#that s2 finale tho | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thesherrinfordfacility · 8 months

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the s2 endgame

an incredibly long post that i will not apologise for but does contain multiple frames of michael sheens face, so-

the first beat, for me, that truly leads up to the kiss is when aziraphale says to crowley, "i don't think you understand what im offering you." because whilst im sure in part aziraphale was referring to the offer of restoration and - as he perceived it - what it meant for crowley (and that's what crowley denied with "i understand. i think i understand a whole lot better than you do."), i think aziraphale truly meant that crowley didn't understand what the restoration could give them. to restore crowley meant that aziraphale could give all of himself to crowley, with no fear of reprisal or comeuppance like they've had to suffer for their entire existence; "pretending that we aren't".

it meant that they could be safe, together, as two angels, and not on opposite sides in the eyes of heaven. they could work together to make things better, but they would be together. crowley was completely justified in refusing the offer, based on his own trauma and pain that heaven unforgivably dealt to him, but aziraphale wasn't necessarily asking crowley to forget or forgive that; but instead to be with aziraphale, aziraphale completely as he is with nothing hidden, nothing repressed, and nothing sequestered away in fear of retribution from heaven - or indeed in fear of rejection from crowley.

so when crowley said he understood more than aziraphale did, i imagine that meant to aziraphale that crowley did indeed see all of that, had heard aziraphale and knew what aziraphale was offering, the security and freedom as aziraphale saw it, but didn't want it - didnt want aziraphale, didn't want that version of us - anyway. crowley didn't mean it that way, of course; he meant he knew that the restoration would trap him, try to make him into an angel he no longer knew or wanted to be, and was rejecting what he thought aziraphale wanted him to be.

but i personally can't conceive any notion where aziraphale would ever have thought this - he's fallen for the not-quite-angel-not-quite-demon that crowley is now - why can't crowley see that? he just wants to give him back the same peace and joy that he had before the fall, but naively cant understand that being an angel doesn't make it so. it's not about being an angel, for aziraphale, but what being an angel could return to crowley... that it could fix the wounds that the fall left behind.

but here we arrive at "no nightingales". given the symbolism in popular culture and in mythology behind the nightingale, and the context of the nightingale in their story, it seems to me like crowley is saying that the conversation that has just transpired between them has broken something. and really broken something. it hasn't broken the love, per se - that's still there - but it's led to their own personal tragedy. their conflicting wants and needs have led to the downfall. that in crowley's eyes, there isn't a way to repair the damage that has been done. he doesn't even qualify that it's 'no nightingales singing', but the full absence of them, meaning that this has changed - poisoned - every chance of what could have been.

"we could have been us" compounds this; that in crowley's mind, there is no possibility of this now. that he knows what aziraphale will decide, what he will choose, and knows that he has already lost; and he's placing all of it at aziraphale's feet. that if the only way to see them be together is to be restored, to return to heaven, then crowley can't and will not do it - he doesn't understand why aziraphale would even entertain the thought and sees it as a reflection of aziraphale's distain for his current self.

aziraphale however sees it as an opportunity to ensure that they are safe in perpetuity, and wants to reverse the fall because the happiness and joy that he saw before is what he wants for crowley now, not realising that the two are, as of now, currently incompatible. so this line is, for aziraphale, the final deathblow; that there is no way back from this, the chance has faded to nothing even if the love between them remains - and they'll never get back the 'us' that existed before the event, let alone the 'us' that they both want now.

the wave hits aziraphale and bowls him over, makes him stagger. what he has been wanting - but couldn't initiate out of fear - is now completely impossible and will never happen. his face crumples, and he turns away, mirrors crowley in not looking at him, not letting him see the vulnerability and the sorrow. he looks to the left, into the dark and away from the light, into the space where crowley normally stands, always by his side, and not on the other side of the chasm that has now erupted between them.

but crowley does sees the face, and recognises it. he's seen it before, seen the expression of when aziraphale hears his sentence and resigns himself to his fate, and despairs in kind that this rift of both of their makings has put in on aziraphale's face. but he also sees it as a mark of hope; can I change his mind? can I offer him something that I haven't offered yet? he can feel the last burning embers of doubt, and he could stoke it. build to a full fire, to an inferno. words haven't worked, they never work - "it's always too late" - but in this case, just one time, action might. so then crowley - oh, crowley - makes up his mind. he has to know, whatever happens, that he did everything that he could possibly do to cling to this dream, this fairytale, where they might get to be together.

and it's pure desperation and determination, the swan dive off the cliff not knowing how far it'll be until he reaches the bottom. there's the smallest chance he might catch an updraft and fly. but the kiss - whether he intends it that way or not - is a temptation. and he's so good at that, isn't he? he tempted aziraphale into eating, he tempted him into dispatching a child... he knows he can do it, and he knows that aziraphale can succumb to it (whether it's because angels can in fact be tempted by demons, or because aziraphale can be tempted by crowley). he has nothing else to lose, but everything to gain, and that everything is slipping through his fingers, "you can't leave this bookshop", so what does it matter if he tries to keep aziraphale in the last way he knows how?

and even then this time, it's more; it's physical, it's raw, and it's human. their common ground. he's the serpent of eden, he tempted eve to the apple, he brought about the fall of humanity. crowley has gone beyond tempting aziraphale with sly words, assurances, and logic; this time, he's putting everything into it, giving it his all, so neither of them can ever say he didn't try. temptation was literally his first order, his first command; his most powerful and yet destructive capability. and each one, on aziraphale's part, has led to manifestly chipping away at aziraphale's divinity, his angelic core. each one has made aziraphale into the person he is today, the person that crowley loves, so whilst it may not be the right thing to do, it's the best chance he has to reach him.

so crowley grabs him, wheels him round to face him, and pulls aziraphale into him. there are no words, there's no gentleness, there's no finesse; it's practically animal, carnal and rough, and everything that - in all likelihood - neither of them wanted when they imagined how this moment would be, if it ever came. and throughout the whole thing, crowley does not move. his grip does not lessen, his mouth does not move, his expression does not falter; it's like he's serpentine again in all but form, constricting and gripping his prey into subjugation. it's instinctive, and unconscious, probably involuntary, but it leaves aziraphale with such little room, no space to breathe.

aziraphale visibly seems to struggle - somewhat physically, but certainly emotionally and mentally - and we can see that predominantly in his expression. he at least almost seems like he's trying to pull away, or create some space between them. it's not how he likely imagined their first kiss - if they ever got to have one and if aziraphale indeed ever imagined it - to be; it's not right, and it certainly doesn't feel like love. love may be behind the wheel, but what is slamming into him in possession, and anguish. i can't believe that aziraphale doesn't know or feel that, not going by the way he reacts. there's also the fact that - as far as we've seen - the last time crowley gripped him by the lapels and got this close to him was at tadfield manor, when crowley was all but raging at him, "im not nice, im never nice; nice is a four-letter word". it's an unmistakable parallel, and it may be that that four-letter word is swapped out for another one, it certainly doesn't feel like it in the moment.

but then aziraphale relaxes, rocks back towards crowley, and returns it. he grips at his back, at the space where resides his wings, and gives back crowley what he's asking for. it might be that aziraphale is trying to be kind - giving him the confirmation that he returns his love even if he can't act on it - or it might be because aziraphale actually realises that he likes it, this kiss, and the brutality of it. it might even be that he knows that this may be his only chance to show crowley that it's reciprocated; that he feels the same way. but it may also be, in addition to any or indeed all of the above, that aziraphale subconsciously succumbs to the temptation. gripped and bound, with nowhere to go, he surrenders to his fate - the freefall - and allows himself for a moment to sink. but then he steps back out of it, reins himself in, lifts his hands again from crowley, and crowley finally lets go.

crowley lets go, and stands back to see what it might have changed. did he tempt him, did he succeed? will his angel stay? it felt like he will, he felt his hands and how he surrendered - he didn't imagine it - and it might have worked in crowley's favour. it worked with the ox. it worked with the antichrist. there's no reason it wouldn't work this time, right?

until aziraphale steps back. he steps back, places that distance, the chasm, between them again, and looks for all the world that the heavens have caved in, crashing and splintering all around them. a look of utter despair, almost a plea that what happened didn't happen, because it changes everything. it puts what can't happen into the open, makes it more than the abstract. it's longing, and it's sorrow, and it's heartbreak that this could have been what they'd have.

but the fog starts to lift, the shock has settled in, and horror sweeps over; it's disbelief that crowley made that move, and made it in the way he did. it's waking up, coming-to, reality starts to seep back in. it's looking down at the board, and seeing a check on the king, a challenge that aziraphale never saw coming -

- and then it almost becomes fear and panic, backed into a corner, and not necessarily because someone could have seen them, or because crowley has now put something fundamentally physical to what they are (although i believe these could also be contributory to his reaction), but it's the dread of having to refuse and deny what crowley has put out between them, dangling between their fingers waiting to be held.

aziraphale begins to bargain, starts to try reconciling what just happened, and whether anything can be salvaged. he's had a tiny piece of what their future could hold for them, and he has a decision to make. he starts wavering, starts to oscillate between the decision to follow his head and do what he feels is the right thing in the long-term, or arguably betray the person he has become over the millennia, deny himself what he thinks is the right thing, and instead follow his heart; grasp at crowley, and the future he laid out before him.

he looks to crowley for guidance, he's lost, suddenly unanchored in a churning maelstrom. trying to gauge what move he should take - does he surrender the king, or move it to evade the check?

either decision means that the game is up or is only a matter of time before it folds; he either risks their safety by staying, or risks losing crowley by going. there isn't another option, there isn't another way, and aziraphale is teetering between the two. neither are options that he wholeheartedly wants to take. he begins to trying to speak, trying to get out words that are choking him, trapped in the snare of Things Unsaid. words to explain, to placate, to beseech, to plead, and it starts to really hurt.

and what hurts about it the most is that he's about to deny crowley. in the full scene - you can't get it from just the frames - his expression is complete heartbreak. he wants to explain why, even now, when he wants to stay more than anything, he has to choose heaven. why he has to choose to continue evading the check, why he has to continue to fight. and it's the prospect of hurting crowley in the process, of prolonging the pain, that is tearing him apart.

except. except. he's just realised what crowley was doing. it was desperation, and fear for losing aziraphale, and a last ditch attempt to cling to what they have and what they could have. all of these thing, out of love.

but what aziraphale realises is that it was manipulation. it was temptation. this one means something deeper, something darker, because to aziraphale it was calling him to betray who he truly is. and suggests that who he truly is isn't enough.

his gaze flicks up from the floor, and he finally makes full eye contact, staring crowley down. it's disbelief all over again; that crowley would resort to that trick, the trick that crowley knows is aziraphale's personal, heartfelt weakness, and one that he will - and demonstrably always has - succumbed to.

it's the disbelief that crowley would take this power and use it to mold and ply aziraphale into staying, when crowley should know that going - to "make a difference" - is the most aziraphale thing he could do. if crowley loves him, exactly as he is, why would he try to make aziraphale betray that?

the anger, the sense of betrayal, sets in, and spreads like hellfire. it relaxes his face, almost bringing him an eerie serenity. because he's seen that not only does he have to break the check (tirelessly continuing the chess metaphor), but he's going to fight back. he's seen that he can instead take the piece threatening him, and checkmate in kind.

it's the scorched earth option, but one that will demonstrate that he's not one to falter under the eyes of a challenge; he will stand his ground, roots digging into the earth, and will not be moved. he takes a breath, about to move his piece that will end the game. it will make crowley lose, but it was lost already; the game was up as soon as he told aziraphale he understood what aziraphale was offering him. because whilst crowley was talking about a place in heaven, aziraphale was talking about us.

and to aziraphale's mind, crowley was so unwilling to hear him, so ready to reject whatever narrative meant he would have to love aziraphale more than he hated heaven, that crowley would stoop to essentially trying to trick aziraphale into staying. into betraying who he is at his core.

instead, aziraphale steels himself; he knows who he is, and he will be enough. the acceptance of the situation, what it will mean when he 'wins', will do something unspeakable, but it must be done. he has to show his own claws, show how much it hurt. aziraphale takes a breath, even has a small smirk, and places the final piece.