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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
zetabrarian unpretty
afewreelthoughts

The idea that fandom arguments at all involve proving each other wrong is bizarre to me. 

Somewhere along the line, we forgot that stories are about exploring human nature through our different, subjective perspectives, and not about discovering absolute truth. There are some people whom I am never going to agree with, and some whom my arguments will never be able to convince, and that’s the point. 

The point of exploring media is embracing and understanding our own human subjectivity, not trying to create a false objectivity in its stead.

earlgreytea68

The point of fandom should be possibility. It isn’t canon, and that means it can be anything. That means you can tell the same story a million different ways, from a million different POVs, with a million different ships, with a million different endings, switching it up the way YOU want to do. Fandom gives you the freedom to experiment, to think about things in the opposite way you’ve been told to, and then to go back to the first way if you want, or to never go back. It lets you pick the ship that will never be canon or the ship that is endgame. Or it lets you never pick a ship and ship everyone with everyone else. Or to change your mind and go back and forth if you want. 

The point is, fandom is your opportunity to do the speaking instead of being spoken to; to fight back against being dictated to by an “all-powerful creator” who tells you how and what to think; to throw aside being passive consumers forced to digest whatever someone else has chosen for you and seize your own storytelling and make it into what you want. Fandom can be EVERYTHING…so why would you ever want to reduce it to the tinyness of one single path? What’s even the point of fandom if you just want one accepted narrative and no meandering tangents into different possibilities? Having just one accepted narrative is called canon; you don’t need fandom for that. You can enjoy that perfectly well if that’s what you want! You do you, and that’s awesome! But fandom should be for all of the fun wilderness off the canon beaten path. Fandom should be for remembering that creativity is supposed to be fun. 

zetabrarian

Anyway, to summarize, because Tumblr mobile is a dick:

Demons are “solid” and steer their corporations like cars.

Angels are “energy” based and stuff themselves inside their corporations. But most of them are super bad at it, so their essences leak out in the form of shiny skin, gold freckles, strange teeth and eyes, etc. (all but Az, though I suspect he has his own flourishes under his clothes).

go spoilers
patricianandclerk

Our Own Eden

“A cottage?” Aziraphale asked softly. “Really?”

“Really, really,” Crowley said, shifting his grip on the wheel and giving Aziraphale a smile. “It’s bought and paid for, I have a catalogue for you to pick out furniture… And you know what, angel? You know what the best part is?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Middle of nowhere. Five miles of disused farmland on all sides.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and then he shifted in his seat, turning to face forward. His cheeks flushed brightly pink, and the car smelt of fresh flowers and new grass. “Oh.”

The problem with being an ethereal being (or an occult one, take your pick) is that one doesn’t really fit in a corporeal body. This manifests in different ways. For angels and demons, they often burst out of the physical bodies they’re allotted by their departments: gold flakes shine from beneath the skin, or scales burst through where flesh should be; creeping, crawling things slip out from ears and nostrils, or you exude such a delightful cloud of fresh lavender that every allergen-sensitive human within half a mile of you bursts out into hives and anaphylaxis. 

For Crowley, a lot of his inhumanity was inhuman - he had a funny, snakey spine, a long tongue, yellow eyes, scaley feet. For Aziraphale… Well, he looked normal. He looked very normal indeed, aggressively normal, actually. It was his presence that was the funny thing. It was probably the garden that had done it - Eden, all that time ago.

The last time Crowley had held his hand, flowers had bloomed in their wake as they’d walked through St James’ Park. When Crowley last kissed him at the Ritz, the vase of three roses on their table had shattered when the pretty blooms laid down their roots and formed a bush. And when Crowley, on a picnic, had suggestively slid his hand over Aziraphale’s thigh…

Well.

He’d had to miracle up a machete to hack their way out of the six-foot tall wheat sheafs that had sprung up on every side of them.

But this time? This time, Crowley was ready. He’d bought the cottage. He’d planted the seeds. He’d set out his greenhouse, and he’d planted the young trees. For the past few weeks, he’d been hard at work, sprinkling wildflower seeds and fruit seeds and vegetable seeds, all around…

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, and he leaned his head against Crowley, letting Crowley wrap his arm around the angel. The lavender-scented air freshener became much more lavender-shaped, and grew two leaves. “You’re going to deflower me.”

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, “I am going to do anything but.”

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