#silent and brooding ❌

[vulpinesaint]

can’t take this guy anywhere. the complainerrrrrrr

[otp-after-dark]

🔥 Absolute Blasphemy: They Butchered Nick and June — And They Butchered the Whole Damn Point of THT

Oh, I'm going scorched earth now.

A love story built on blood, sacrifice, and rebellion… reduced to nothing.

TL;DR: Nick gets on a plane that might be rigged to explode. June just lets him. The show runners expect us to call that “love” or “closure.” No. This is character assassination, a betrayal of everything Margaret Atwood built, and a complete erasure of the core themes that made The Handmaid’s Tale matter. And if I have to hold onto my own damn ending to make peace with it, I will. Because the one they gave us? It’s a disgrace.

❌ Nick Blaine Would NEVER Do This. And June Would NEVER Let Him.

Let’s rewind to who these two actually were.

Nick Blaine isn’t just some brooding side character. He’s been a co-lead since Season 1 — a man caught in a fascist regime who chose resistance every single time it meant protecting June.

In Season 1, he coordinates June's escape to the Boston Globe.

In Season 2, he makes sure June survives childbirth and helps coordinate her escape (again) to get her out.

In Season 4, he literally helps orchestrate Fred’s murder as a gift to June.

In Season 5, he makes it clear he’ll never let her go and love anyone but her.

So now you're telling me this man — this careful, bleeding, haunted man — just gets on a plane he has to at least suspect is rigged with no contingency plan, no warning, no desperate last-minute glance, no whispered plea? He might not know the plane is rigged — but he’s not stupid. And even if he didn’t know, it makes it worse that he left without a word, without a glance, without any instinct to reach for her. The Nick we knew would never walk away from June like this. Whether he knew or not, the show robbed him of his voice, his fire, and his final stand.

And June — the woman who launched a rebellion, helped smuggle dozens of children out of Gilead, murdered her rapist, survived ritual torture and psych ops, and stared down Serena Joy and Aunt Lydia with fire in her eyes — now just watches him go?

She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t run. She doesn’t fight. She accepts it.

This is not them. This is not the Nick and June we bled for. This is emotional fraud.

😤 And the Worst Part? FRED WAS RIGHT?

“Every love story is a tragedy if you live long enough.” – Fred f***ing Waterford

Let me tell you something: When FRED, the rapist, tyrant, manipulative narcissist who tried to justify every monstrous thing he did with flowery biblical metaphors, becomes the voice of thematic truth in your show? You’ve failed. Spectacularly.

Because when Fred said that line, it was supposed to be ironic. It was supposed to highlight how he romanticizes suffering while enacting horror. It was supposed to expose his hypocrisy.

But now? Now it’s just… true? Nick and June — the one relationship built on shared survival, silent sacrifice, unspoken longing, and acts of revolution— are left with nothing? And we’re supposed to nod solemnly like, “Yes, Fred was right. All love dies eventually”?

NO. NOPE. HELL NO.

The whole point of Nick and June was that their love transcended the regime. It was never allowed. It was never convenient. And it still endured. That was the story. That was the point.

If Fred was right, the entire narrative collapses in and of itself.

🤬 This Is Narrative Cowardice.

Let me be clear: I can handle tragedy. I can handle heartbreak. I’m not asking for sunshine and babies.

But this isn’t tragedy. This is narrative negligence.

A tragedy would have been:

June dragging Nick off the plane at gunpoint, only for them to be captured.

Nick sacrificing himself but leaving behind a message, a choice, a voice.

June choosing to go with him, knowing it’s doomed, and facing the consequences together.

What we got instead was:

Nick walking to a likely death like a resigned bureaucrat.

June barely reacting.

Zero resistance. Zero passion. Zero truth.

It’s not tragic. It’s lazy. It’s gutless. And it reeks of a writing room that either lost its nerve in the current political climate or no longer believes in the story they were telling.

🧨 This Is Not Atwood's THT. This Is Prestige TV Pretending to Be Smart and Politically Safe.

Let’s not sugarcoat it. This finale isn’t just disappointing — it’s cowardly. It’s prestige-washed, watered-down, and terrified of its own legacy.

Margaret Atwood didn’t write a metaphor. She wrote a warning. Every horror in The Handmaid’s Tale was pulled from history. The pain. The punishments. The systemic control of women’s bodies. All of it has happened before.

At its core, her book carried one thesis: Oppression thrives on silence. Resistance lives in memory, desire, and identity. Even in captivity, even when stripped of everything, a woman can still rebel — by remembering herself.

That’s who Offred was. That’s who June used to be. A narrator who named her pain. A woman who found rebellion in wanting, in loving, in refusing to disappear.

And early on, the show got that. It gave us fire. It gave us June spitting in Fred’s face. June orchestrating Fred’s murder and kissing Nick like a blood-soaked thank-you.

Her love with Nick wasn’t soft. It wasn’t quiet. It was survival. It was resistance. It was a threat to Gilead itself.

But now? Now June is muted, judgmental, and a hypocrite. Nick is neutered and pro Gilead. WHAT?! And their love — once radical — is treated like a tragic inconvenience.

The final insult? Fred f***ing Waterford gets the last word.

That line should’ve been mocked. A narcissist’s delusion. A warning of how tyrants romanticize the violence they cause.

Instead? The show treats it like the truth. Like the point.

That’s not a tragedy. That’s a betrayal.

This finale isn’t bold. It’s not emotionally mature. It’s not a reflection of trauma or nuance.

It’s storytelling that’s scared of passion. Scared of fire. Scared of the very themes it once claimed to stand for.

This isn’t Atwood. This isn’t feminist. This isn’t revolutionary.

It’s politically safe. Emotionally hollow. And I reject it completely.

✅ The Ending That Still Makes Sense (a summary of my ending)

Forget this muted finale.

In my ending — the only one that makes emotional sense — Nick finally snaps. He stops playing the good soldier. Stops pretending he doesn’t care. He shows up at June’s door like a man on fire.

And June? She’s already past the point of no return. Done with pretending Canada is salvation. She’s ready to do something reckless. Dangerous.

He opens the door. She gets in the car. There’s blood on her hands. Tears in her eyes. But clarity, too. And she says it:

“We’re in this together. Fucking drive.”

That’s it. That’s all it ever had to be.

Two people who loved each other too hard for the world they lived in. Who chose each other in the face of death. Who didn’t walk away.

Not passive ghosts. Not tragedy porn. Not whatever the hell this finale tried to sell us.

This Finale? UNFORGIVABLE.

You don’t get to build Nick and June as a story of love under fire, love as resistance, love as something holy and real in the middle of hell — and then tell us that none of it mattered.

You don’t get to give Fred Waterford the final word on love. You don’t get to strip June of her fight. You don’t get to neuter Nick and erase his heart.

We remember who they were. Atwood got it right. And we’re not buying this lame ass crap.