#so it would feel *metaphysically right* and would 'balance out' the time war trauma

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

hmmm. so, I'm starting the end of time in the rewatch... by this point, the themes of "the natural order of things must be followed or Bat Shit will happen" has reached its peak w/ last episode. I had parked analyzing that for later (where does this urge in s1-s4 to portray Time and History as unshakable forces come from? why is the theme of "inevitability" such a focus? and why does it work?)... but ToE janked me and asked me to analyze it now lol bc it comes and opens with this: It is said that in the final days of planet Earth, everyone had bad dreams. To the west of the north of that world, the human race did gather, in the celebration of a pagan rite to banish the cold and the dark. Each and every one of those people had dreamt of the terrible things to come. But they forgot, because they must. They forgot their nightmares of fire and war and insanity. They forgot. Except for one. I remembered this phrase on someone's blog and thought oh, it may have been a reference! and... indeed it is. To this poem from victorian era poet matthew arnold...

which I think clarifies some stuff they were going for a bit, with this "time can be (can't be) rewritten" theme, and also why donna's seemingly "pointless" memory erasure *had* to happen... because there's a recurring theme in s1-s4 that, to allow anything to happen in the future, things have to be scarified in the past. (for the human race to go to the stars A Lot of experimental crews had to die) etc... and, this works in tandem with the "everything has its time and everything ends" theme. for new life to be born, there has to be death, maybe it's just me projecting my slight taoism philosophizing into it but... it feels like doctor who's s1-s4 messaging around death + the passing of time seems to be almost ... a metaphysical law it is dictating: the dark things in our lives have to happen. we will fail to reach our potential (in the case of donna), we will lose people, we will regret things... but we can't undo what has been done or try to go against that "natural flow" of things, or else we will go human the equivalent of timelordvictorious / batshit insane lol

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Ritual of Propagation

Alright. This is happening.

I made a post earlier about having a fic that is both NS/FW and contains r*pe/non-con. This is it: "The Ritual of Propagation," first story in what will apparently be a series, "Aziraphale's Children."

You will probably not be surprised to learn based on those two sentences that this fic contains r*pe (physical and metaphysical/True Form), pr*gnancy (forced and consensual), references to miscarriage, and the usual range of violence, threats, emotional abuse, and absurd amounts of gaslighting heaped on our favorite angel. To balance it, LOTS of love and affection between our angel and demon at their South Downs cottage, navigating their way through past trauma.

Actual description:

When the War in Heaven took its toll, decimating the Legions of Heaven, there was only one way to rebuild their numbers: The Ritual of Propagation.

To Aziraphale, it was simply a duty, a task the Archangels asked him to perform countless times.

But, an eternity later, Crowley sees something far darker and more sinister in the angel's stories.

Can Crowley help his husband acknowledge the abuse he suffered? And can they find away through the pain and trauma to start the family they both desire?

Snippet is below the break, contains references to miscarriage and forced pr*gnancy, but cuts off before anything too dark/explicit.

All across Creation, the War raged. Wave after wave of loyal angels crushing the Rebellion, driving the Dissidents, the forces of the Wicked back to the farthest reaches of the universe where they belonged. Endless battles fought by the Legions of Heaven, weapons igniting the void with the Flames of Truth.

Perched on the edge of his bed, Aziraphale watched it all through the window. Little lights in the darkness, flitting about.

“You were lucky,” droned the fourth-class medic, inspecting his left upper wing. Aziraphale tried to smile, but kept his eyes on the distant battle. “Only lost three of them. A fall like that, it could have been much worse.”

“Yes. Very lucky.” Aziraphale didn’t feel lucky. He felt tired. The burden each wing carried weighed him down, sapped his energy in a way combat never had. Yet somehow the absence of weight on his wing was even more painful. “How are the rest?”

“No permanent damage. But it’s a good thing we found you when we did.” The medic turned to Gabriel, who waited at the far end of the drab, colorless room, arms crossed. “If his condition continues in this way, I’m afraid we’ll have to restrict his activities. Bed rest, supervised visits to the recreation hall—”

“I thought,” Gabriel said in a voice that made Aziraphale’s heart drop, “that he was already restricted.”

The medic sighed, flipping through a chart. “We’ll have to be more specific with the door guards. Apparently, he snuck out with a larger party.”

“I wasn’t sneaking. It was just one walk around the gardens. I missed the flowers.” While the other angels were occupied, Aziraphale lifted a hand to touch the bare patch of white feathers. “And a little exercise does so much good for them.” One of the small globes of golden light shifted, brushing up against his fingers, followed by a second, then a third. He quickly pulled his hand away, glancing towards Gabriel.

The Archangel watched him, eyes narrowed. “You can get exercise indoors. Just like everyone else.”

“Everyone else is allowed outside.”

“Everyone else still remembers how to walk!”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to shake. It wasn’t that he couldn’t walk. He was just—so— tired. “You know I… I never had these accidents when it was fifteen per wing. Perhaps if we… eased off…”

“It isn’t up to you,” the Archangel reminded him coldly. “Or to me, or to anyone else. If God grants you twenty-seven on a wing, that’s what She wants you to carry. This was a blessing,” his voice grew more heated with every word, “a sign of confidence in you. Do you understand how rare that is? How few angels have been singled out for anything like this honor? You have been given a Duty, a Sacred Task, and instead of accepting it like a proper angel, like the Guardian you are supposed to be, what do you do? Wander out of the facility meant to keep you safe, and then, when you’re good and lost, fall off the path and lose three at once.”

“I wasn’t lost, I just—”

“Aziraphale!” Now Gabriel was furious, violet eyes smoldering. “I have had enough of your back talk. Just—for once, shut your mouth and do as you’re told.”

Aziraphale shifted on the bed, turning back to the lights of the distant battle. A few of them flickered out.

“He does have a point,” the medic put in, tugging on Aziraphale’s lower right wing, where the largest of the globes hung. “Look at this— thirty. The largest clutch we’ve ever had. And very healthy, but at least eight are undersized.

“But some are above average, yes?”

“Mmmh.” The medic’s fingers flicked through his feathers, counting. “Six. But according to the notes, it used to be at least ten, consistently, every time. If you wish to prioritize strength over numbers—”

“We need to prioritize both,” Gabriel snapped, walking closer. “The War isn’t just going to wait for us.” He jabbed one of the largest globes roughly with his finger, and Aziraphale felt a tingle of fear race up his wing. He tried to think soothing thoughts, but he didn’t dare move. “Even undersized for him, they’re still well above average for everyone else. We’ll just have to watch him more closely.”

With one more disappointed glare, Gabriel ushered the medic towards the door, leaving Aziraphale alone. Or as close to alone as he ever got.

His fingers brushed the bare patch again, this time allowing the remaining globes to bump against his fingers. He could feel their curiosity, and their concern.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am so… so sorry…”

Before the War, this facility had housed the Angels of Creation. The enclosed gardens still held their work, a wild array of plants and animals, a million varieties, the best of which would be sent to Earth when it was created. It had been marvelous to get away from prying eyes for just a moment, to see the rich array of colors, to hear the singing of birds in the trees.

But all at once his legs had given out—

Hearing Gabriel approach, Aziraphale dropped his hand, slowly pushing himself back into bed. But the Archangel put a hand on his shoulder.

Aziraphale stared for a moment, uncomprehending. “But… my wings are full.”

“Twenty-five per wing, minimum. If you lost three, that means this one has only twenty-four.”

That bit of arithmetic was almost too complex for Aziraphale’s addled mind. “But. The rest are already so large.” He flexed his lower right wing, looking at the ripening globes that nestled among his feathers. “And these are nearly ready. Surely we should wait—”

The hand grew painfully tight. “It isn’t. Up. To you.”

“But…”

“Do not make me say it again.”

[anthonybialy]

The Least Important Claim of Our Lives

That was the most important election of our lives until the next one, which will be the next one. I guess it's inspirational to think today is the only day that matters. But a closer examination of events indicates the importance of whatever day this is seems unlikely. I know things that happened aren't here any longer, so I'm sorry to wander into metaphysics.

The very centered manner of thinking there is no moment but this one is actually a pretty good reflection of our selfie-based times. Please like this so I feel validated. As one would lamentably think, declaring right now's ultimate supremacy is not about seizing the moment. Instead, the lack of perspective leads to empty lives.

The panic that tomorrow will never arrive might be an excuse for our government spending trillions more annually than it loots. But experience shows that there is usually another day ahead, which leads to bad news about paying back.

Proclaiming we just lived through the most momentous historical moment embodies the sort of smug arrogance that defines our oh so modest times. The feeling that existence is about to be obliterated gives any politician too much authority.

An inflated sense of importance is either a sign to cut off power to those who have it or that our imaginations have run out of control. Either way, we should end utility service in our nation's capital. They'll get less anti-work done, which means everyone else can do real jobs. Candlelight was good enough for the Founding Fathers.

A lack of self-awareness isn't as charming as hoped. Lots of people who like commanding everyone else sure are fretful about descending into fascism. It's always this election that's crucial for stopping the American Mussolini. If you think voting to stop us from aligning with World War II bad guys is a new phenomenon, visit your local library to examine how Newsweek treated secret Fourth Reich architects Ronald Reagan and the Bushes if the microfiche machine is unoccupied.

That whole voting thing we endured will have an effect, unfortunately. We learned which jerk gets to boss around everyone, not just sickos who crave it. Joe Biden gets to try his hardest to impose lurching nonsense, which will be a change of pace from Donald Trump bothering us while pretending it was conservative.

Either way, people who enjoy being left alone dream of a world where politics are so inconsequential that an election is like getting a new queen. Countries ruled by royals are at least honest. The blessed final tally is going to result in a bunch of lousy junk passed. Who won? It doesn't matter.

Earth will continue spinning even if ghastly things happen on it. Sure, there will be a great deal of pain as a result of the personnel change, which is not balanced by the lack of alignment problems brought by a thinner wallet. But resilient people will bear with enforced idiocy and run better candidates next time. If anyone's feeling like freaking out, know there will be one. I've been cheering in vain for lava asteroids to mercifully strike our hideous planet.

Constantly acting like the nation is imperiled isn't just daft: it leads to shrugging off blaring sirens. We can't be at DEFCON 1 constantly. Reflexively going to red alert is especially tiresome coming from those who would shred the Constitution if not for that stupid glass guarding it. America will be destroyed if its government doesn't force insurers to sell a product.

Deciding today is the only one that's ever mattered is as self-righteous as it is exhausting. Not knowing anything but this moment leads to the sort of delightfully shortsighted policies that ruin the future.

People who disregard history always think the present is special as if our challenges are unique. Finding an original idea is much easier without learning what already happened, especially among people who think government is a solution seeking problems. Wait until you hear what happened when countries tried socialism. The upside is a lot of people felt equal.

Follow human tendencies to learn why life's a pain. Pompousness leads to insecurity, which is a sign the former is unjustified. We've never faced challenges of this magnitude before, according to those who enjoy learning each day because they forgot everything.

A slight bit of memory would allow reliving bad things, which is why the blank slate's the way to go for inner peace. Still, an analysis of cave paintings indicates our world has endured previous traumas, including many inflicted by crummy presidents. In fact, some of them received support from the professional panic patrol. Ignorance is in fact the death of bliss. We'll hurt tomorrow, as well.