#Otherwise Bookshop

[sunderwight]

Thinking about the weird camaraderie that exists between demons but not angels in GO.

Have we ever seen two angels who are actually friends? Or even friendly to one another? We have met angels with a capacity to be friendly in general, but I think the closest we've come to two angels actually getting along would be Gabriel making a point to laugh at Sandalphon's terrible "can't have a war without War" line in S1.

Most scenes between the angels actually seem to have an undercurrent of absolute hostility. Teeth-clenched teamwork. No wonder it took them so long to notice that Aziraphale wasn't on the same page as the rest of them! The rest of them are barely on the same page as one another, either! When Gabriel goes against the majority vote, no one bats an eye at demoting him and wiping his memory. Michael and Uriel immediately begin vying for his job. The only times we've seen angels team up is when they're working together to bully someone else, like when they're trying to intimidate Aziraphale in S1 or going to the aftermath of the bookshop raid in S2.

Saraqael's overall neutrality towards Muriel is the closest we get to two angels in Heaven getting along, and it's more a lack of hostility than any kind of friendliness. At least until Gabriel loses his memories and Muriel shows up to spy on Aziraphale, and Aziraphale decides to be kind to both of them.

Demons, on the other hand, actually seem to form alliances and even friendships among one another. Hastur and Ligur are awful, but Hastur seems genuinely distraught over Ligur's death, not just fearful of suffering the same fate. Shax and Furfur conspire together and even though the 1940's investigation into Crowley's fraternizing doesn't work out for Furfur, it's not due to any double-crossing on Shax's part. Unlike the angels, who stick almost exclusively to making threats until the Metatron decides to try dangling a carrot at the end of the season, demons actually offer rewards to other demons when trying to work together. Beelzebub offers Crowley a promotion if he can bring them Gabriel, Furfur offers to back Shax up politically if she goes for the Duke position opening, and Crowley successfully stalls Hastur in S1 by pretending everything was a test and he's going to be put in charge of a legion as a reward for passing. They're still not great at socializing, but they're significantly ahead of the angels.

Of course, it's a fact that demons are awful to one another (Eric's treatment is really bad, they throw that random demon into holy water just to test it, "it'd be a funny world if demons went around trusting one another", etc) but they still seem more capable of forming friendships than the angels do.

I think that's because Hell cramps and crowds everyone together to try and increase their suffering and hostility, whereas Heaven isolates angels to decrease the odds of questioning or rebellion. Hell's methods are unpleasant, but it still ends up putting demons together, and some of those demons inevitably forge alliances and make friendships. Because as Crowley and Beelzebub demonstrate, demons are still social creatures with the capacity for love and affection, even if it's strongly discouraged and buried under nine million layers of trauma and a cultural mandate against kindness.

Angels are the same, but isolation makes is harder to form connections than overcrowding. Muriel and Jimbriel are both so eager to make friends, but Muriel's spent the past millennia shut in an empty office, and Gabriel has been distanced from his peers both through his position and also through Heaven's culture of fear and surveillance. He only breaks away from it when he finds something that's stronger than "choosing sides" (stronger than the fear of being rejected by Heaven and Falling, in fact strong enough that Falling seems worth it if he gets to be with someone he loves). Both Muriel and Gabriel are only able to start forming connections when they're away from Heaven.

I just think it's interesting that demons, despite being supposedly devoid of love, have an advantage in forming relationships compared to angels. Angels are supposed to love, but have far fewer opportunities to actually do so. Demons aren't supposed to love, but they make connections anyway.

[mobius-m-mobius]

#just Aziraphale having faith in a higher power to save the world then Crowley doing the same to try and keep from losing him

[clooverhoover]

ok y'all listen- i finished gomens and over the next couple of days watched some yt edits because what else are you gonna do and read some fanfics because what else are you gonna do and was really confused because there were some scenes that i didn't recognize and realized that i SOMEHOW MISSED THE FIRST EPISODE OF SEASON 2 T T HOW GIRLIE anyways I'm watching it now and realizing I'm dumb

[coffeeastronaut]

the shitscript is in fact a a a shitscript but crowley and aziraphale's 6000 years of crowley cheating at checkers every time and aziraphale never wins is seriously so insanely funny. like.

aziraphale is not at all stupid, let alone enough for crowley's literal "whats that outside!!!! [snatches his pieces]" but the fact that he KNOWS hes been cheating this whole time and has been LETTING him is so fucking funny.

not for the reason the script gives (something something its aziraphale's lame moral lesson that even he knows is stupid, but only after an 11 year old points it out to him) but for the reason ive invented in my mind, which is that this is yet another example of their looserman weirdo foreplay

[florbelles]

sigh at the point of síle’s canon run when i have to make a final call on shit like at what point gorty figured out Who She Is because he would have been beneath her notice ten years ago but he sure the fuck would have known who she was

[calltainn]

Looked up the author of the book I'm reading because the book could easily have started life as scrubbed fic (its dynamic and situation set up is nearly identical to Catradora's) and I wanted to see if the author had said anything about writing fanfic in interviews, but I instantly regretted it.

[creature-from-unknown-orgins]

I’m so normal about Nimona it is actually funny how normal I am about this and how much I don’t want to buy the book hahahaha

[gayness-and-mayhem]

Ok, I might be wrong, but I think I may have found the holy grail of books: cool linguistics book signed by the man the myth the legend David Crystal.

[astriiformes]

Still working on getting everything set up how I like it on Palamedes (the new laptop) and was reminded of my favorite browser extensions everyone should know about -- Unpaywall and Library Extension

Unpaywall automatically searches a database of open-access sources to let you know if an academic article you're looking at is available anywhere for free. (And yes, I know there are other ways of getting your hands on them if there aren't open-access options, but it's an easy, convenient first step in the search!)

Library Extension is kind of similar, except it's an extension that tells you if your local library (or its Hoopla catalogue, or various online sources like Open Library) has a book available in a little box that shows up if you're looking at titles on Amazon, Goodreads, or their less evil counterparts -- Bookshop and Storygraph, respectively. It even has a button that automatically takes you to the page to request it as a hold from the library instead, which I know is amazing for my "I'll look that up later [does not look that up later]" ADHD brain.

I cannot recommend these extensions enough, and the ease and convenience of both of them have definitely helped me read more academics articles and books than I would have otherwise. Definitely check them out if you're not already using them!

[katiefrog217]

AziraCrow | Book Reading

(Scroll down for mini story vvvv) + (Companion Piece)

Aziraphale liked books, especially the old ones. They were the main reason for owning his bookshop, after all.

He loved reading them, too. Sitting quietly in the back of his bookshop with a good book and the occasional accompaniment of an old record made for quite the delightful evening, in his opinion. Despite his being handless (and therefore, fingerless), Aziraphale was perfectly capable of turning pages on his own. Not with his talons of course; Heaven only knew the trouble that would come from attempting to turn the aging and potentially fragile paper with such unreliable instruments. It would be a simple enough fix if a page did happen to tear, but the memory would haunt him forever. Instead, all it took was a flick of his wing and woosh, the pages would turn themselves. Sometimes he just had to ask nicely. However, there were times that he didn't need to expend the effort.

Those times just so happened to coincide with a particularly serpentine visitor.

Crowley's visits were irregular and not always predictable. Most of the time he would pop in to complain about Who-Knows-What and disappear off to Who-Knows-Where. Sometimes he would stay longer, and they would share a glass of wine or some other alcohol, chatting a lot about nothing and reminiscing about times long passed until the shadows grew long. On rare occasions they would sit in comfortable silence, doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company. Aziraphale would then pick a book to read and Crowley would slither over to join him.

Of course, Crowley didn't like reading - or at least claimed he didn't. 'Not worth his time,' he'd say dismissively. Still, he (bored expression and all) would come, make himself comfortable by coiling around both the book stand and Aziraphale, and just watch. Just about anyone on Earth would likely be uncomfortable being stared down by such an intense gaze, but not Aziraphale. Over the many millennia, he has grown used to being observed by those golden eyes. Dare he say, he even found it comforting in a way, but that was besides the point.

He wasn't sure how it started; perhaps Crowley found himself overly bored that day, but he began turning the book pages whenever Aziraphale raised his wing to compel them instead. It had started him at first, and he had looked to Crowley with much confusion, though the demon had nothing to say in return. He merely shrugged (or at least it could be considered the serpentine equivalent of a shrug) and turned away. A few more pages in, and he'd turn them again. This happened over and over until Aziraphale heaved a sigh gave in, allowing the serpent to do as he wanted. At first, it was quite awkward to give verbal cues, and there were times when he became so engrossed in his reading that he forgot entirely, but eventually they settled into a comfortable rhythm. Nowadays he didn't even bother. It had become almost automatic: Aziraphale would finish the page and it would turn, no questions asked.

Aziraphale suspected it would baffle the minds of many to see a demon treat anything so gently, yet Crowley turned the pages in such a way that they were never bent nor crumpled. In fact, it seemed to him that the older the book was, the gentler Crowley'd be. He seemed... 'content' was the wrong word to describe his attitude towards the activity, but he never said a word otherwise. At least, not to Aziraphale.

He never pointed this out, of course. Crowley would stop doing it if he did, and he didn't WANT him to stop. He enjoyed it too much.

Once in a blue moon, Crowley would make a comment about whatever Aziraphale was reading at the time. It was often snide, mocking, not always audible. Hisses of exasperation or an exaggerated eye roll were not uncommon either. Then he would turn away, bored despondence washing over his face, shutting down any attempts to further the conversation. Not that he would respond if Aziraphale did, though that hadn't stopped him from trying. On one occasion Aziraphale had tried to push the topic, only for Crowley to deflect, insisting that he had only glanced the passage at random. He stopped turning the pages then. Aziraphale never tried again and settled with only giving him sidelong glances when he said something particularly egregious.

And so they would read, the silence broken only by the ticking of an old clock and the occasionally rustle of a page.

...

Aziraphale liked his books.

He liked reading them alone in his bookshop.

But he liked them best when Crowley was there to turn the pages for him.

[alahasta]

i just assume that aziraphale miracles accessibility any time it’s required

problematic fave: has owned a bookshop for hundreds of years and still hasn't installed a ramp for wheelchair accessibility

[neil-gaiman]

Hello mr gaiman

How did Aziraphale get a copy of Good Omens in his bookshop? If the book is within the show, does that make the show also within the show? Is it like one of those images with infinite smaller versions of itself within it?

Does Aziraphale know that this will somehow bring about the end of the universe and lead to Crowley’s goat related (or otherwise) destruction? What will he do about it?

I’ve been coughing my lungs up for a week and my brain is melting-

Thankyou very much :)

Fortunately, Aziraphale has not read every book in his shop, and he missed that one.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 8

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Eira has no idea how to deal with her sister, Azriel kills two Mountain Lions that try to kill him first, Rhys and Cassian are very amused and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

"Do you want to talk about Elain?" Feyra asked quietly.

They were out shopping.

Pretending like everything was well. That nothing was going on. Even Nesta had come along for their impromptu walk into Velaris.

They already had gone to a bookshop where Eira, for the first time in her life, had picked up a sewing book and actually felt like it was going to be useful to actually read it and not just look at the diagrams.  Nesta had stocked up on the romance novels she liked and had also tried to talk Eira into reading some of them as well, to which she just shook her head, her cheeks flaming.

She couldn't even deal with the romance in her real life. She highly doubted that it would be better with fictional characters. And now there they were, sitting in one of the cafes lining the streets and Feyre broached that topic.

Eira’s heart dropped at the question, her breath catching in her throat.

She didn’t want to talk about Elain. Didn’t want to think about what was going on with her sister, the fact that she couldn’t figure out how to deal with her twin, how to even think about her without getting angry.

And she did get angry. So angry. It was bubbling, boiling under the surface and if Eira had any fucking clue how to stab somebody, she would do it. 

But Feyre was looking at her expectantly, her sister waiting for her answer and so….and so what choice did she have?

"What about her?" Eira asked, trying and failing to keep her voice casual.

"What about the wedding invitation that arrived?" Feyre suggested drily. "Rhys did say that you agreed to attend. How are you feeling about it?"

Her heart thudded in her throat. The invitation. The damned invitation that she had not only agreed to attend but also meant that Azriel was going to be there too. 

She swallowed hard, feeling her palms grow sweaty and that familiar surge of rage swelling in her heart. “I…” she started. “I…I honestly would rather not talk about it.”

Feyre said nothing for a moment, looking at her intently for several beats. Looking like she was trying to read Eira’s face, trying to determine what she was feeling. There was…a trace of sympathy in her eyes. “You’re angry with her,” she said quietly, a tone of understanding in her voice, and Eira swallowed again, her heart thumping hard in her chest.

Yes. She was angry. She was furious.

"You have every right to be angry," Nesta said, her voice even. "I am angry at Elain too."

That caught her off guard. The idea that Nesta, Nesta of all people, was angry at Elain too, the idea that Eira was not the only one having…having thoughts about their sister.

“You are?” she asked, her voice shaking faintly. “Why…why are you angry with her?”

It was…she had thought that no one else had these thoughts towards Elain, these angry thoughts. That no one else was struggling to not let their temper get the best of them, and the realization that that apparently wasn’t the case felt like a breath of fresh air to her constricted lungs.

“Of course, I am,” Nesta spat out. “Eira, she spent months, years, manipulating the circumstances around her for what? Because she thought she was the prettier one and you didn’t deserve Azriel? That if Elain couldn’t have him, nobody should?! She did it on purpose, Eira! She knew exactly what she was doing and she did it nonetheless.”

Jealousy, Rhys had said. But he hadn’t told her that Elain thought that because she was the prettier one and Eira didn’t deserve Azriel. He hadn’t…he hadn’t mentioned that. 

But did it matter? It was the truth. 

She could fix her teeth and use potions on her hair and Elain would still be more beautiful.

But…hearing it spoken so plainly, hearing it put into such cold and simple facts made her heart twist painfully in her chest because…Nesta was right. She was absolutely, one hundred percent right.

Elain had lied to them. Had purposely tried to get in the way of her relationship with Azriel, and had lied to her. Had chosen Lucien and still tried to do everything she could to ruin things for Eira with Azriel.

She took a breath, her hands twisting together on her lap. “I…I am still angry,” she admitted shakily. “I cannot imagine…I can still barely believe that she would do that. That she would want to do that, all of it.” This was Elain. Her twin. For 9 months they had shared their mother’s womb. And…And she had done this? Out of jealousy? Out of spite? What had Eira done to her to deserve that?!

Eira took a breath, her hands twisting together on her lap. “I…I am so angry,” she admitted shakily. “I cannot imagine…I can't...I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive her," she whispered. "If I can ever look at her with something else but hatred. She sees these visions and instead of using them to help people she...she wanted to take them from me," Eira choked out. "She tried to take my babies from me. How am I supposed to forgive her for that?"

"You aren't," Nesta said quietly. "You don't need to forgive her, Eira."

Her heart was pounding. It was….hearing it said like that, that she didn’t have to forgive Elain…she didn’t need to forgive her baby sister. She had thought…she had thought that forgiving her, accepting her apologies, that was something mandatory. Something expected of her.

“I don’t?” she asked in a small voice. “But…but she’s my sister. My twin sister. How can I...how can I not forgive her?”

She had always been in the middle, the peacemaker. The one who had tried to smooth things over between her older sisters and the youngest, the one who had always, always played the mediator. How could she not forgive Elain, when she had done her best to keep peace between the three of them her whole life?

And Feyre’s expression softened, that look of sympathy in her eyes growing, and she reached out, taking Eira’s hand in a gentle, comforting grip. “You aren’t obligated to forgive her,” she told her gently, her voice soft. “Even if she’s your sister. Even if she apologizes to you for what she’s done. You don’t have to accept that apology.”

"You don't even need to listen to her apology if you don't want to," Nesta added quietly. "You don't need to do anything, you don't want, Eira."

Her breath caught in her throat and something in her chest clenched at the words. That…that she didn’t need to listen to the apology, that she didn’t even need to let her make an apology. It…it all sounded so very freeing, and yet…and yet she couldn’t get rid of the nagging thought that it was all so very wrong, that she needed to forgive Elain because she was her sister.

"You don't need to go to that wedding either," Feyre said quietly. "If you don't want to. But if you want to, I imagine Azriel isn't going to leave you out of his sight."

It did make her flinch. She knew that she couldn't demand that Azriel stay in Velairs, demand that he never saw her twin sister again...but that wound was still raw...and he expected it to stay like that for a little while.

Her heart twisted as she was reminded of the fact that even if she did attend the wedding…if she decided to go…Azriel would be there with her. Would be right at her side the whole time, and he would…he would be forced to see and be around Elain. He would have to see her, talk to her, and be around her. Be around the woman he had once...been in love with. That he had preferred over Eira.

And he would be able to see...see the differences. He would compare them. And Eira would be the one to end up lacking.

She swallowed hard, that hot, bitter sensation of jealousy welling in her throat as she considered that. She would be compared. Compared to Elain, and she would always be...less than her. Not as pretty. Not as desirable. Not as...perfect.

That hot, bitter jealousy made her want to lash out, made her fingers curl into her palms, her nails digging into her skin. She wanted….she wanted to be better than Elain, she wanted to be the one that Azriel wanted. That he lusted after. Not Elain. Her.

But she wasn't. She was just...plain, average Eira. She wasn't beautiful, in the same way that Elain was. And she...she would always be second best to that beautiful, delicate, feminine beauty that Elain possessed.

She...she would never be as pretty, as lovely...as perfect as Elain. And she would have to watch Azriel around Elain. Would have to watch and see those comparisons in his eyes, would have to witness first-hand him seeing her lack compared to...compared to her perfect, beautiful sister and know that he found her...well, lacking.

She would have to watch the man that she was desperately, hopelessly, obsessively in love with be around the woman that he had once been in love with and know...know that he would be drawn to her, would notice the beauty and the delicacy and elegance that Elain possessed in a way he had never done with Eira.

That he would...he would see that elegance and beauty and he would...he would find her lacking. He would find her plain, and boring, and just...average, and he would regret that he couldn't have the beauty of Elain. That...that he had to put up with just...plain, ordinary Eira instead.

"The shadows nearly wrung Elain's neck," Nesta said quietly. "When we found out...when Azriel figured out that she lied to him about the earrings...They flung themselves at her. He nearly didn't manage to get them back under control. I have never seen him that furious, Eira."

Her heart jolted at the news, her breathing catching in her throat. The shadows...the shadows had nearly choked Elain?

She could easily picture it, the darkness swarming around Elain, choking the life from her, all in an effort to keep her away from their master. And it...it hadn’t just been a quick, momentary attack. Azriel had lost control of them enough that he had almost not managed to get them back in line.

She stared at the one wisp of shadows that liked wrapping itself around her wrist like a bracelet. "You choked her?" Eira asked, her voice shaky.

No, they disagreed. We wanted to. Master didn't let us. We wanted to. Wanted to squeeze the life from her. Wanted her to suffer, to feel pain. Wanted revenge. 

The admission surprised her, the cold, almost bloodthirsty feeling coming from the shadows surprising her. They...they truly wanted to kill Elain, truly wanted to harm her, and the only thing that had stopped them was Azriel.

"Why?" Eira asked.

The shadow brushed against her skin, another soft caress. It wrapped more tightly around her wrist, a gentle, almost possessive hold. She hurt you, they told her quietly. She hurt you, and we wanted to hurt her back. Wanted her to suffer for all the pain she caused you. You cried because of her. That alone would have been enough. But then…then we saw the vision. She kept the babies from being born. We could have had siblings! Master could have been so happy! 

Her heart thumped, and she...she could feel the genuine bitterness in the shadow's voice, the anger they felt towards Elain for keeping them from being born. For preventing them from ever having been alive in the first place.

Master would have been so happy, they whispered in her ear. We would have been so happy. And she kept them from being born. She kept them from existing at all.

And she...she could relate to that. She could understand that bitterness, the anger and the hate, because Elain was the reason that Eira had lost her babies. The reason that Eira didn't have her beautiful daughter because Elain had done everything she could to keep her from ever being born. 

And the shadows...the shadows hated her for that. They could have had siblings. They would have been able to have a family, to be happy, and Elain had taken that away from them, had stolen that chance from them. She had prevented Azriel’s beautiful, perfect babies from even being a possibility.

And they hated her for it. The shadows hated Elain, and they wanted her to suffer because she had caused Eira to suffer. Because she had hurt Eira, she had hurt Azriel, and she had hurt them, because without her Eira might have gotten to hold her newborn daughter in her arms.

"You can't kill her when we go to the Day Court," Feyre said carefully. "You have every right to be angry, but you can't..."

Eira felt the shadows coil tightly around her wrist, the tendrils wrapping around each other, wrapping around her skin. It almost felt like they were embracing her, holding her tight like they were protecting her like they never wanted to let her go.

We know, the shadows said in a hiss. We know we can’t kill her. Master doesn’t want us to kill her.

And you don't need to worry about Master wanting her anymore, the shadows told her quietly. He's so angry with her...he despises her.

Her heart twisted in her chest, that horrible sensation of jealousy and possessiveness swirling in her gut as the shadows spoke. Azriel was angry with Elain. He despised her.

“He does?” she asked breathlessly, her heart thudding in her ears.

The shadows coiled more tightly around her wrist, a possessive embrace. He does, the shadows confirmed. He’s furious with her. He…he will not forgive her for hurting you. He will not want you to forgive her. Not for this. For…for any of this.

That made her feel a strange sense of satisfaction, of gratification to know that Azriel wouldn’t ever want her to forgive Elain. That he was, in fact, furious enough at Elain that he would never, ever forgive her himself, and he didn’t want Eira to forgive her either.

You should ask Master about it, the shadows assured her. He would tell you himself, the shadows insisted. If you asked him. He would tell you how much he despises Elain. He would tell you that he will never forgive her, for any of this.

"I will," Eira said quietly, looking up to see both of her sisters watching the interaction wide-eyed.

"I am never going to get used to this," Feyre mumbled while Nesta watched the shadows near speculatively.

The shadows grumbled again, clearly not liking being scrutinized by Feyre or Nesta. It was the sort of grumpy, slightly possessive attitude that Eira would expect from a pet, and the idea made her suppress a smile.

Instead, she simply looked down as the shadows gave her wrist another soft, almost gentle squeeze. As if they were reassuring her, letting her know that they would be there for her.

"So, do you need...a new dress?" Feyre asked her. "For the wedding?” she asked her. “We could go poke around some of the shops… “Maybe we even find something for your birthday! That’s coming up too!” 

That question made her pause, and she bit her lower lip, considering it. A new dress…she did have several dresses that she loved, but…there was a part of her that wanted a dress that would be so utterly breathtaking that maybe for once she would manage to be beautiful. 

“Perhaps…” she said hesitantly. “Perhaps something blue...I need to start thinking about Solstice presents too.” Her birthday marked the end of summer, with Elain’s wedding just days later. And then Eira would need to start working on Solstice gifts if she wanted to have them done in a timely manner.

It was one of the things she always made an effort to do, making sure that she got her sisters a Solstice gift, something special specifically for each of the women.

 But this year...this year, she dreaded the thought of making a gift for Elain, of crafting something with her own hands for someone she was feeling so betrayed by. It would be an effort to not allow her anger to colour the gifts Elain received, to make Eira's frustration and pain not obvious in whatever gift she chose to make.

And she didn't even want to think about the hair ribbons she already had embroidered as a birthday gift for Elain...or the bedspread she had made as a wedding gift.

It almost made her sick to think about those two gifts, the things that Eira had worked so hard on, pouring all of her efforts and skill into, and realizing that they were gifts for someone that she was starting to despise. Someone who had deliberately hurt her.

It was almost physically painful to think of all of the effort she had put into the gifts, the work and skill and love she had poured into them.

She felt a strange sort of desire to just…to not make anything for Elain. A very petty part of her wanted to just…not do anything for her at all, not get her a present this Solstice.

But that was extremely petty and extremely childish, and Eira knew that she would make something eventually. Eventually, she would find the drive to make a gift for Elain. Even if she was not happy doing it.

Something for another moment to think about, because otherwise, she would burst into tears. "Can we go to the Palace of Threads and Jewels?" she asked instead. "I need to drop off some of my commissions...and I could look for some fabric for a new dress."

The idea of going to the Palace of Threads and Jewels seemed lovely, and it would give her plenty of things to distract herself with. Plenty of distractions to keep her from thinking about, well, everything.

And it would give her a chance to look over the different bolts of material, see if she could find a bolt of something lovely for a new, blue dress.

“Of course,” Feyre said immediately, and even Nesta nodded at the suggestion, clearly seeing the way Eira was looking for any sort of distraction she could find. And there would be plenty of distractions in the market, plenty of ways to keep her mind occupied as she browsed through the different shops.

She dropped off her commission first, Carden, the female she worked for coming out to talk to her. "I haven't seen you in so long, Eira," the other woman greeted her brightly. "Beautiful work as always," she complimented her. "Your sisters?" she asked, as she took in Feyre and Nesta standing a few feet away.

"We are having a day out shopping," Eira answered easily. "Do you have anything new for me?" Eira asked her. 

Carden smiled widely, her grey eyes glittering as she gestured for Eira to come into the shop, sweeping back the curtain so that the younger woman could follow her into the small, cramped shop that was filled to the brim with bolts of material.

“For you, I have plenty,” she answered, walking over to a far wall of the shop. “Your skill is always in demand.” She pulled down a dress made out of of beautiful, shimmering silk, the fabric so soft that it practically felt like water.

"I need that hemmed. Two people have already tried and failed," Carden said with a sigh.

She held up the dress, and Eira could almost feel how slippery the fabric was, the smooth, shimmering silk sliding against itself. It looked like it would be a nightmare to stitch, and she could see that the hem was already starting to come undone in places, the stitches loose in the wrong sort of way. She would need to stitch the entire hem again if it wanted any chance of staying on without continuing to unravel.

“This is it?” she asked, taking the dress from Carden's hands.

"Yes," the woman answered with a sigh, rolling her eyes as she watched Eira holding the dress, the fabric almost seeming to slither around her hands. "I don't know what sort of material this is, but it's made every needlewoman I had try to work with it go half mad. They have all attempted to finish this dress, and failed."

"How hard have they tried?" she asked, her fingers tracing over the material, the silken fabric sliding against her skin. It was soft, but it didn't seem like it would be that difficult to stitch. Challenging, and certainly more time-consuming from most of the other dresses that she stitched, but difficult? Not truly.

Carden laughed. "Have a go then," she invited.

"I will," Eira said easily. "Same price as always?"

"For you, I will give you twice your normal price," the woman said in an amused tone. "If you can finish that dress without having an emotional breakdown."

"Agreed," Eira said calmly. "I'll let you know how it goes." 

Carden nodded, her eyes glittering with mischief as they shook hands to seal the deal. "Oh, I look forward to hearing about your progress," the woman said with a laugh, glancing over at Feyre and Nesta who were hovering by the front door, clearly not wanting to come into the cramped sewing shop.

Eira chuckled faintly, amused by her sisters' discomfort at the mess that was the sewing shop. And then she nodded at Carden, heading back over to her sisters. "I'll see you later," she told the woman. "...And I promise that I will not have an emotional breakdown."

"So where to next?" Nesta asked her as she stepped outside the shop. 

"One of the fabric shops," Eira answered easily. "I have a list."

It made Feyre laugh. “Of course, you do,” Feyre said in a fond voice, linking her arm through Eira’s as they began to walk. “And I assume this list is quite long?”

"I need fabric for Solstice presents," Eira said in the way of explanation.

“Oh, now I understand,” Feyre said in a mock-serious voice. “Only the important things.”

Nesta chuckled faintly, the expression on her face amused. “And is a new dress on this list?” the eldest sister asked.

"Fabric for it at least.”

***

"See it positively...At least it only ripped the leathers and not your skin?," Cassian said drily. Azriel growled in response.

What should have been an easy trip into Illyria, visiting one of the camps to quell unrest, because Cassian was busy with another, had ended with him killing not one, but two fucking mountain lions.

Cassian clapped his shoulder in a friendly gesture, clearly amused by the other male’s sour mood. "It could have been worse," the other male repeated.

"How?" Azriel retorted. "Just...tell me how this could have possibly gotten any worse."

"At least you got the pelts out of it?" Cassian suggested, making Rhys snort and Azriel growl.

"Yes, that makes it so much better," Azriel snapped, the shadows around him coiling in agitation and irritation.

Rhys was clearly doing his best to keep his expression neutral, but it was very obvious that Azriel’s bad luck had amused him.

"Don't be too sour, Az. At least you didn't get any more scars out of this?" he suggested next.

That comment made Cassian snicker, and Azriel glared. "Oh, yes," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I didn't come out of this with any more scars. That completely makes up for the fact that it took me an hour to skin those two mountain lions."

There was a knock at the door of Rhys office, just as Azriel continued "And now It will take me another hour to patch my leathers, just because they thought I would make a nice mid-afternoon snack!"

Cassian outright laughed, making Azriel glare at him for the second time. He was not amused.

"Or you could give them to me, and I'll fix it," his mate's quiet voice came from the doorway.

All three of them turned, seeing Eira standing by the open door, her head angled slightly. Her eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter, and Azriel could feel the shadows around him immediately perking up at her presence.

Her gaze settled on his shredded jacket, trailing over the rips in the leather. "...That is a...very large rip," she said quietly and, behind him, Cassian snickered again.

Azriel sent a glare in the other male's direction, before answering Eira. "They got a good bit of the stitching too," he said with a sigh. "I'm going to have to have it redone completely probably."

"Hmmm..." she hummed, moving closer to get a better look. Her eyes scanned over the jacket, and Azriel had to hold back a shiver as her fingers touched one of the tears, feeling the fabric between her fingertips. "The leather was torn along with the stitching..." she said quietly, almost to herself.

Her eyes were still on the jacket, and Azriel could practically see the wheels turning as she considered the problem, her lips pursed.

She bit at her lower lip, and he resisted the urge to brush his thumb across the skin, smooth it, and soothe the little bite mark she was leaving. Instead, he just watched and waited, as she continued to examine the jacket.

"Maybe... maybe I can salvage it."

"You can?" Azriel asked in surprise, not expecting that answer. He had honestly thought that she would just suggest a new jacket, and be done with it. Do not consider trying to save the ruined material.

"Yes. Give it to me," she said easily. "Actually, I just wanted to ask Rhys if he could cast that spell on my new books."

She looked up, clearly directing her question at Rhys, who was watching the entire interaction with a small smile on his face.

He huffed a soft, amused laugh, and Azriel could see the glimmer of fondness in his eyes. "Of course, Eira," he answered. "Come here."

Eira gave him a quick, grateful smile as she handed him the books she'd brought with her. "I need that jacket if I am supposed to fix it," she told Azriel calmly.

"Now?" he blurted out. Did she just want him to...strip it off, right here? 

"Yes," Eira answered simply.

But Cassian, the bastard, snickered again. "And in front of an audience," the male teased. Azriel levelled a dark look at him. Cassian ignored his glare, clearly finding it extremely amusing. Rhys seemed to be doing everything in his power not to laugh as well.

And Eira, completely oblivious to all of the undercurrents in the room, just continued to look at him steadily, waiting.

He could feel Cassian’s, Rhys’s, and the shadows gazes on him.

He let out a long, slow sigh, and then, trying his best to ignore all of the other people watching, he slid the destroyed jacket off.

It took some effort to avoid wincing at several of the pull on his injuries, his shoulder protesting at the movement. He knew that he'd be sore for a few days, the mountain lions doing a number on him, but he'd had far worse.

Finally, he stripped out of the jacket and held it out for her to take. Eira's eyes darted over his skin, her cheeks pinking.

But, after a moment, she took the jacket from his hands and looked away, taking a moment to smooth over the ruined fabric with gentle hands, picking up her book and quickly leaving the room.

The room was silent once she left, all of them watching the now empty doorframe.

For a moment, no one said a word.

Then, almost the same moment, both Rhys and Cassian erupted into laughter. Rhys chuckled deeply, while Cassian just cracked up, the sound full of genuine amusement.

"Well, that was...interesting," Rhys managed to say, between laughing.

“I didn’t know she had it in her,” Cassian added, leaning against the table as he laughed, clearly extremely amused.

Azriel just grumbled, staring at the door. “Shut up.”

"Oh, don't grouse because your mate was more interested in your jacket than you," Cassian told him with a snicker, still struggling to regain control of his voice.

Rhys, the bastard, just laughed again, his eyes sparkling with humour.

“Oh, shut up,” Azriel grumbled again, glaring at his two friends. He could feel his cheeks heating slightly, and he was absolutely certain that they were both enjoying this just a bit more than they should be.

“Well, you have to admit,” Rhys said in a choked tone, clearly trying not to laugh again. “It was a bit funny to see her completely ignore your bare chest in favour of an old, ruined jacket.” Cassian burst into fresh, loud laughter as soon as the words were out of Rhys’s mouth, the sound far too gleeful.

Even Rhys cracked up a little again, looking far more amused than Azriel thought was reasonable.

A low growl rose in Azriel's throat, but it didn't do anything to stifle the laughter from the other two. They were clearly having far too much fun with his misery.

"How is she doing with her training?" he asked instead, and Rhys sobered.

Rhys hummed, and the mirth that had been so evident in his face faded as his expression turned serious. "She's getting better far quicker than I thought," he admitted. "She has a surprising amount of control of her lightning. Not yet off the intensity but definitely of making it appear and disappear at will." "You should let her see light a candle. It's working quite well," Rhys told him.

This grabbed both Azriel and Cassian's attention, both of them giving Rhys an interested look.

"Candles?" Cassian repeated.

Rhys hummed, nodding. "We tried that yesterday," he said with a faint smile. "It took a moment, but once she managed it her control was almost instant. We ended the lesson quite a bit earlier than most."

"That's...more control than I would have expected," Azriel said quietly.

For a moment, both he and Cassian were silent as they both considered that information.

Then Rhys chuckled dryly. "She is getting far too amused by having lighting in the palm of her hands."

Amusement was better than outright fear. And the mental image of Eira with lightning in the palm of her hand was…something that he would need to think about nearer when he was…alone. 

His brothers did not let him live down the jacket thing and he escaped to find Eira after the meeting, sitting in the dining room, 

his jacket spread out before her. And to his surprise...lightning was sparking at her fingertips. He had never seen it before. Not when she was clearly in control. 

Azriel stood quietly in the doorway, staring at Eira, transfixed by the lightning flickering between her fingers. She was completely oblivious to his presence, so wrapped up in what she was doing that she didn’t even glance in his direction.

He took the moment to watch her, admiring the look of concentration on her face, the way that her brow furrowed.

He had never in his life seen something more beautiful. He could feel the shadows around him beginning to coil in agitation, clearly as captivated by the display as he was. They wanted to reach out, to touch, to feel the lightning in her hands. And Azriel...wanted much the same.

And then she pressed her thumb and index finger together and the sparks disappeared. Like they had never been there in the first place.

She shook out the jacket. It took her a moment to realize he was there, her eyes lifting as she finally noticed him hovering in the doorway. He watched as surprise washed over her face, the look shifting into something bashful as her cheeks pinkened.

"I burn the ends of the threads so I don't unravel them," she said quietly. "It's the best use I have found for the lightning yet."

Azriel just stared at her for a second, as his brain tried to process that sentence. "You're...using lighting to... burn the threads?" he blurted out, sounding a bit incredulous. She had this amount of power at her fingertips...and that was what she used it for?

Somehow it was so Eira that he couldn't help but chuckle.

She looked faintly sheepish, her cheeks a vibrant red, and Azriel just chuckled again, the sound escaping before he even registered it. "Of course," he said quietly, grinning at her. "Of course, that is what you use the lightning for."

"It works!" she protested lightly. "And here, it should be all...done," she said, her eyes jumping to his naked chest and then he watched her forcefully drag them up again.

Azriel chuckled again, a little smugly this time, enjoying the way her cheeks had flushed red when she'd seen his naked chest. She looked like she could not decide if she wanted to look at him or look away, and it was incredibly endearing.

Eira held out the jacket then, and for a moment he just stood in the doorway, staring at it.

It looked...practically the same as it had before, the only real difference being a patch near the shoulder area where a small piece of leather had been replaced.

He stared for a few seconds longer. "That...looks incredible," he said in a faintly stunned voice. "You...made it look like it was never even ripped."

Eira smiled. "It's only a jacket," she said, but Azriel could hear the pride in her voice.

"A jacket that looks like it was never even damaged," he said, stepping closer, his eyes still on the repair. It looked...perfect. If he had not seen the damage before it would have been impossible to even tell where the rip had been. "Thank you," he told her quietly. "How much do I owe you?"

"You don't-" she started, only to be interrupted by a firm look from Azriel.

"You spent time fixing something for me," he said firmly before she could argue. "I will pay you for your time."

"You are my mate," she disagreed.

"Yes, I am," he agreed easily. "That doesn't change the fact that you spent your time and effort on something for me. And you will let me pay you."

His voice was firm, and he was not going to back down. He was paying for the work she had done, and that was that.

Eira opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue, but then he raised a single eyebrow, and her mouth shut with a snap. She was not going to win this argument, and he could easily see the stubborn part of her conceding that point.

She huffed, frowning faintly in annoyance, and he smirked.

"I'm not going to lose on this one, sweetheart," he said, his voice just a little smug.

She continued to frown at him, and he just chuckled, lifting a hand and lightly brushing her cheek. She was stubborn, he would give her that. But he was just as stubborn...if not more so. He was not backing down from this, no matter how cute her frown was.

"Your shadows keep buying me things. Consider us even," she tried.

"They have their own line of credit," he disagreed.

"That's a bit concerning," she mumbled, looking away, and Azriel chuckled quietly at the expression on her face.

"Don't worry, they make me more money than they spent," he reassured her, grinning a little at her disgruntled look. "They like playing the lottery

“I know, they told me,” Eira said with a sigh. “Still.”

"They're surprisingly good at it, too," he continued her with a smirk. "They seem to know the best times to buy and sell, and they know which numbers will hit on the lotteries. I don't question it. And don't change the topic," he said quietly.

"I never thought I would be concerned over the fact that shadows gamble for a living," she said, shaking her head with a faintly amused smile. Then she huffed. "You still aren't paying me."

"Oh, I'm paying you," Azriel said easily. "Even if you don't want to take money, I will find another way." Another way....another...very Illyrian way.

"If you don't take money...will you take...material?" he asked her.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she tilted her head faintly. "Material?" she repeated. "What...what sort of material?"

"Two Mountain Lion Pelts," he answered honestly. "Thanks to them, I got the rips in the first place."

She paused, clearly processing the words, and Azriel could practically see the thoughts flitting through her mind.

"You got the jacket ripped...by a mountain lion..."

Her face flushed then, and he watched it happen, watching as the colour washed over her cheeks, her eyes widening.

"You..." she said and then swallowed, clearly struggling to keep her composure. "You fought mountain lions?"

"It wasn't on purpose," he said drily.

"You fought mountain lions," she repeated, her voice a little faint. "You...you actually fought mountain lions."

He could see her mind reeling, her eyes darting over him.

"You..." she said, stopping and then inhaling very deeply, clearly trying to control her erratic breathing. "How bad were you hurt?"

Azriel chuckled faintly at the horrified look in her eyes and gently reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he reassured her softly. "I might be a little sore for a few days, but I've already had much worse than a few swipes from mountain lions."

"Nothing but bruises," he promised her, showing her his arm that was purple and black.

She reached out, her eyes widening a little as her knuckles lightly skimmed over the bruising, his skin practically on fire as she gently traced the darkened skin with her fingers. Slowly, carefully.

She exhaled, the breath sounding just a little shaky.

And then her eyes flicked up to his, a quiet, low sound emerging low in her throat, something a little like a growl. "Were you hurt anywhere else?"

Azriel was taken by surprise at the sound of the growl. His usually very sweet, very quiet mate had...growled at him.

But the sound sparked a low heat in his stomach, and Azriel found himself grinning faintly.

"No," he told her, keeping his voice low. "Just a few scratches. Nothing major."

"Were they deep scratches? They could get infected," she said, her voice still a little breathless.

She was still so focused on his arm, her fingers skimming over the bruising lightly. So gentle and sweet, and yet there was a hard, quiet edge to her voice. Azriel could see that look in her eyes, that hint of possessive worry.

"There's no infection," he reassured her, his voice still low, still gentle as he looked down at her, his eyes taking in the expression on her face.

She was worried, that much was obvious. Deeply worried, and more than a little possessive. The possessive edge to her usually so sweet and gentle demeanour was...kind of adorable.

Yours, the shadows whispered quietly. He's yours.

He couldn't help but chuckle. He could feel the shadows, how they were so very pleased by all of this. Her worry, her possessiveness, her protectiveness.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said quietly, watching her. "I will be sore a few days, but I've dealt with much worse."

She harrumphed. "Go put your jacket back on," she finally said.

"Now that sounded awfully commanding," he teased her, a hint of a grin on his face.

She was adorable when she was worried, and the possessive edge was just icing on top of the cake.

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to (or at least should) suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. As the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop....

...after this he drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Or, for the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when he doesn't react in the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. For Heaven. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And so for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3 (to I assume) even out the scores. Or... to deserve Crowley. Some people also want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he has (so thoughtlessly) done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book, my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I...did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating as well, and by furiously (but quietly) trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel I get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck (Crowley's 'What's the point of it all' at the beginning of S2). I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, but I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying from then on.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

How did Aziraphale spend the night after vanquishing the demons and starting a war? He had no idea where Crowley was. What happened to him. He was probably sick with worry that Hell just took him away. We didn't see him drink and cry, but surely, the worry must have been overwhelming. The wait for what will happen now.

ALL his worries over the Arrangement. Was he worried for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in S1, yes, we saw that. And what happened to the angel then?

He got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps. Why is he hurt? And why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, he doesn't deliberate, doesn't worry that he will Fall (although surely that must have been what he thought will happen if he survives this), there's no pomp around it, he thinks it and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was most likely gone. That he probably left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale? About his sadness?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. First of all, he was suppressing his emotions OUT OF LOVE. His main goal was always to keep Crowley safe. They simply couldn't run away or hoodwink Heaven and Hell. They had nowhere to go. They had no hope and yet they kept loving each other. That's courage. I know we all grew up with Romeo and Juliet and Heathcliff and Cathy and we FORGOT that those were CAUTIONARY tales. And this is not what Aziraphale wants for them. He would never allow himself to go so fast he would hurt Crowley. He feels guilty enough for agreeing to the Arrangement and for meeting Crowley at all when he knows they can be discovered and punished at any point. And Crowley knows it and RESPECTS it. He does not tolerate Aziraphale's decision to not go on a date and to hell with circumstances. He understands Aziraphale's reasoning and he respects Aziraphale's decision. Don't forget, they have NO POWER. They can't change Heaven and Hell. They can't stop believing in God and work on their religious trauma. Their Heaven and Hell are real places with real power and they both BELONG to them. Aziraphale's trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd probably never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress like Crowley does. He will learn to be more open, I'm sure. With his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. They got a little bit of freedom for themselves despite ALL odds. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * One more note on grief: (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, not at all. But asking how I am can only end up in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid, unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do). I think...this would probably work not just for someone who is grieving but also for someone who you know is dealing with depression for example or a serious illness etc. Edit 2. It's now almost (in 15 days) a year since my brother died. The random attacks of pain and grief have lessened and I have started to do more of the things I enjoyed before... and I am able to answer how are you questions without feeling like they are trying to mock me (the questions, not the people). So I suppose things do get ... lighter? More diffused? I'm not sure. Because it's still exactly as unfair that my brother has not lived this past year as it will be however many years I will be here without him I expect.

[tens-girl]

Saw my own post on my dash and suddenly realised I needed to head into my docs and make some edits… it really is so important to ask this damn question all the time!

Most important thing I’ve learned writing Good Omens fan fiction… keep a post-it note on your laptop saying ‘is Crowley wearing his sunglasses?’ - so in every scene I remember to consider, are his eyes visible? (And not get half way through and realise they’re probably not…)

[twilightcitysky]

Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 1)

I cannot figure out for the life of me how to make gifs so this will have to be a gif-less essay. If anyone more tech savvy than me wants to reblog with relevant media, please do!

I've seen a lot of people saying how Aziraphale's actions in the final ten minutes come out of left field and are OOC, and when I first watched the episode I felt the same, but now I think I couldn't have been more wrong. And I don't think Aziraphale is being controlled... I think the entire season showed us exactly what was going to happen.

On first watch, what struck me was the number of plot points that seemed disconnected. I couldn't figure out how Job related to the present, or the Victorian era, or the Nazi zombies (still at sea on the zombies part tbh). I didn't know where the Maggie/ Nina subplot was going, or why we were bothering with it. Then I put my "psych hat" on and it was like seeing one of those 3D pictures come into focus. It's a psychological networking rather than a plot-driven one, which is what Neil told us to expect.

Detailed analysis under the cut, with spoilers:

I went back through the season in my head and started asking myself: why is this element there? What does it contribute?

1. Start with scene one. Why include it? Does it matter for the climax that Az knew Crowley as an angel? YES. It's actually huge. Angel Crowley was joyful, he was bursting with delight at creation, he was idealistic. He wanted to be a part of everything rather than run away from it, and that's still how Aziraphale feels. He loves being a part of things. He's a joiner. He's a landlord. He dances at clubs and he makes human friends and he learns magic. Crowley the demon doesn't seem to want any of that, and I think that's hard for Az. He wants Crowley to be free of the cynicism he thinks prevents him from enjoying life now. At some level, I think he senses that Crowley is depressed (empathy's not his strong suit but I'm sure he's aware that Crowley's in a "what's the point of it all" kind of mood; see the eccles cakes scene). He wants to fix it. Aziraphale is a fixer. Metatron offers him a chance to do that.

Another thing is that Aziraphale knows Crowley ended up Falling just for asking questions that seemed innocent. That's not okay with him. He thinks that with the two of them in charge they can actually MAKE the changes that Crowley wanted to see way back at the beginning, starting with a suggestion box.

2. Okay, now Jim. Obviously Gabriel/ Jim is the central mystery, but why does he matter? First and foremost: he's there to show Aziraphale that angels can CHANGE. Gabriel terrorized and threatened Aziraphale. Az has been terrified of him. He ordered Aziraphale's execution. And now here he is, drinking hot chocolate, doing noble self-sacrificing things, with morals that suddenly align with Aziraphale's. What an absolute game-changer that must have been! He thought Heaven was unfixable, but here's Gabriel in his shop for weeks, slowly convincing him otherwise.

Then two other things happen. First, they find out that this all happened to Gabriel essentially because he fell in love. He was fired and his memories were stolen and the only reason he recovered was because Beelzebub happened to give him the one thing that could save him. That must have seemed like incredible luck. Now, how does Aziraphale feel about memories? He lives in a bookshop that is stuffed to bursting with the records of all of human history, essentially. His memories of his time with Crowley are incredibly precious. He sees, there at the end, that everything he is can be taken from him as a punishment for falling in love. Aziraphale doesn't have a magic fly container. He'd be forever robbed of Crowley, his life, himself. It's a very real threat in his mind when Metatron intervenes.

Which brings us to the second thing. Metatron saves Gabriel. Not only that, he prevents him from being punished for loving Beelzebub and lets them both go. What better way to win currency with Aziraphale? HE doesn't want to go off to Alpha Centauri, he never has, but suddenly he sees that Metatron might protect his relationship. And he's probably the only entity with the power to do so.

So we come to two conclusions: Aziraphale, when he goes off to talk with Metatron, is feeling like maybe it's not intrinsically bad to be an angel. He believed all the angels sucked, and only God was good... but now he sees that even Gabriel can change. He met Muriel, and he likes them. (He also had a huge crush on angel Crowley, which is neither here nor there but he loves Crowley in all his forms.) So if Crowley became an angel again, would that really be so bad? In his mind, it wouldn't change who Crowley is. It would just make them both safer and allow them to be together. (He's wrong! And Crowley doesn't see it that way! But this is a key miscommunication. Aziraphale doesn't really believe that becoming a demon changed Crowley. Back to the first scene, which Aziraphale references during the Job minisode. In his eyes, Crowley is the same person (just more cynical because of what's happened to him)-- so why would it matter if he's an angel again? I truly don't think he was trying to save Crowley, or saying that Crowley would be Better as an angel. To him, it doesn't matter what Crowley is. Which is reductive and harmful, but not the same as thinking Crowley needs rescuing from himself.)

Second conclusion: he sees that an angel and demon can be in love, but they have to run away to be together. Gabe and Beelz couldn't go home again. Earth is Aziraphale's home, but after the attack on the bookshop he learned that without Heaven's protection he can't really keep them safe there. Metatron says: "Come with me, do this thing, and you can have guaranteed safety AND be with the love of your life". Poor Aziraphale wants this with every fiber of his being. All he's ever wanted was for Crowley to be safe. He's never been able to offer it. Over the past four years, he thought they were safe, but he's just learned that he was wrong.

This is getting long. Continued in Part Two!