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indigovigilance · 7 months

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Jimbriel, Satan, the Book of Life, and what it means for Crowley

Acknowledging that what we know so far about the Book of Life from various characters is highly suspect, I'm going to posit to you that Beelzebub is actually the true authority on the Book of Life, and that they bookend Season 2 with very important (and hopefully accurate) information about the Book of Life. With that in mind, let's take Beezlebub's S2E1 description and see how it fits with other canon evidence:

But what does it mean to have never existed in the Good Omens universe? For that, let us look to Satan.

From in-show canon, we know that Adam was able to retroactively change Satan's status as his father to not his father:

Adam altered reality, although Crowley, Aziraphale, the other celestials, and even Adam himself remember those events from a timeline that supposedly has been erased:

But Crowley nonetheless confirms that this is reality now. Satan was never Adam's father.

Additionally, though not technically in-show canon, we know from Notorious NRG that once Satan became Lucifer, this erased Lucifer from existence in the GO universe:

And Crowley's monologue in the bar drives it home; even though Lucifer no longer exists, Crowley still remembers him, and some key events that they were involved in together.

But a more dramatic portrayal of erasure is found in our favorite Good Omens himbo, Jimbo. In the trial of Gabriel, the Metatron makes direct allusion to the fact that Gabriel will no longer be Gabriel after his demotion:

Not "your memory of your time as the supreme archangel will be erased," no, it's:

Your memory of your time as Gabriel will be erased.

Whether he means to or not, Aziraphale reinforces this characterization of memory-loss-as-new-identity:

This can be taken simply as a safety measure, but Jimbo doesn't understand it that way and we see throughout the remainder of the season that Aziraphale is very consistent about calling his unexpected guest "Jim," even correcting Crowley when they're speaking privately and it wouldn't blow his cover to call him Gabriel:

But the final word on memory and identity, especially as they pertain to Jimbriel, again comes from our Lord of the Flies, Beelzebub:

All your you is your memories.

Altogether we see that there is significant in-show canon to support a theory that memory is inextricably linked with identity, and that when memory is removed, identity is so drastically changed that the name of the entity must also change... and the person who existed before, with that former name, exists no longer; it is as if they never had.

(But, as we see in the case of Gabriel, they can be restored.)

I told you in the title that this post was about the Book of Life: it is. Everything discussed here about memory and identity must necessarily characterize how the Book of Life operates, at least with respect to erasure. When someone is erased, they don't vanish, but they are so changed it is as if a new person has taken the place of the old, the way Jim took the place of Gabriel, until he got his memories back. But we can surmise that when someone is erased from the Book of Life, their memories aren't conveniently stored in a TARDIS/Ru Paul fly for later recovery. The memories may not be gone, but I'm going to guess that they would be extremely difficult (or impossible) to retrieve.

What this means for Crowley:

I think we need to give this scene a lot more credit for telling us how this universe works. Surface level, it reads as "you don't understand my trauma, and how I've been changed by it." Which is a very valid interpretation. But we can dig deeper and see that, given everything else we know about celestial beings losing their memories, names, and identities, Crowley is alluding to something far more horrific than just the scars left by flaming swords and halo-grenades.

These are the scars of a lobotomy. Something was taken from him, and he is aware of it.

He knows that his memory has been tampered with. Various people (Furfur, Saraqael) tell him that they recognize him, and of things they've done together. He has no recollection of them, but instead of getting agitated, he brushes it off and ignores it. This lack of questions from the guy who questions everything tells us that he already has the answers; not the memories, but the knowledge of why he doesn't have them.

Furthermore, when he's trying to get Jim to remember the something bad and Jim says it hurts, Crowley says:

I know. Do it anyway.

How does Crowley know that it hurts, to try to recall memories that have been taken out of your head?

Because he's been through it.

He has tried to remember, and some memories, like working on the Horsehead Nebula with Saraqael or monkeying around with Furfur, weren't worth the pain. Or perhaps it was pain on top of pain to remember what he had lost.

It is an especial testament to the cruelty of Heaven that he remembers going into battle, but not the bonds he formed with his friends. He remembers a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulfur, but not the work he did on the Horsehead Nebula, a thing that brought him joy.

And now, the person he loves most in the world, his only refuge from the terror of his empty nightmares, from his malignant and creeping sense of unease that something is missing, has gone back to that place where his identity was so horribly violated that he lost his name.

How will our hero cope?

If you liked this meta, you will almost certainly like my meta on Continuity Errors.

For my thoughts on who Crowley may have been before the fall, go here.

For my thoughts on how this pertains to Metatron, go here.

As I continue to produce metas related to this theory, you'll be able to find them all here.

#good omens #good omens 2 #book of life #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #gabriel #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #beelzebub #ivoc #erasure theory

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savventeen · 10 months

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purple, white, grey, and black

pairing: idol!seungcheol x gn!reader rating: M wc: 2.9k summary: you're asexual and proud, and have been for a while. so why does seeing ace pride posts sometimes churn something within you? or, the one where reader talks about where/if their asexuality and trauma intersect. warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual childhood abuse, (these things are only talked about in the vaguest sense but please be careful), anxiety, mentions of acephobic family members tags: asexuality, asexual reader, established relationship, dialogue-heavy, emotional hurt/comfort a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote for a bts queer introspections fic fest, and i want to preface this by saying everyone's journey with asexuality is different and the one reflected here is based purely on my own personal journey. if any of you struggle with any of the same thoughts/questions reader does, that I do, i hope this can remind you that you're not alone 💜

jimbo the himbo @spaceace9393

just a friendly reminder: asexuality is a valid identity. it's not any kind of disorder, and it has nothing to do with disability, or trauma, or mental illness. we are not sick, or broken, or in need of "fixing.” we're just people who don't experience sexual attraction, that's it.

You stare at the tweet for a long, long time. Long enough that your phone screen dims before shutting off entirely, leaving you with only your reflection for company.

Your chest feels... you're not sure how to describe it, exactly. It might be a little bit like when you accidentally clogged the bathroom sink the other day — like there's something cold and murky sloshing around inside your lungs, bits of feelings you can't quite name sinking down to rest on something that's been building unseen for a while now.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in, slow and deep, and then release a shaky exhale. Your fingers start tap-tap-tapping away on your thigh as you realize that you kind of, maybe, really want to talk to someone right now.

You have your kakaotalk app open between one blink and the next.

you

cheollie? are u still at one of the hybe studios?

cheollie 🧡

yeah i'm still here not working on anything too important rn tho so you can swing by if you want i have extra ramyeon packs that soonyoung dropped off they're the spicy kind you like

You can't help but smile softly to yourself. Even though the anxiety of what you want to talk about makes your heart race, you don't think you'll ever stop being endeared by Choi Seungcheol.

you

cheollie ur the best ily ❤️ see u soon ~

cheollie 🧡

love you too ❤️

You quickly throw on your comfiest hoodie, threadbare and fraying at the seams, and you make your way over to the Hybe building. You also stop at a convenience store on the way, grabbing a canned coffee for each of you because you're a good partner like that.

By the time you get to the door of the studio, though, what little confidence you'd built up for yourself starts to fizzle out, replaced by the anxiety simmering on low just beneath your skin. The confusing feelings are still sloshing around inside your chest, so much so that you think about knocking even though you haven't knocked in months — not since Seungcheol started texting you the code of whatever studio he was working in at the time.

Groaning to yourself, you smack the edge of your phone against your forehead a few times before quickly punching in the code and opening the door before you can talk yourself out of it.

Seungcheol is slouched comically in the chair, head so low it's practically leaning against the armrest as his socked feet rest propped up on any empty corner of the desk. The computer's wireless keyboard is cradled against his chest and stomach, keys down, and he's using its smooth back as a makeshift mousepad. ...To play Solitaire of all things, you realize.

You stand there, just blinking for a moment as you process the image in front of you. He looks so stupid and cute and you can't help the grin that pushes against your cheeks.

"Cheol," you giggle. "What the fuck."

"Shhhhhhhh..." Seungcheol's eyes don't leave the monitor. "Don't question the process."

You snort as you finally close the door and walk over to set his canned coffee on the desk, on the opposite side his feet are propped up.

"What process?" You stand over him, folding your arms across your chest as you try to keep a straight face. Raising an eyebrow at his posture, you ask, "The one where you turn into a slouchy slug?"

"Hey!" Seungcheol swings the keyboard into your hip like he's trying to chop down a tree, making you double over even as you start giggling. "I am not a slug, how dare you!"

You just laugh louder and playfully shove his chair away from the desk. He yelps in surprise as his feet suddenly fall to the floor and he nearly topples over, and then he turns the full force of his pout upon you.

"I can't believe my very own partner is trying to kill me," he laments. "What did I do to deserve such betrayal? Did Jeonghan put you up to this?"

"Aww, poor aegi," you coo. You walk over to him and squish his cheeks between your palms so that his lips pucker out comically. "My poor little guppy wuppy."

His dark brows furrow harder and you let out an oof when he jabs you in the stomach with the wireless keyboard he'd managed to hang onto in the chaos, letting go of his face. It wasn't hard enough to hurt (never is) and you just stick your tongue out at him in retaliation.

He rolls his eyes and points to the couch. "Go have a seat, traitor."

You acquiesce with a soft snort, burying yourself in the corner while Seungcheol tidies up the studio. You pull one of the throw pillows into your lap and very quickly end up hugging it tightly to your chest.

For a few blissful moments, you'd forgotten about all of the confused, anxious things swimming around inside of you — forgotten the main reason you'd come here in the first place.

You must zone out, because the next thing you know, Seungcheol is squatting in front of you and trying to catch your eye, one hand gently squeezing your knee. "Hey, Y/n-ah. You doing okay over here? Want me to take you home?"

His eyes are wide and earnest, worry lightly furrowing his brow, and you will never cease to be grateful for how much he embodies unconditional care and comfort.

Shaking your head, you reach out to clasp the hand on your knee. "No, 'm fine." You tug on his hand, a silent request to come sit next to you. "Just wanna talk to you, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," he promises. "Always."

When he sits, he leaves a sliver of space between the two of you, leaving it up to you to decide how much (if any) physical comfort you want right now. That simple, little act of thoughtfulness is like the glimpse of a lighthouse amidst the storm that's brewing within your ribcage, and it gives you the courage you need to hoist your metaphorical sails and let the wind take you where you need to go.

You waste no time in anchoring yourself to Seungcheol's side, throwing your legs over his lap and burying your face into his collarbone.

"Hey, jagiya, hey, you're okay," he soothes automatically. His hands come up to wrap around you, pulling you close and rubbing soothing arcs up and down your back. "You're okay. I'm here to listen, yeah? I'm here."

He doesn't say anything else after that, just settles a bit more into the couch and waits for you to speak, always so full of patience when it counts.

It does take a while for you to say anything, mostly because you don't really know where to start. There's still so much swirling around inside you, murky and confusing, that you're not really sure if there is a start.

And a part of you wonders if it's even worth opening up your mouth at this point — the same part of you that's always walked hand-in-hand with your shame and doubt.

But Seungcheol's breathing is a steady rise and fall against your chaotic thoughts, his heartbeat a siren song reminding you that he has always held your hopes and dreams and fears and questions oh so carefully in the palms of his hands.

Eventually, you realize that it doesn't really matter where you start as long as you jump in. So jump you do. "Cheol?"

"Hmm?"

"Do— do you remember when I came out to you and the rest of the group as ace?"

" 'Course I do," he assures warmly, giving you a small squeeze. "Still so proud of you."

You hum happily. But your anxiety is making you feel fidgety again, so you pull one of Seungcheol's arms down into your lap so you can play with his long, sturdy fingers. He lets you do it without complaint, and something within you settles.

You let yourself breathe in, breathe out.

"After you guys," you start, bending and unbending his fingers one by one, "the first person I ever came out to was my mom, you know? And it's— it wasn't that she wasn't supportive. Or like, I think she was trying to be supportive, at least, but." You take a breath. "Do you wanna know what the first words out of her mouth were, after I told her that I was ace?"

Seungcheol hums an encouragement, pulling you impossibly closer with the one arm he still has wrapped around your back. You take another breath, uncurling all of his fingers and holding the spread-out digits in both hands, almost like you're going to try and read his palm.

You breathe in, breathe out. "She said— without any hesitation, she said, 'Oh, is it because of your trauma?'"

You feel the way Seungcheol tenses beneath you, watch the way his fingers twitch between yours like he's trying not to curl them into a fist.

"And I didn't know how to respond to that," you continue, keeping your eyes down, "so I just said 'I don't know, probably.'" You give the same little helpless shrug you'd given then, small and defeated, and you use the motion to hunch your shoulders a little more.

"Y/n-ah. That's..." Seungcheol starts, voice a little rough around the edges like he's trying to keep some big emotion from breaking through. "I can't imagine what that must've felt like."

And you know, you know, that he's filling in the blanks. That he's taking the words 'trauma' and 'asexuality' and drawing conclusions that probably aren't too far from the truth.

You grip his hand tightly between yours and tuck it against your chest like a child clings to a favorite stuffed animal; he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. You both breathe — in, out.

"Yeah. It didn't— it didn't feel great," you admit, an understatement. "And she's not the only one, either. Every single family member I've come out to, every single one of them— that question has always been the first thing to come out of their mouth."

The faces of those family members flash before you, all carrying the same expression — pity, one etched so deep it felt (feels) almost condescending. "Is it because of your trauma?" "Is it because of what happened to you? Did he make you like this?"

"And I just..." You flail the hand not clutching Seungcheol's, searching for a way to put into words what you've been feeling for so, so long. "I have this knowledge living inside me at all times that, to the family members that I'm out to— they'll never see my asexuality as something to celebrate. All they will ever see is my trauma and how this part of myself is something that comes from a broken place."

You think about the tweet from earlier, the hundreds of others you've seen like it, and feel tears begin to gather.

Sniffling, you continue. "And then I'll go on the internet and see all kinds of ace pride and posts about how we're valid and don't need to be fixed and... and I know that. Logically, I know that my ace-ness isn't something that needs to be changed, isn't something that could change, even if I wanted it to, but..."

But.

For so, so long, you have had no idea how to finish that sentence. And it feels like some kind of defeat when you realize you still don't have an answer. "...I don't know," you shrug, helplessly.

Seungcheol presses another kiss to the top of your head, staying silent like he knows you still have more to say. He keeps a steady rhythm of slowly rubbing his free hand up and down your back, a tactile metronome for you to follow.

After a few minutes, you continue with a sigh. "About once a year, I'll talk with my aunt, and she never fails to ask if I'm "still ace" and... I just..." You cut yourself off with a frustrated groan.

"S'okay, aegi," Seungcheol whispers, squeezing the hand you're still holding close to your chest.

"Sometimes it feels like my ace-ness is tainted, you know?"

Even as the sentence feels punched out of you, it's such a bitter relief to finally admit it out loud. Because even though you've never really let yourself put it into words, you are finally able to recognize that this is one of the murky feelings that has been weighing you down — collecting in your subconscious like debris in the gutter. "And it's why bringing up my past can be so difficult for me. Because I'm so scared that people will go from just accepting my asexuality to thinking 'Ah, that explains it.' Like I just gave them the missing piece to a puzzle or something, when before it was just a part of who I am.

"And there's also a part of me that feels like... I don't know, that I'd just be adding fuel to the fire for all the people who like to shit on asexuality. That I'm just an example of why people who think they're ace are just traumatized and need therapy. But... I think I would have always been ace, no matter what happened or didn't happen to me as a kid. And I just...

"I don't know, Cheol," you croak, the tears you've been trying so hard to keep in finally starting to cascade down your cheeks. "I don't know how to feel anymore. I don't know where to fit. If I fit. If it even matters whether I fit or not."

And really, now that you've talked it out a bit, it essentially boils down to one thing.

"I guess— I guess what I'm saying is that I just want to be able to feel like I can be ace and a little bit broken at the same time. That I can be a work in progress and still something... worth celebrating."

You tuck your free hand into the sleeve of your hoodie and use it to wipe away the tears that are still falling. Seungcheol's next exhale shudders a little bit out of his chest, and then he's letting go of your hand so he can cradle your jaw and tenderly wipe at the tears himself.

"Hey, jagiya, will you look at me, please? Will you let me look at you?"

You nod, the lump in your throat having doubled in size between one moment and the next, and he gently lifts your chin until you're eye-to-eye.

"There you are," he murmurs, with a sad lopsided smile. You notice he has tear tracks of his own, and looking into his big, glassy eyes aches and soothes in equal measure. "I'm going to tell you something very important, so I need you to listen carefully, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Again, you nod, swallowing thickly.

Seungcheol's expression quickly melts into something serious. Not something scary, but something solid — a firm foundation for you to rely on.

"Y/n L/n. You will always, always be something worth celebrating. Being a work in progress is a part of life, and you and I and everyone else on this planet will be one until the day we die. I may not know all the answers, and we might never find the ones we're looking for, but if I know anything, it's this: not a day has gone by since getting to know you that I am not so, so incredibly proud of you — of the person that you are and that you are continuously becoming. More than I can really put into words."

You think you could drown in all of the love and support and affection pouring out of Seuncheol, overwhelming you in the best way. It's like your heart has capsized and all of the ooey-gooey feelings are flooding in, pulling you down deeper, deeper, deeper still.

But you've hit your emotional threshold for the day and decide to cut the moment the best way you know how. "Even when I'm an annoying little shit?" you choke out past your now-stuffed nose.

Seungcheol laughs wetly and wraps his arms around you again, tilting you both over so you're both mostly lying down on the couch. "I think maybe especially then," he murmurs, mostly to himself. Louder, he says, "I think we've earned ourselves a nice nap, what do you think?"

You think that sounds heavenly, and you both adjust your positions until you're comfortable and you can feel sleep pulling at your consciousness. Before you let it claim you, though, you take a few moments to breathe.

It feels a bit easier than before, the breathing. The stuff sloshing around inside your lungs doesn't feel as murky as it did before, doesn't feel as suffocating now that you've been able to bale some of it out. You don't have any more answers than you did before, but you have a bit more peace.

And as you finally drift off to Seungcheol's quiet, snuffling snores, you think that having a bit more peace might be enough for now.

#svtsource #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol oneshot #seungcheol x you #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x y/n #scoups fanfic #scoups oneshot #scoups x y/n #scoups x reader #scoups x you #asexual reader #savv writes #savv fics #giving you all a big piece of my soul with this one

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