I have something that has been banging around in my head related to Crowley’s apparent loss of memory. This is probably not original but I haven’t seen it articulated quite this way so I’m just going to write it out. Crowley has a few interactions with Gabriel where he is trying to remember things that Heaven “erased”. On one occasion Gabriel says - “I can’t” and Crowley says “Yes you can” with certainty. Another time, Gabriel says “It hurts” and Crowley says, “I know, do it anyway.” I have THINGS TO SAY about this below the cut.
I think we can take it as given that Crowley has had his memory erased by Heaven, as evidenced by him not remembering Furfur or Saraqael or why they decided to have gravity. If it was one thing, I would buy it as a throwaway but the lack of memory is so specifically and repeatedly called out that I don’t think we can take it as a coincidence.
It’s equally clear to me that he hasn’t forgotten EVERYTHING about his time as an angel. He remembers that he worked on a specific nebula in S1, he remembers going into battle, he knows that if he gets into Heaven he’ll be able to access top secret files. And you cannot convince me that he doesn’t remember Aziraphale in Eden. Aziraphale doesn’t know his *demon* name, so Crowley introduces himself, but Aziraphale never does the same because Crowley already knows who he is.
SO I have made the mental leap to conclude the following - Crowley had his memory wiped by Heaven when he fell, he remembered nothing just like Gabriel, and he FORCED himself to remember some parts of his time in Heaven. Meaning, he tried hard to remember, it *hurt* and he *did it anyway*. I like to imagine that he did so because he wanted to know who he was (which of course is reason enough) but also because he wanted very much to remember a friendship with a certain Principality.
When Gabriel had his memory wiped, he still knew he needed to get to Beelzebub. I believe that when Crowley had his memory wiped, he still knew he needed to get to Aziraphale. So he went through a lot of pain to claw back some of his memory. He didn’t get everything back, but he got something. We know Heaven didn’t wipe the memories of all the Fallen, so Crowley’s memory was probably erased (or I would argue ‘suppressed’ is more accurate because the memory is still there, he just can’t access it readily) because he was high ranking, but also because he *knew or saw something specific and significant*.
Upshot is, I now desperately need a fic that features Crowley fighting to remember himself. Does this exist?? Do I need to write it?? Anybody else have this train of thought?
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I shoulder through the front doors into the fresh spring air, still a little breathless with adrenaline, to where Michelle is waiting for me. She looks unhappy.
“How did it go?” I say.
“Oh, awful, they were like robots, so intimidating. I didn’t know what they thought of my work, you know? I really thought I’d start crying at one point.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and that woman was so cold. She was pulling all of these faces at my self portraits and saying they were naive.”
“Oh, God,” In an attempt at reassurance I start rubbing her arm, “I’m sure they liked plenty things about your work.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I sensed they hated all of it.”
“They couldn’t have, it’s probably just your perception, they… I bet they’re harsh to everyone, you know? They probably don’t want to get anyone's hopes up with there being limited places and all…”
She looks at me, “Was yours bad too?”
“Awful,” I say without missing a beat, “Same as you, they gave me nothing. It was hard to tell what they really thought of my work, but they didn’t seem overjoyed by any of it to be honest.”
“Oh,” her shoulders relax, “well if they were like that with you then they must be just playing hard ball.”
“I think so.”
“What if we don’t get in?”
“Well fuck ‘em,” I grin, “We don’t need them. NCAD? Who cares, right? It’s not exactly at the top of our list.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“Something else will work out, right?”
“Of course it will! C’mon, let’s just grab a coffee and chill out,” I drape my arm over her shoulder and walk her around the corner to where I parked the car.
The car, the brand new, shiny, blue Volkswagen Polo that my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday, is gleaming under the afternoon sun, one tyre wedged awkwardly against the kerb because I haven’t yet mastered the art of parallel parking when there are two other impatient drivers beeping their horns at me and gesticulating wildly out their windows.
“He just got his fucking licence, you spas!” Michelle screamed at them from the passenger window as I manoeuvred myself into a gap big enough to house an articulated truck but somehow felt the width of a water closet as soon as I tried to fit my 1.0 litre hatchback into it. I could have told her that firing middle fingers at other drivers left and right wasn’t really doing much to diffuse the situation, but it seemed she was reaching some sort of catharsis from it. She likes that. Screaming, I mean.
This car has been a point of contention, not because I can’t park it well, but because it was an extravagance I neither needed nor desired. “We live in the city,” I protested when my parents handed me the keys, “I can just take the bus.” But they had this idea that I might like to drive it into school and be the envy of all the other students, poverty stricken losers without parents who can buy them vehicles worth half the average national salary. I told them I can just walk like always, and they didn’t like that.
“This is a good present,” said my dad, as though insisting could make it so, “You can drive all over, you won’t have to rely on public transport any more.”
“Did I say I didn’t like public transport?”
“Well, you could get mugged on the bus, someone could pull out a knife and take your phone and all of your money! That kind of thing is happening all over the city lately.”
I showed him my Nokia from 2004 and asked him what kind of person might like to risk prison for it, but he didn’t appreciate that, and it just escalated the argument further.
“I’m not going to even live in Ireland in a year, not if I can help it!” I cried with exasperation, after a further ten minutes of his dramatics, “What’s the point?”
“Sell it then!” he bellowed back, “I don’t care what you do! It’s yours!”
“I just don’t need it! It’s too much. You can use that money for something better.”
“Money? Money is not an issue.”
“Well that car will be wasted just sitting in the driveway.”
“You’ll figure out what to use it for.”
And I did. I still walk to school, I still take the bus into town most days (when I’m not hauling two A1 portfolio cases along with me), but sometimes, late at night Michelle and I drive up and down the coast. We get ice cream at the drive through, we talk, but mostly I park it in the darkest corner of some car park, sea facing for maximum romance, and we fuck in the passenger seat. Not that I’ve kept track of it by any means, but I’m almost certain I have spent more time having sex in my shiny, blue, Volkswagen Polo than actually driving it. I’m sure it wasn’t Christopher’s intention for it, and it might affect the resale value, but the car has become a haven of sorts, a place where we can go to be alone, at a safe distance from my nosy sister, from Michelle’s anxious father, and perhaps most vitally, from Jen, who has never quite stopped being weirded out by our relationship, even with nine full months to get used to it.
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i’m afraid of diving into good omens tumblr discourse but i just–i have to say
Aziraphale’s face. it’s. that is the expression of someone who does not want to be kissed, but knows it’s inevitable. though even more subtle than that, it’s the face of someone who does not want the thing to happen not because they don’t want it, but because they do, they really do, and yet it is not the way they wish it would be. Aziraphale knows something here. and he isn’t telling Crowley, nor us. he’s got some kind of higher pressure weighing down on him, forcing him to act against his nature and heart, forcing him to act against Crowley. he backs Crowley into a corner with his talk of joining Metatron in Heaven, and knows it. and that is what he wants, because that’s where he needs Crowley to be–away from him; but he pushes too strong, pushes Crowley to risk it all and end up cornering Aziraphale right back. all Aziraphale wanted, all he needed to do, was protect Crowley by breaking his heart and abandoning him, but you can’t undo 6,000 years of companionship without a miracle. it’s a failure.
whatever the Metatron told or did to Aziraphale that was hidden from us, it terrified him enough to make up a wobbly plan that could keep Crowley safe, if he would just go along with it. Aziraphale may have been strong enough, may have loved Crowley that much, to put his heart on the line and sacrifice himself if it meant Crowley could live on, but he underestimated Crowley’s love for him. underestimated Crowley’s courage and capacity for honesty.
the angel lied and the demon spoke his truth and everything crashed and failed.
and it is painful failure and remorse that i see on Aziraphale’s face.
it’s Please don’t ruin my attempt at saving you and Can’t you see what I’m trying to do and I’m sorry I’m breaking your heart but I have to if I want to keep you and To choose you I have to choose Heaven but I know you’re not seeing it that way and Crowley look at me I’m lying just go along and
Oh no, you believed me entirely too much, what have I done?
with the kiss, Crowley seals his fate as undeniably tied to Aziraphale’s. and Metatron will know.
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Why are y’all surprised that borderline capitalists and liberals like Hobie when they hate leftists, especially black leftists, irl 💀
Real people saying these things make them think and feel guilty, when a real person says we cannot thrive or make significant change by utilizing systems stacked against said change, they have to think about their own lifestyles and ideals. When a real person says violence is the answer and money needs to become meaningless, all they think is “but I could get hurt or in trouble” and “but I’ll never be rich”.
When Hobie says it it’s just a character being entertaining. There’s a bit of truth but you don’t take it seriously because you don’t have to. It’s the same way they’re fine with saying ACAB posts and reading books on anti-racism but can’t muster up the courage to tell their friend to stop saying the n word. It’s all cute till it’s you irl, so ppl who know leftists irl and don’t like them will love hobie. It feels like KNOWING Hobie maybe kinda sorta has a point is enough to negate the idea that their complicity in these systems irl is actually harmful.
It’s like that thing where ppl do bad things and think knowing it’s bad is the same as being apologetic and changing or deserving forgiveness.
Like in conclusion, it’s easy to like Hobie when you’re not face to face with someone like him and you’re not expected to do any work. It’s the same thing as yt ppl liking the Medea movies. God forbid a black person is actually loud in public but it’s fine when they’re doing their little jigs just for you.
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No because I was so surprised at the amount of people who think Peeta would have pressured Katniss into having kids. Like did they not understand his character at all?? If anything the MOST he would have done is ask her over the years of she felt she was ready, and then backed off when she said no. It's more likely that Katniss could tell that he pined for children by watching him interact with the kids in the district, and others (possibly Haymitch) brought the topic up with her. But Peeta forcing her or guiltily her into it? Never!
HONESTLY!! HONESTLY!!
My personal headcannon is maybe a little controversial lmaoo but I actually think that Peeta wouldn’t be in a rush to have a baby post MJ anyway?
Just like how Katniss has her reservations about having kids because of the trauma that the games inflicted on every aspect of her life, (along with a very disjointed relationship with her own mother) Peeta has his own host of things to work through before I think he’d be ready enough to admit he wants to start a family.
Once he does tho I think he’d only bring it up the once, see she wasn’t on the same page, and then he’d leave it because hey!! he never even dreamed they’d get to where they are now!! Safe!! And in love!! He doesn’t need kids to be happy he just needs her!!
So in my head it’s Katniss who starts the first real conversation about having kids once she sees just how sweet and kind he is to the little ones coming into the bakery with their parents and even then I think he’d probably drive her insane just double and triple checking that she actually wants this?? And it’s real?? They can try for a baby??
This whole idea that he would pressure her is just Peeta slander!! plain and simple!! lmaoo
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PSA: Nat’s ranting abt art! (again) What’s new?
for context ,, some people went to the museum of modern art in nyc and made a tiktok where they jokingly posed in front of all the paintings “they could’ve easily done themselves” and I knew scrolling through the comments would be a masochistic move even if the video itself was funny ,,, but I did it anyway and was punished for it 😭 like,,,
anyway,,, thinking about when Walter Benjamin said the rise of cinema and television and ad culture has led the masses to contemplate true art as a form of seeking out distraction:
“Reception of art now normally happens in a state of distraction. […] The public is an examiner, but an absent-minded one.”
People are no longer looking at art to seek but they’re looking at art to tell. Rothkos and Kleins don’t provide the adequate distraction for the public eye. The art and artists demand you seek outside of the work, or else it feels like a comical joke (if you’re not willing to do that). A joke that you’re not in on. Which is why so many people have so many problems with Modern Art.
Historicizing Art would tell you that the blue square was a completely new handmade pigment that had never been seen before! It was a completely new color that the artist had made! It would also tell you that the the technical level of artistry required to paint the blue completely smooth canvas was profound. Even the smallest brushstroke or fleck of dust on wet paint would cause texture and unwanted dimension. Furthermore, monochrome paintings were not common during this time. In fact Ives Klein’s blue square was one of the first of its kind. He wanted to viewer to spend a great deal of time with his paintings so that they would get lost in the color as one gets lost in the vastness of the ocean or the infiniteness of the sky. He wanted viewers to appreciate the color he so masterfully crafted. (he did not account for viewers looking at it for .2 seconds, scoffing abt how easy it looked to make, and then writing it off as a money laundering scheme) He not only invented a new painting but a new way to look at art. It’s a painting about the artists’ process, about his artistic mastery and level of skill. Its also about breaking the mold. That’s what it’s means. None of these things you could know from simply looking at the square. No one would expect you too. But asking questions, researching things that don’t make sense to you, talking to a museum curator, reading the wall text, popping onto to google, these are easy things to to do.
Also fun fact: A color blind Eddie Redmayne wrote his thesis on Ives Klein Blue because he was actually able to distinguish it from other hues for his Art History Thesis! That’s pretty cool!
Anyway, the point is, it makes me sad how quick people are to write off things they don’t understand. They don’t want to bother learning especially when it comes to art. Because the paintings no longer spell out exactly what is there and what it’s trying to say for the viewer, they become useless. Any further need for explanation is written off as pretentious. You don’t have to love modern art! But it would be nice if more people were at least open to trying to understand it a bit better.
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