okay I’ve seen a lot of posts about sterling just being crowley and. guys. the implications just hear me out 😭😭😭
bending lore slightly here BUT let’s say crowley’s body was once inhabited by a human and crowley is possessing the body (maybe he kills the initial inhabitant bc he doesn’t care)
but he still has the guy’s memories. he doesn’t bother keeping up appearances with his ‘ex wife’ because he is too busy building up his hell empire. BUT for some reason he can’t quite identify, he still feels something towards his ‘daughter’. he lets the divorce happen and doesn’t feel the need (or desire) to fight for custody, but he can never quite forget her, to cast her out of his mind for good
some hijinks ensue with the leverage team. it’s mostly because even a grind culture demon wants some off time every once in a while, and for him the insurance investigator stuff is more of a hobby. interacting with the leverage crew is very low stakes for him, and honestly, quite amusing. they aren’t on his level power-wise, but that ford character gives him the mental exercise he hasn’t experienced in, well, he can’t even remember
he can feel their frustration and anger when they learn he has become employed by interpol and feeds off it. it’s great, and relaxing in a way he is never able to achieve while conducting hell-related business
one year he gets wind that olivia is in a really bad situation associated with his ‘ex wife’s’ new husband. he’s selling vital hardware to terrorists, and while that might actually be the kind of chaos he would normally support or be entertained by as the king of hell, something feels wrong about letting olivia stay anywhere near that man
he calls upon the body’s adversaries. he wouldn’t admit it, even under duress, BUT he feels slightly fond of them. nate for the three dimensional chess they play, sophie for her ability to charm and disguise, parker for her chaos and slightly unsettling nature (it’s the autism swag and being bad with human interaction but he doesn’t know that lol), hardison for his unapologetic intelligence and eliot for his hardened violent past and take-no-shit persona (he’s fun to tease)
they perform exactly as he expected, right into his carefully crafted plan. and then olivia is under his care and things get more complicated. he keeps her FAR, FAR away from anything related to the supernatural (heh). no one can find out about her, ESPECIALLY not those imbecile hunter brothers (if for nothing else than the embarrassment in revealing he has a weak spot)
not sure how to work it into this post but I also want to add that somewhere along the way he develops feelings for nate and sophie. the frame up job is near and dear to my heart and you can’t convince me that isn’t fighting as flirting behavior. his interpol persona is more of a side hustle so to speak, but he finds it fun (relaxing, even) to fill that role. there aren’t any obligations of other demons, bothersome hunters, or anything like that. nate and sophie are low stakes, except, they aren’t, really. they make him feel things he can’t ever really remember feeling. his heart beats fast when sophie sat in his lap and cradled his face, his hands sweat when nate gives him that certain smug look. he’s exasperated by the way they can run circles around him like no one else has ever before. they annoy him and get under his skin in a way no one else can and it’s infuriating. but also not, at the same time. maybe he likes it
and then the long goodbye job happens
hear me out and suspend your belief here for a second, because I can’t remember if crowley supernaturally knows when ppl die/are dead or not.
so nate is in interpol custody and the interviewer is obviously out of her depth. (most people are, when it comes to nathan ford.) he walks in and pours the man a drink, but he’s fuming. somewhere along the way he came to care about the team. hell and suffering is literally in his (official) job description, but he can admit (only to himself) that he admires what they do. it’s not for him, not anything close to where his passions and interests lie, but he respects their drive and purpose. he is also aware enough to acknowledge that they are a family, a group of misfits that never belonged quite anywhere except to each other.
and nate fucking blew it up, ruined it, because his vice is being so obsessed with the end game that he is apparently willing to let his team, his family, the people that anchor him to reality, die because the ends supposedly justify the means.
not this time. not to sterling crowley
he is enraged. he can admit within the confines of his mind that he cares for nate, for sophie, even for the other three (though nate and sophie have somehow made it a hierarchy where they are more important to him. which he will dissect later in private. maybe.)
nate let them die, he let sophie die, and for what? the black book? hell below, crowley would have made things easier somehow, if he knew that this was where nate’s sights had lied. he would have prevented this somehow. he wants to have prevented this. he doesn’t want any of them dead and is too afraid to check and verify because that would make it real. the idea of sophie (or any of them) somehow making it to hell instead of heaven would probably break something in him he might not be able to repare fully.
he yells at nate- he’s angry. hellfire burning in his heart because everything is ruined. the deaths aside (however hard it is to set them aside in his mind), nate will not recover from this, not ever. this will be the start of the end, he is sure. a miserable, guilt-ridden existence where he drinks himself to death and nothing will save him. it plays out in crowley’s mind in a thousand different ways that are beyond painful to conceptualize, even in theory.
the story starts to unravel and there is a game afoot. a solemn, miserable, infuriating game because the con is still in session because parker is alive and in the building- which sets another fire alight in his chest. ‘parker even know you got hardison killed?’ he rages for her grief when she finds out. he knows it will double when she finds out eliot has perished, too, because he isn’t fucking blind.
but nate is a brilliant man, lest he forget too quickly. they are all alive, and somehow still the entire crew slips through his fingers. he’s not even angry (he never would have been- he doesn’t actually try too hard to catch them. it’s about the game, not the consequences). he lets them keep the black book because he’s fucking exhausted and honestly, they more than earned it.
‘now we’re even. tell sophie to drive carefully’. they will never be even, not really. crowley would never admit or agree that being human is the superior state of being, but that have made him feel human in a way he doesn’t actually mind. they keep him on his toes and match him in a way unique to them, they remind him that there are other things than the realm of hell. not necessarily bigger than hell, but maybe just as important in a different sense.
watching the van drive away, something inside him settles. when he walked into the interrogation room that day he thought this was the beginning of the end. it’s not the end at all, not an end to anything. it’s a continuation of their story. maybe, he thinks, a beginning to a new era in it
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I just wanna make a post because I’ve gotten tons of worried asks about my absence and wishing I’m okay and everything (and I will answer them I promise, I do really appreciate y’all checking in on me). but this is going to be a LONG post so if you’re actually gonna read it, strap in babes.
anyways, my life has virtually become a dystopian hell and I’m not kidding you. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I feel like I’m under house arrest because I’m just not allowed to do fucking anything anymore. I pretty much cannot leave my house, not even to get groceries. I cannot ask my roommate to pick up anything for me on her way home from work because she bitches about it and makes some excuse not to even if it’s something I desperately need. I haven’t had a single human interaction with ANYONE even my former best friend/roommate since the end of January until this week when I just fucking lost it and vented to my aunt and had her get me a dispensary order because I can’t leave my house to get one myself anymore and she came to hang out and spend some time with me and talk about everything for a couple hours. and that’s the bare bones of what’s going on. there’s so much fucking more piled to it but I’ll just give you the gist of it. I literally told my therapist that if I didn’t get the fuck out of here soon, I will probably slit my wrists and bleed out in the bathtub. like if I cannot run away and escape all this shit, I will be leaving this house in a body bag because I honestly just do not know how much more of this shit I can take.
I have been so unbelievably stressed. I have picked every tiny cut, scratch, ingrown hair, pimple, everything that could be picked open, into huge gaping wounds all over my legs and specifically, I had two tiny cat scratches on my stomach from one of my cats kneading on me and not being too gentle with her claws, and i picked those TINY cuts into gaping wounds bigger than the size of dollar coins. two of them. right next to each other. they were so bad that I thought they were legitimately going to get infected and cause me problems. but they’re finally healing and starting to scar because I HAD to bandage them. like if I did not bandage them and change the bandage twice a day, they would have become infected and been a huge problem. that’s how bad those two specifically were.
not only this, but I have also PICKED A FUCKING BALD SPOT ON MY SCALP near my widow’s peak, but thankfully it’s on the side my hair flops over from so it’s covered. but it’s still there and it makes me horribly insecure and I don’t know if it’s like a scab that’ll eventually fall off and something will grow back from it or if it’s a scar and I’ll have this bald spot forever to be insecure of and self conscious of all the time. literally only time will give me the answer to that. but I am fucking 26 years old and have picked myself to PIECES and BALD SPOTS due to stress. I am literally falling the fuck apart.
and not only that, but I was just informed that I need to be conscious and aware of the fact that I may have fucking lupus because two of my dad’s sisters have it (one confirmed diagnosis and the other a suspicion but that’s enough of a reason for me to be worried about it) and I’m too terrified to get tested or whatever to start the process of getting that diagnosis. like the one thing I’ve always been so fucking afraid of is having an autoimmune disease and my fear of that may have fucking manifested one fucking for me and I’m really struggling with the potential that I may have to deal with that, along with my other health issues and mental health issues and shit.
I just. I have been going through a REALLY rough fucking time. and I am sorry, I am so sorry for the lack of posts or explanations or not answering anyone’s asks or messages aside from the two people I talk to daily because I just mentally cannot handle conversations through all this shit, and for making anyone genuinely concerned about me because of my absence and shit. I wish I could say you shouldn’t worry, but honestly, I’m incredibly worried about myself and that reason alone should scare anyone that knows me because I’m NEVER worried about myself. I’m sorry. I wish I could say I’m okay and I’m thriving and my lack of presence on here was a GOOD thing because I’m doing well and not thinking about social media, but it’s not. it’s a very bad thing. I don’t leave my bed every day unless it’s to take care of my cats. I can’t remember the last day I actually ate a meal or even a snack. the only hydration I get is like the 3 sips of whatever I use to take my meds every morning and night. I have no drive to create content so my income has dropped SO dramatically that I am barely scraping by to pay my bills. I haven’t gamed. I haven’t caught up on any of the shows I was excited for and watching before all this. I haven’t done laundry in god only knows how long and I’m literally running out of clean clothes to wear. I literally only brush my hair before I get on FaceTime with a friend or my boyfriend, otherwise it’s a knotted mess. I’ve showered to clean my body because I feel disgusting being dirty but I have not washed my hair since I had these extensions installed. I do not have the energy to wash this much fucking hair right now. and do you know when these were installed? February 12th. I have not washed my fucking hair in over a month and I feel so fucking repulsive because of it. my hair is my pride and joy. I have such expensive quality products for it. I take care of it. I love my hair. and I cannot even find the energy to wash it when I’m already in the shower just to wash my body/face because I just am so depressed that I can’t even find the energy to do it WHILE ALREADY IN THE SHOWER. I usually go 7-10 days without washing my hair to prolong the life of my extensions and my hair dye and shit because my hair doesn’t get greasy quickly or dry so I can push it that long and just do like body wash/skincare showers in between. but it’s been over a month. over a FUCKING MONTH. since I’ve been able to find the energy to just wash my fucking hair even when I’m already in the shower. do you know how pathetic that feels?
I’m sorry this was such a heavy post. for anyone that actually read through it, I’m sorry. I’ve been internalizing a lot of this shit and this isn’t even the icing on the fucking cake. this is the bare minimum of what I’m dealing with. it’s so much more convoluted and fucked up and abusive than I’m explaining on here and I’m sorry for venting about the things that I did. but I’ll leave it there. I won’t get into the rest.
if you read this far, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time with this long of a post just to get shit off my chest. I hope you’re having a really good day, or that your day gets better, your weekend goes well, and that you have some good karma headed your way. I wish you all the best. thank you for listening. I appreciate it. 🖤
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