don’t get caught unless they want to be caught. They only appear when they decide it’s time to appear.

xx Mary

I’ve been thinking about "The summer Hikaru died"....

and how the whole story kind of shifts depending on perspective.

So, the thing is..

At the beginning

Hikaru dies in a really symbolic way. He’s looking at this tree shaped like a woman’s body, and then he slips.

And I can’t stop reading that as something deeper, like the moment he “lets go” of his straightness.

Almost like his heterosexual identity literally dies with him in that moment.

After that...

The new Hikaru appears

And from Yoshiki’s perspective, everything changes.

Yoshiki immediately sees this new Hikaru as something monstrous.

Not just different, but wrong, disturbing, almost inhuman.

And that framing is really important, because we’re stuck inside Yoshiki’s head the whole time. So we don’t see Hikaru “as he is,” we see him as Yoshiki feels him.

And that’s where the internalized homophobia becomes so clear.

The new Hikaru is actually not rejecting himself.

He seems aware of his feelings, even comfortable in them in a quiet way. But Yoshiki interprets everything through discomfort and fear.

So every interaction becomes distorted.

There are those moments, like the “so gross, so gross, so good, so good” scene-- where Hikaru’s touch or presence is framed as something almost bodily and overwhelming.

And Yoshiki reacts like a kid who doesn’t know what to do with emotions he doesn’t understand yet.

The monster imagery really builds this up too.

Hikaru is shown in this weird, distorted way, long, unsettling shapes, almost bodily horror-like features. Even things like raw chicken are used to create that sense of disgust.

It’s not random, it reflects Yoshiki’s internal reaction. It’s literally his perception made visual.

So the “monster” isn’t really Hikaru.

It’s Yoshiki’s fear.

And over time, something slowly changes.

The monster stops feeling as scary.

The imagery becomes less overwhelming. Yoshiki starts to sit with it instead of instantly rejecting it. (Where he also got that "mark" on his wrist-- it's indicating that he's slowly accepting the new "Hikaru" and slowly starting to be a part of it...)

And by the end....

when Yoshiki says something like “then I will be part of you,” it feels like acceptance.

Like he’s no longer fully separating himself from Hikaru, or in this case from what Hikaru represents.

He's accepting. Not just of Hikaru, but of the fact that he himself isn’t as “fully straight” or as fixed as he once thought.

So the whole story becomes less about a literal monster…

and more about how Yoshiki sees desire, identity, and his best friend that came back and never fully turned "normal"...

What do you y'all think...??

"Angepasst." "Tja, ist manchmal besser."

Hohenweiler wird als Dorf dargestellt, dessen Einwohner in einem unüberwindbaren Kreislauf von Hass gefangen sind. Mit dem zusätzlichen Kontext vom Verlassen und Verlassenwerden sowie von Queerness, die von gesellschaftlichen Normen abweicht und eben nicht "angepasst" ist wie die Vögel im Käfig, macht das mehrere Ebenen auf, auf denen die Vogelsymbolik zum Tragen kommt.