Don't Even Know Why, But Somehow It's Mesmerising.

Now we’ve had this bi-generation I just think we should go full unhinged and have gold tooth turn into Simm Master. Have a full ‘why has this face returned?’ parallel. Shove him into retired life with Tennant’s doctor. Scale down their enmity to absolutely microscopic proportions. From cosmic scale to just domestic life. Have the Nobles stuck in the front row watching them sort their shit out.

I want them trying to survive Sylvia Noble together. I want them at war with their neighbours. I want them battling with the chaos of Evri deliveries - ‘not even the TARDIS can locate the safe place they’ve apparently left it in’. Have them arguing in Tesco over whether it really matters whether eggs are free range. They can make up by getting their own chickens which The Master can regularly threaten to roast much to Rose’s horror (but he won’t because he named them after the Teletubbies and The Doctor knows he’d never hurt Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa or Po… and he just enjoys having dominion over lesser creatures or something 🙄)

I want aliens turning up for their regularly scheduled fuck with London at Christmas time moment only to be faced with the two of them in their matching Noble family Christmas jumpers (and they will be wearing them because have you met Donna?) And no, The Master hasn’t gone soft, he doesn’t care about Earth in general, but the Strictly final is on and he’s a little invested in that.

I want Donna, in her new UNIT job, explaining this to her new colleagues. Because they know The Doctor and The Master, they’ve seen the files, and they just…live in her garden now.

HANDS. And a well made point about the distinction between the TV and Film BAFTAs. But mostly HANDS.

This proves my point......

I need to make a comment(ary) about this ABSOLUTELY LOVELY photo.

One of David's promo shots for the BAFTAS

Okay, so here's the comment(ary).

I want you to take notice of DT's hands - his thumbs, knuckles, and loooooong fingers (as if you hadn't already, I know, but I'm just making sure!)

I say this because those hands are so uniquely his, especially the way he bends his thumbs...the length from the tip of his thumb to the first knuckle, specifically. Hell, all the joints of his thumbs. Most people don't have that length between their joints. Nor do they usually bend BOTH those joints, as DT does. I bring this up because in my analysis of the obscure short film One-Eyed Jacques - and specifically about whether or not David was in this film, and why I think he was, and my evidence for why I think he was - this photo highlights the "uniquely weird DT hands and fingers that help us recognize him even when we can't see his face." Because in that film, his fingers are the only things we see! So thank you, BAFTAs, for providing me with wonderful photographic evidence supporting my theory. And oh, yes.... Before all of this blows up with regards to "OMG David's never been nominated and how dare they ask him to host!" - keep in mind the BAFTA film awards they've asked him to host are separate from their TV awards. David's films have notoriously been so-so, so it's no surprise he hasn't been nominated for any of them. It would be sillier if they'd asked him to present the BAFTAs for television, since it is his TV projects (like Broadchurch, Des, and Litvinenko) that really should’ve been nominated.

The Resurrectionist (or 'Crowley's dying briefly because character-building, and here's why')

I should start off by saying, friends, that I have written exactly zero books. (Bloody lot of fanfiction, but no actual novels). And I like coffee, but not particularly with oat milk. (The poison's metaphorical, not physical), but... well, you guys can keep both of 'em, because they're just not relevant to this conversation. I am also, as you may have already guessed, not Neil Gaiman. A chick can only speculate, but she does like to back it up with actual evidence.

No, I'm simply here to ask you a question.

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

What would drive our angel so far from the clutches of Heaven that he would never, ever wish to return? What would set him unequivocally free from six millenia of assumed responsibility; what would make him realise that God can never change? What would strip everything away from him?

Because of course, this is what we have to do next series. This is Aziraphale's whole arc. If he doesn't try and change things and fail, he will always wonder. Always have a 'what if.' Will never be able to truly move on, will never be free from the eternal abuse cycle.

And so the severing has to be monumental, and everlasting. Then we get our happy ending. Storytelling, loves, done flawlessly. (Again, not a novelist... just a girl who's been writing for over half of her lifetime.)

And so, I ask again:

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

And, well, it's a manifold question isn't it, with lots of potential ans - no I'm just kidding. Very simple question, very simple answer.

So congratulations to the very likely hundreds of you who have just said 'murder Crowley,' because a. you're very much correct and b. we've all just predicted the end of series three.

(... I mean, probably not the very end. But the emotional crux, definitely.)

And naturally, I'm not talking discorporation. I'm talking 'wiped from the universe altogether, leaving our angel eternally alone' kinda murder. The real shit. The good shit. Never mind any of this 'editing the Book of Life leading to an ineffable paradox' kinda bullshit - this is Heaven, the natural source point of holy water. One miracled Supersoaker and our demon's ancient history, friends.

Because y'see guys, severing Aziraphale's connection isn't the only problem we face in terms of narrative romance. We've also got Crowley, who has spent six millennia being in love with a guy who just takes, takes, takes... him for granted.

And this is NOT to say that Aziraphale gives him nothing back - he so very clearly does. (I am a consummate Aziraphale apologist, Crowley's just as much of a fool post-series two as our angel is, and Aziraphale needs this, as I've mentioned.) But... Crowley is his teacher. His moral guide. His protector. It mostly goes one way, and despite all of that and him being happy to be that guy for all this time... right when it matters most, Aziraphale (to Crowley, at least) has abandoned him. He's told him he isn't good enough.

(... Which is bollocks. That's not what Aziraphale's said at all, they're both as overprotective as each other and have a desperate, painful longing to keep one another safe in their own best way. But it sure fucking looks like it to CROWLEY, which is what matters.)

And so, we have two issues in achieving our happy-ever-after.

Sundering Aziraphale from Heaven forever;

Ensuring Crowley trusts him fully and knows completely that he is Aziraphale's only choice.

(And also by GOD do they need to have a proper conversation, but that one kinda goes without saying. It'll happen.) We have to even up this relationship; we have to make it absolute narrative equilibrium, and I am absolutely sure Neil knows this probably far better than I do.

... And so, how do we achieve both these things in one hit, whilst also telling a Second Coming story and holding a celestial war?

Well, we kill Crowley. Obviously. Not until episode five or six and after an emotional, romantic reunion of mutual understanding, but... we kill Crowley.

... And then Aziraphale brings him back. Yes, from complete death.

I would like at this juncture to remind you that miracles, apparently (and this is a thing we've just learned guys, almost like it's suddenly going to be relevant ongoing) are measured in Lazarii.

(Great thanks to the Aziraphale to my Crowley, @porgthespacepenguin, for these few screenshots I'm showing off here today. You'd never leave me, not even for my own good. <3)

Lazarii is very obviously named after Jesus' apparently greatest miracle, of raising Lazarus from the dead in the book of John. They managed to achieve twenty-five times the necessary amount of energy it takes to bring someone back from death... without actually fucking trying.

Let's take a look at the book of John a sec. Or more specifically, its eleventh chapter and twenty-fifth verse.

Jesus told her, "I am the resurrection and the life. The person who believes in me, even though he dies, will live."

My thanks to Neil once again for murdering me like Heaven's going to murder Crowley. Cold blood, point-blank.

'Who believes in me.' Huh. Only for the past six thousand years, Aziraphale dear...

Here's a little of what the internet has to say about the number 25 in numerology, by the way.

And may I also remind you at this stage that there is a pub in this series called The Resurrectionist, and only Aziraphale goes into it.

I mean sure, Crowley's booksitting and trying to make the ladies hilariously like him and Aziraphale fall in love in the same way he himself did, but the fact remains... one relevant pub name. One guy. (We all need a narrative excuse sometimes Neil, I get you.)

Considering all this, friends, let me ask you another question. This one's a little more wordy, that's on me.

What do you think would happen when a being capable of raising someone from the dead twelve and a half times over for the sake of his beloved's protection loses said beloved beyond all doubt?

... And this will be after he gains the ultimate celestial power-up, by the way. In case we'd forgotten that that alone is also about to boost Aziraphale to the fucking stratosphere, and finally put him on an equal footing with Crowley. (Who is Lucifer. 'Let there be light' shed on that one.)

... And I think we know the answer, don't we? The kind of miracle that

(You can't see me, but I'm staring into the camera like I'm one of The Office main cast right now.)

This is the kind of power that fucks with reality - the kind of power that scares Heaven and Hell to absolute death, hence Metatron being in the DMs. And crucially, this miracle was boosted because of love. Because of a desire to keep the status quo, their 'own side'. You amplify both those conditions to the nth degree by destroying one of them? It's over, lads. Resurrection is the beginning.

Resurrection evens up a playing field. It destroys Aziraphale and renews him in one hit; it proves to Crowley once and for all that Aziraphale loves him exactly as he is.

... It's a no-brainer, pals.

And what do they do after this? Well, fuck up the celestial order, naturally. I have theories, the main one of them being that they're going to be God and Satan respectively and unite Heaven and Hell in eternal marriage, but... that's just a theory. A television theory.

The resurrection thing? Not so much.

... See, this is the thing, my friends. You don't need to have written a 16k essay predict the future.

All you need is the ability to tell a story, an observant eye for that which is already present, and a simple question. (Followed by a mildly more complex one. It's a working allegory.)

... I'm just going to leave you with this one shot of Aziraphale picking up his own destiny. Because poetic cinema.

Crowley has a bad habit of being the architect of his own misery.

From what he's sure was Earth's first (and, in his opinion, worst) hangover, to shutting down London's mobile networks only to have to make an urgent call himself, or purchasing the cheapest plant mister and using it in a bluff only to have it leak giving the damn game away, Crowley is frequently frustrated and frequently so at himself.

Now is no different.

He's sitting alone in his car (it still smells like angel and yellow and good lord he didn't know he could be this miserable) with only his plants for company and running through the last few days in his mind and wondering exactly where he cocked the whole thing up.

There was progress, he's sure of it. There were touches, moreso than usual. Hell, he thought he was going to drag the angel off to, well, somewhere, when they were at the pub and he just oh so casually placed his hand over Crowley's useless heart.

He can still feel it, those thick, strong, warm hands that even through layers of fabric felt divine and it made him want things. Tangibly want.

Imminently want.

How was that mere days ago? How had it gone so pear shaped so quickly? He went slow, he did the right things, he tried to protect his angel like he's always done. Well, bugger him for a lark considering how all that turned out.

He knows things now, like the depth of commitment Aziraphale had to the almighty and certainly not to him.

He knows what it's like to love and hate someone in a moment in equal measure. Knows what it's like to have someone awfully close but never further away.

He knows how the angel tastes, the love of his damned pointless, interminable existence, but only when tinged with fury and betrayal and desperation. (It was never supposed to be like that, it wasn't). He knows how soft those lips really are and he knows how those hands would grab him and maybe, in the right circumstances, pull him closer and then maybe-

He wishes he knew less. He'd like to know nothing at present.

But there's nothing for it now, Aziraphale's gone where Crowley can't follow and for the first time in six millenia, Crowley is untethered and entirely alone. Not the kind that protects you but the kind the hollows you out.

He had always promised himself he'd never tell Aziraphale howhe felt, would never break that boundary. Now that he knows how it plays out, he can't help but think he was right, Maggie and Nina be damned.

For the original tempter, the being who brought knowledge to humans and defended that with his entire infernal being, he's currently questioning if this is just one, big, awful joke with him as the natural punchline.

Knowledge, it turns out, is a real heavy burden.

Still stuck on how Aziraphale ate that meat like he was starving. Like he’d been starved for millennia, and he hadn’t even known it, because he’d never once been fed. But we know they don’t have to eat (nor sleep, etc.), so what he’d been starved for is pleasure. Being present in his body, feeling the joys and longings it could feel. Understanding what taste buds were made for. He hadn’t known; he’d never learned to miss it.

Now imagine what a kiss has done to him.

Aziraphale loves Crowley so much that he is willing to rebuild heaven for him.

He loves him so much he is willing to give up everything if it means there is a chance he might smile again

Aziraphale loves Crowley so much that he will rewrite existence if Crowley can make stars again

Crowley loves Aziraphale so much that he doesn't need any of that

He loves him so much that he doesn't need heaven, or happiness, or the stars

Crowley loves Aziraphale so much that he is Crowley's heaven, or happiness, or stars

They love each other so much that it blinded them, and they never asked the other how they wanted to be loved

the way crowley takes off his glasses before his confession?? like he puts away his shields and becomes so vulnerable?? the way he puts them back on as soon as he realises what aziraphale means???? AND HE KISSES HIM WITH THE GLASSES ON?????????? HUH???????

if there’s one thing season 2 showed us it’s that of course crowley’s love language is acts of service. crowley who comes from hell, a place designed to make existence as tedious and miserable as possible through cramped dirty offices and every inconvenience imaginable. and of course aziraphale’s love language is physical touch. aziraphale who comes from heaven, a place of infinite flat, impersonal office space, inhabited by angels so averse to any sort of contact (emotional or otherwise) that they struggle to touch material items and turn their noses up at food and drink. and of course aziraphale and crowley meet each other and think to themselves i’m not going to make you suffer with that, you deserve more, i’m going to give you what i wasn’t.

woke: the nazis recognized crowley because he was working for british counterintelligence 

also woke: crowley didn’t actually know exactly when and where aziraphale’s book deal was going down, he just had a vague idea, so he’d been busting into churches at random for about the past month and a half, hopping around on his burning feet, and each time he did it he Loudly announced his entrance like “here comes anthony j. crowley to save the day!” because he had a whole plan, he was gonna be so suave, but it was never aziraphale, and he ended up interrupting several other clandestine nazi meetings so that word got around in nazi circles of anthony j. crowley, the weird hopping church guy, and then when he finally did happen upon aziraphale’s deal, he was just so incredibly happy to see his angel that he completely forgot his smooth introduction, but the nazis recognized him as the weird hopping church guy so they did it for him.

Imagine they went back to Crowley’s apartment after they stopped the Armageddon and Aziraphale could see Crowley trying to keep himself awake but all that power he had to use to drive through fire and stop time and then brainstorming for hours with Aziraphale how they’re going to switch… finally exhaustion won and his eyes closed, curled up on the sofa, sliding down unconsciously to get himself a little more comfortable.

And Aziraphale did not know where any blankets were so he just grabbed his beige coat and pulled it over his lithe body.

(Aka why I’ve never seen any art of Aziraphale pulling his beige coat over Crowley’s shoulders)