Oh Crowley - Blog Posts

we do not talk enough about the moment right before crowley puts his sunglasses back on. the "nothing lasts forever" is devastating and if you're like me your eyes were so full of tears you couldn't see the screen the first time you watched it (just like crowley, look at us all twinning in sadness!).

there is a shift that happens in his eyes and i think it is absolutely fascinating and heartbreaking at the same time.

we begin with crowley averting his gaze from aziraphale's face and staring off into the distance instead, and you can see his spirit break. that crowley just lost the one thing in the world he cannot live without and we can see it written across his face like a neon sign.

then, as you'd expect, he gives into the need to cover up his pain, to try and make himself less vulnerable, and even before he lifts his glasses he looks down so aziraphale can no longer see his eyes.

now, the next part is what would not let me out of its grasp all day. we know it happens because of his demeanour afterwards and up until the kiss, but you can actually watch as crowley makes himself numb to the world.

i am intimately familiar with dissociation as a trauma and stress response, and while you can never fully control it, you do eventually find the switch in your mind that makes you snap back into the haze. crowley has had six thousand years to get really, really good at leaving reality behind when he needs and/or wants to.

that's exactly what he does.

he still looks sad, and yet there's just something distinctly distant in his eyes, the shift from openly heartbroken to "i don't want to feel any of this let me leave".

glasses? on

emotions? off

hotel? trivago

i have stared at those four frames more than any person probably should and i don't know if it's the light, if i am going insane, or if there is a single tear sliding out of his right (our left) eye. i'm probably insane and the light is a bitch so if anyone has some high resolution shots or anything that could answer that question without a doubt PLEASE do add it.

by now you are probably ready to threaten me with a knife in a dark alley but before you do that or drive your car off a cliff, let me tell you the best part:

aziraphale notices.

they might be communicating on two different frequencies but aziraphale knows crowley. he knows and loves him, and, most importantly, over the last few years he has gotten used to seeing crowley without his glasses. aziraphale could probably write a book on the expressions in his eyes alone and watches that shift happen and is devastated.

look.

he tries to make himself hope the same second, tries to convince himself crowley is putting on his glasses so they can leave together, but he knows.

aziraphale sees the light leave crowley's eyes, sees crowley leave, knowing that he is quite literally running away from him. you and me against the world, angel, but in that moment crowley firmly pushes him back to "the world" (or tries to, anyway).

the entire season we see crowley take off his glasses whenever he enters the bookshop to the point where he's running around without them on in broad daylight with jimbriel right there.

can you imagine how hurt and confused aziraphale must be?

because what crowley is telling him, if we really, really break it down, is that aziraphale is no longer a safe person for him. and repairing that trust is going to take time and work, no matter how much crowley loves him, how badly they love and need each other.

anyway to seal this off and really rub in the pain - how it started vs. how it ended. <3

oh one last thing: now crowley no longer has a single person he can be himself around, no one that knows him, no one he trusts. no one in whose presence he can take his glasses off.

and outside of the bentley and his own flat, he no longer has a place to do so either. the bookshop was theirs. with aziraphale gone, is it really a safe place anymore? is it somewhere he can just let himself be knowing he will be looked after and protected?

easy answer: no.

alright, off i go. see y'all on the next angst post or in the tags.

He grows tomatoes.

Well, he tries to. Crowley does not usually try to grow plants. He decides to grow them, and they obey. It's vendetta ad vengeance at once. But lately, nothing seems to obey his will. It's weak, that will, broken into smithereens just like his heart.

And he can't even take it out on his plants. That's because Crowley has mercy.

So he tries to grow tomatoes.

It's summer (the first summer without him) and he has lodged in an airbnb in the country, and behind an old ramshackle ram-shack he has made himself a little plot of land. Well - it's all God's stupidly green earth, isn't it. But this two by two piece of earth he claims for himself. He could have at least that, right? He looks up at the sky. Frowns.

Let me have at least that.

Aziraphale liked to do things the hard way. (He's still doing that, Crowley supposes, up there. Up there. He's not dead, but it feels like it. He's gone. Gone to Heaven. Not to a better place.) Aziraphale liked to do it properly, the human way, when it pleased him. Which was often, but not always. French. Nom de dieu de merde. Pardon his French.

Pardon his stupid everything.

Crowley inspects his tomato plants. He's trying to grow them the human way. Funny, that. He nurses them like he nurses his heart, and miracles won't do. He's tried.

I think I should not be encouraged to grow tomatoes, he thinks.

Raindrops fall on red and green: the plants and the vines and the tomatoes and his hair. It's August, it shouldn't be raining this much. It's been a shitty August. It's been a shitty year. Thirteen months and two weeks and one day, to be exact. Not like he's keeping count. Why bother?

There's a spot on one of the leaves, and Crowley's heart sinks beore it even had the chance to ever rise. It's only one tiny, dark, black spot, but he knows what it means. It means it's too late.

A horrible month. A horrible life. Not the right conditions to thrive. Disease, showing its ugly head, grinning. It's already too late. It's always too late. It would multiply and spread.

His soul is a tomato leaf.

Black as grief.

He's tended these seedlings, he's raised them, and planted them, too, and here they are before him tall and proud and still alive, and Crowley knows they are already dying. He can relate.

The sensible thing to do is to discard it all, be done with them. It's not worth the effort, technically, to keep them alive, but to Crowley it's worth it. It has to be. They are worh it. He is worth it. Stupid stubborn perseverance, stupid stubborn hopeful heart.

He isn't immune to foreshadowing. He looks up again. Angry, this time, bitter. A bit of surrender, too.

The rain drips and drops on his face.

He looks back down, snaps the sickly leaf off with expert fingers. Continues to tend to the plants, as he will until they inevitably die. He plucks a tiny tomato. It's so small, fragile, one of the first of a doomed harvest: but it tastes sweet.

Determined, Crowley continues his labor of love, patient as with all living things.

He is responsible for these vines.

Maybe, despite everything, just this once, he can nurture his heart back to health. (And maybe, just maybe, he is not human and does not do things the human way. When it pleases him. He's always been a rebel. Just a little miracle, a little bit of life-giving defiance. So small no one notices, not even us.) Crowley smiles.

He grows tomatoes.

.

This ficlet was inspired by Louise Glück's Vespers. May she rest in peace. "In your extended absence, you permit me use of earth, anticipating some return on investment. I must report failure in my assignment, principally regarding the tomato plants." read the full poem here

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.

Crowley wanted Aziraphale to see that he had saved the goats. The way he looks back, how easy it is for Aziraphale to lift the miracle, he wanted to be caught by Aziraphale. We see how well the hiding miracle worked on Gabriel, the crows bleating was more than just a tiny slip up. It was intentional.

It’s the same with how he wanted Aziraphale to say to him that he believed he would save Job’s children. He’s so desperate to be seen for who he truly is in those moments. Even with the fake tough outwardly persona, he wants to know someone has faith in his true nature. Which is kindness.

Tell me you said no.

Tell me we were on the same page, that you know Heaven is just as terrible as Hell, that there is no good side, no right people, that both sides are happy to destroy all life on Earth if they come out on top.

Tell me you said no.

Tell me you remember how terrified they made you every time you did something good that wasn’t Good by the laws of Heaven. Tell me you value yourself more than that.

Tell me you said no.

Tell me I wasn’t alone in seeing all that cruelty done to humans and wanting no part in it. Tell me you’re not going back to help those people.

Tell me you said no.

Tell me you’re not going back to the people who hurt me first, the oldest, deepest wound. Tell me you understand why I can never go back there. Tell me you know I didn’t deserve it.

Tell me you said no.