I'm not quite there yet but I KNOW that after wind and truth featuring Szeth and Kaladin's Unwell Adventure, I WILL be adding Kalaszeth to my all encompassing mental cabinet of beloved possible Kaladin ships.
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Which introduces a new funniest time travel companion for a new funniest post book 5 time travel scenario.
Stormlight au 31:
Szeth, having jump scared the bridge crew by appearing lightly glowing in the dark while they were having stew, been hastily ushered by the captain into the bridge four barrack, only to sit on the floor and stare dead eyed at nothing:
Kaladin, standing between the crew and the man on the floor:
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Lopen looked around. As usual, he could tell that the men were silently crying out for him, the Lopen, to take charge and speak.
"So!" he said cheerfully. "Gotta say gancho, very excited to meet an old friend of yours! Nice to take some mystery out of that mysterious past of yours, eh?"
Kaladin shifted from foot to foot, face twisting a bit. He had been acting strange since that terrifying glowy high storm vision of his a few days back. Even more broody than usual, which was storming saying something.
"It must be difficult," Rock said slowly. "Being Shin man with great powers and shardblade."
A shardblade which he had summoned unceremoniously, causing all of bridge four to scramble for weapons, only for the crazy man to hand it to Kaladin with a mumble, then sit on the floor.
Kaladin had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before placing it, very, very carefully, under his bed.
A storming shardblade. Under the Captain's bed.
"A Shin with a shardblade who wears white," Moash added sarcastically, eyes flickering to the Captain's bed even more than usual.
(White may have been a stretch, what with all the mud and possibly dried blood. Still. Lopen could perhaps see Moash's point.)
"Yes," Rock said. "Why, were I more suspicious man, I would say Captain, this man on the floor, he can not be Assassin in White? Surely most wanted, most dangerous man in all Roshar is not here, in the place we sleep, asking for aid. Surely it would have been mentioned if this man who caused the war we even now are a part of, was old friend of yours?"
"I..." Kaladin trailed off. "I promised to try and protect..."
The whole bridge crew groaned, Skar even throwing his spear at the ground. Bad form, that.
"Storm's sake lad!" Teft growled, arms in the air. "You can't befriend and save every wanted criminal you meet!"
"If it is of help -"
The men started at the unnerving dead voice coming from the so far quiet assassin.
"We are not truly friends. Merely -"
He said a word, presumably in his language, then frowned, the first recognizably human emotion that had crossed his face.
"I do not know this word in Alethi. In Azish it is I think -"
He said something that made Sigzil choke on air, jaw dropping. "Uh," the Worldsinger stammered out. "I. Ah. I think. That might be the wrong term."
The Captain seemed to pale slightly. "Szeth, we can talk about that later," he said quickly. "We should probably figure out a plan for you to surrender to Dalinar - or Elokhar - without you getting immediately executed - Yes, Dalinar is probably-"
"Perhaps," Sigzil interrupted, voice higher than usual. "You could define the meaning of the word you used before."
"Sigzil!" The captain hissed.
"Captain?" Sigzil challenged, voice still slightly too high.
"I was emotionally and mentally unwell," the assassin in white said in his monotone. He paused. "Even more so than currently."
A few of the men took a step back.
"Stormblessed..." he looked up at Kaladin, and his voice seemed to soften, just the slightest bit. "He felt pity for me. Then he helped me feel. Helped me think that perhaps, someday I would feel the desire for life. He did this despite no great love for my being."
Many of the men nodded at that. Sigzil's shoulders slumped in relief.
"He accomplished this primarily by fucking me in a cave."
The nods froze. Sigzil closed his eyes.
The Captain slapped a hand to his face.
"The translation for this from my language would be 'pity fuck', but there is more cultural nuance..." The Assassin shrugged. "In any case it is not a bond such as that of friendship. My soul is still far too damaged for that."
"Szeth..." The Captain said, looking down at him with obvious concern. He glanced at the room, blanched at the men's expressions, then slowly pressed his head back into his hand.
Moash made an indecipherable noise and stomped towards the door, before making another noise and stomping back.
The Captain kept his palm pressed to his face.
A sudden wave of epiphany hit Lopen. "Hold on. Now hold on just a storming minute!"
The room turned slowly from staring at their Stormblessed leader to staring at Lopen.
He pointed accusingly at the Captain. When the man failed to pull his massive hand from his beautiful face, Lopen faced the others, glaring.
"I know that I joined bridge four late! But are you telling me that before I got here, the whole famous 'pulling everyone out of bridge crew misery' was actually the captain...I mean did storming all of you..."
He made a deliberate gesture, pointer finger moving extra emphatically to make up for the missing hand with which to form a hole, meeting each man's eyes with a challenge.
Drehy let out a wheeze. He and Skar looked at each other before dissolving into quiet, helpless laughter. Drehy sank to his hands and knees, wheezing more, and Skar bent over, tears streaming down his face as he gasped around his laughing.
"That ain't an answer!" he said indignantly.
He looked at Teft, but the older man had put both hands over his face. His shoulders seem to shake occasionally. Lopen's eyes narrowed as he turned to Rock.
The horneater had a hand over his mouth, but he brought it down, coughing once as he stroked his beard.
"What," Rock said mildly. "You thought it my stew that bring back men's will to live? You honor me, the Lopen."
Lopen gaped at that, and he wasn't the only one. The handful of other 'late' additions, men who had been rescued on the field from other crews, started in shock.
The rest of the crew completely lost it at that point.
Skar and Drehy collapsed further, banging their fists on the floor. Bissig started laughing as well, falling onto Natam, who had made a strange grunting whine at Lopen's question, a whine which grew louder at Rock's reply.
Moash's lips turned up reluctantly before a snort escaped against his will. He fell back against a wall, knees seeming to grow weak. Another snort. "Imagine!" he gasped out. "If he just started punching people in the stomach, ran around like a madman, and expected people to follow him!"
Leyten went from chuckling to a booming laugh at that, clutching at Pete and Yake to stay upright. He looked at Lopen, who made another questioning gesture. That was enough to send all three toppling over, Leyten loud enough to be heard the next barrack over.
Renarin squeaked from the corner as Natam hit the wall beside him in mirth, howling. Talek's breath, he had forgotten the lad was there, light eyes wide in shock.
Shen was next to him. Was it Lopen's imagination, or did even his eyes seemed to be sparkling with mirth? No storming way...not the parshman...the Captain wouldn't...
"Crazy!" Torfin agreed, cackling. "What kind of idiots would start pooling all their pay to buy storming bandages for doomed men, start laughing during chasm duty, swear to stand by their storming bridge, if they didn't have at least one, um - uh -"
"Stormblessing!" Leyten offered with a gasp from the ground.
Torfin pointed at him, "Stormblessing!" he repeated with a yell. "To remind them that life was worth living!"
Lopen narrowed his eyes, finally coming to a conclusion. "You fellows are taking the piss out on me," he accused.
"You know Captain," Drehy said, whole body heaving, tears still streaming down his face as he lay helplessly on the floor. "I still get nightmares."
This inspired a new wave of laughter mixed with jeers about their own issues, and suggestions for how the captain could help. Lopen shook his head, grinning widely at the room full of uproarious men. Some of his best work. And mostly achieved on accident, which was the best kind of accomplishment!
The Captain finally pulled his hand from his face. There was color high in his cheeks, and he was frowning, but the corners of his eyes were creased with suppressed laughter.
"Sorry Drehy, one time offer," he said dryly, to hoots.
And Lopen," he said, faux apologetic. "I am sorry for the oversight. I... didn't realize you were interested."
The crew edged well into hysteria, most men only able to breathe in strangled gasps and wheeze out an occasional ''Stormblessing!'
Bridge four's captain was good at playing straight man, when the mood struck him.
The Lopen huffed, but decided magnanimously to move past the slight to his honor. Even if it turned out they weren't joking.
"It's still nice to be included," he sniffed. "Ain't that right, Renarin."
The Brightlord seemed to shrink as attention was drawn towards him, face a brilliant red as he pressed into the corner. Some of the laughter trailed off as the crew remembered he was there. More of it got louder, even less uncontrolled.
The Captain's eyes widened and the flush on his cheeks spread to his ears.
"Renarin! Oh - Jezrianssake, the men are full of chullshit, alright? I didn't - that wasn't -"
The Captain gestured helplessly. "The thing with Szeth was - we were - the world was going to -"
He threw up his arms as Renarin's eyes just got wider.
"It was the stew!" He said desperately, turning to look at Eth, who looked bemused back at him. "It really was the stew!" He pleaded.
"I know Captain," Eth said soothingly. "I know I came in a bit later, but I know. That's not exactly something these idiots would be able to keep secret."
"Things might have gone faster, though..." Skar said leadingly, which set off another round of helpless groans and gasps for air.
The Captain rolled his eyes, scoffing, still the perfect comedic straight man.
...He did get the whole joke though, right? The bit of truth in the jeers? The Lopen was not generally interested in the more manly sex but Storms. It was sometimes hard to tell if the Captain realized just how pretty he was, just how much people reacted to his general...Stormblessedness. Not to mention the glowing! Everyone loves a man who can glow and run up walls.
Hm. Maybe that helped explain the Captain and the Assassin.
Moash stumbled, still snorting, over to the Man in White - to Szeth - looking down at him, appraising.
Kaladin grew tense.
Gancho had been especially strange around Moash for the last few days.
"Assassin," he said thoughtfully. "Are you sure it was just pity?"
The wide eyed man, who had remained utterly impassive as the room fell apart around him, cocked his head as Moash leaned down.
"There's a certain kind of person who finds killing light eyes, especially powerful lighteyes, a rather..."
Kaladin cleared his throat, interrupting. "We're not killing the king."
Moash turned sharply, glaring at Kaladin.
"I do not wish to kill anymore," Szeth whispered. He paused, then spoke again.
"I will kill if the Blackthorn orders, or if you ask, Kaladin Stormblessed, son son Tanavast."
Kaladin winced. "Maybe let's not mention...that whole last part when we go to the King. We...we should definitely practice exactly how we're going to explain all this."
He starting towing the still blank faced - no there was a bit of confusion there, if you were looking - infamous Assassin to his office, the men letting out the best jeers they could (considering their incoherent state) as they went.
"You should for sure mention the 'pity fuck' thing though," Lopen called helpfully. "The King will definitely be interested in that."
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Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.
I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment
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When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.
However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.
So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.
I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.
I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.
That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.
However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.
I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.
I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.
Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.
Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.
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I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.
So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.
I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).
I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.
Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,
Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?
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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.
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