#. · ✦ ❪ … ❫ let's pick the truth that we believe in like a bad religion › prompts.

[korcariis]

𝕿ag archive . 

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ fate has already staked its claim on us  ›  arc / origins. 

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ neither a monster nor a martyr  ›  arc / witch hunt. 

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ these violent delights have violent ends  ›  arc / the last court.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ none shall be untouched by the fires above  ›  arc /  inquisition.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ found between the folds of history over and over again  ›  writing.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ rumors of god run through your dark blood  ›  character study.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ innocent. ruthless. bloodstained  ›  introspection.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ at the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman  ›  reflection.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ a lowly combination of the divine / the bestial  ›  wardrobe.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it  ›  aesthetic.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ›   self-promo.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ our wishes bend the statues of the gods  ›  promo.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ one creature’s need and another’s response ›  answered.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ let's pick the truth that we believe in like a bad religion  ›  prompts.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ hunger: a feeling and an ache. want of want  ›  desires.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ feeling the love for my witchy wife in this chili’s tonight  › ooc.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ thinking about the immortality of the crab › queue.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ what are you doing in my swamp??!!  ›  crack.

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer Fill: Godless

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer! Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: GODLESS | WORDS: ~1800

Rated: "G" - General Audiences AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: The ocean licks at her knees - not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shepard looks forward to being the first one up and awake.

Her cabin is suffocating. There are nights when she appreciates the privacy, but the silence of her isolated quarters makes her insides itch in an uncomfortable way. Just before the common area lighting begins to grow from the dim cadence of the night cycle, she leaves her room and greets the morning, intangible as only time on a starship can be. First she checks on the night crew, then starts coffee for Gardener. Finally, she makes her way down to the shuttle bay for PT. Alone.

It's unexpected when she has a visitor one quiet morning.

"Sere Krios," she says, rising from a deep stretch on the mat.

He smiles warmly, equally as surprised to see another soul at this hour. "Commander, good morning. And please, just Thane if you wouldn't mind."

Thane is the newest member of her crew and they've only spoken twice before. Maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has his daily rituals as well, given his condition. He's dressed simply. Black pants, a sleeveless shirt, his defined, green chest exposed for all the world. Drell and humans share some attractive qualities. He's easy on the eyes.

She's staring, she realizes, and looks away. Thane takes his place on the mat and begins his own warm-up.

Day after day, he joins her, and they build a routine. Together, they begin with stiff, groggy stretches; then there's cardio, sweat, and strength training. Their conversations are light and technical. He respects her silence. She respects his discipline. On leg day, they limp back into the elevator in tandem. If she's lucky, she has time to join him and the crew for breakfast after her shower.

When she's alone, she quietly recalls how the light bends around the contours of his body.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He's there as usual when she steps off the elevator and into the shuttle bay. Fully armored, helmet under one arm, weapons holstered, but ready.

"Shepard. No training today?" He rises from his place on the mat where he's been exploring the human practice of yoga, per her suggestion. It suits him. Yoga is all about breathing.

"I was beginning to think you tired of my company."

She gives him a weary smile and shakes her head.

There's a new, abnormal tension between them and by his gaze she knows he feels it too. She likes Thane. She knows hardly a damn thing about him, but he's a comfortable presence, follows orders... doesn't ask intrusive questions. However, she's breaking their routine unexpectedly, and in the moment, his gaze is almost painful.

"Is there something I should know about Alchera?"

Okay, maybe he does ask intrusive questions.

His voice is a hot knife through her muddy thoughts. The detour to Alchera hadn't been on their flight plan, but somehow, he knows. Times like this, his eidetic memory puts her on edge. She asks herself how many other kernels of obscure knowledge are locked away in his mind.

Stepping up to prep the shuttle, she weighs the consequences of lying to his face. Only six people on the ship know where she's going and why, and she doesn't want to talk about it with any of them. The words are too hard to say out loud. This is where I died.

"Alliance HR," she says finally. A partial truth.

His brows rise and his posture straightens just a bit. "Human remains." Fuck if he isn't perceptive, but if he has questions, he keeps them to himself.

She nods once, happy to have stopped this conversation in its tracks. Then she changes the subject.

"PT tomorrow," she offers with a smile. "I can't be lifting without my spotter."

"Of course, Shepard. The pleasure is mine," he responds with an acknowledging nod. She feels bad for interrupting his training as he leaves on the elevator, but she doesn't want to face her team until her task is done.

Let's just get this over with.

Alone with her thoughts, she exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding and starts her pre-flight checklist.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It's well past dinner when she comes to him. The doors at his back swish open and she stands quietly inside the threshold. A fistful of clinking metal dangles from her hand and he knows she's come to have the conversation she avoided earlier.

"Did I catch you at a good time?"

"You did," he says smoothly. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

She sits across from him and the metal spills from her fist. Dog tags. Twenty of them. Her gaze is fixed on them and she appears shrouded in a fog of thoughts.

"Did you know them?" The question is gentle, he's almost afraid to know the answer.

Shepard takes a deep breath and blinks slowly. "Yeah. They were my crew."

Thane can feel a chill, as though the icy surface of the planet is still clinging to her long after she's left it. "Your ship went down on Alchera?"

She nods.

"...and you were among them."

"Yes."

He realizes now why she brushed off his words earlier. It strikes him as odd that she would bring this to him instead of Garrus, Tali, Joker, or Chakwas. All of them served on that ship with her, although he isn't sure if they were on board during the attack. She chose him for this, maybe because he'd asked, unknowingly, down in the shuttle bay. Regardless, she's here now and he struggles to understand her needs.

Thane refocuses. There's a pile of dog tags before him and each one represents a human life, now in the arms of Kalahira.

"May I read them?"

She glances up at him then, surprised. "Won't you remember them forever?"

"I'd like to."

Her lips twitch just slightly in the most cautious of smiles, and she nods. "Knock yourself out," a quietly uttered and somehow charming human expression.

Thane picks up each tag one by one and passes his eyes over them. Every name, a life extinguished. Stories unfinished. Loved ones mourning for years without closure or a body to bury. Memories percolate in his mind and he pushes them back because now is not the time. For each name, he offers a silent prayer to the goddess for their eternal peace. When he finishes, the tags are a neat horizontal stack before them.

Hands folded, he looks at her. "I don't see your name."

It's less of a question and more of an observation, but she dips one hand into her shirt collar and produces a pair of clinking metal tags. They dangle from a new chain but the metal scorched and scuffed almost to a state of illegibility. One from the Alliance, the other from the Spectres. Her name is heavily embossed into each one.

SHEPARD DECEMBER HUMAN SYSTEMS ALLIANCE

His expression lifts and he smiles, hopeful. "You survived."

Shepard shakes her head. "I was spaced."

"But you must have-"

"No, Thane." Her tone is firm, unwavering. "I was spaced."

Her intense green eyes pierce through him. There's a twinge in her voice that makes his insides clench. "I read the data on Project Lazarus. I died."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Thane tries to control his features but her assertion shakes the very foundations of his faith. Many had said she died, but he'd always understood it as a metaphor - a near death experience.

He reaches into himself for calm and a memory rises, unbidden. "Jesus and Lazarus, from the Christian bible. '...I am the resurrection and the life.'"

"Kalahira..." he breathes. "Shepard, I didn't know."

She grunts out an ugly, short laugh and tears her eyes from his. "I can't believe you read the bible."

Her words fly past him without acknowledgement. He sees her as though through fogged glass, thoughts spinning. "Kalahira released you from the sea." When the words leave his mouth, they sound like irrefutable truth.

There's silence while she fidgets across from him, and then she asks, "Do humans go to the sea too?"

"We believe all life does."

He has a thought, then. "What do you believe, Shepard?

Her expression is mildly uncomfortable. "Before or after I died?" But then she shakes her head, reconsidering. "The universe is grand enough that maybe it is god's design. But I don't think god gives a damn about us. Agnostic, I guess." Shepard pauses and looks at him, but her eyes are distant. "Maybe I'd like to believe in your sea. Right now it feels easier to accept."

"To bring comfort in dark places is the purpose of spirituality. It does not matter what you believe as long as it brings you peace."

"Some humans would disagree with you."

Aware of the myriad of human religions and their conflicts, he brushes off her statement. "This is my truth. Their opinions don't concern me."

Shepard's gaze is searching, revealing the cracks in her armor, slivers of well-hidden vulnerability. "So I went to the sea. And now I'm back."

"If I am to accept what you say, I can offer no other conclusion." He doesn't ask what she remembers, he knows he might not like the answer.

"Then what am I now? Besides a soggy, undead cyborg?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm but Thane thinks over her question carefully, aware he will be turning it over in his mind for days to come. Kalahira, Irikah, Siha, the gods and their angels, his lover and confidant, memories and oaths... regrets and comforts.

A heavy veil of epiphany descends on him, awestruck, painfully aware of his mortality, and prickling with a primal, deeply buried fear. Once human and now something in between, she is Commander Shepard, avatar of the Sea, chosen of Kalahira. The ocean licks at her knees not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

The fist of tension in his gut calls to mind the image of Irikah's eyes in his scope all those years ago. I thought she was the goddess Arashu. But it's not Arashu who sits before him now, but Kalahira. Her icy breath howls across the inhospitable surface of Alchera, her unfathomable currents gathering those courageous enough to follow her into the abyss. How appropriate that she appeared just as he sought his demise in the Dantius Towers. She will be the one to ferry him into the unknown when they finally breach the relay. He prays she will be merciful.

Placing one hand over hers, Thane squeezes reassuringly. He doesn't linger, the gesture is as much for him as it is for her; he wants to know that she is real, as he finally answers her question.

'Then what am I now?'

"A woman with a purpose so great, the goddess herself answered the galaxy's cry for your return."

[ohnomybreadsticks]

Bready’s Bastille Song Prompt List

Did any of you honestly think I wasn’t gonna do a Bastille list when Bastille is what I’m listening to like 70% of the time?? Well here ya go, tons of my favorite lines to use as prompts!! I sourced from all three (extended) albums, because I love them all.

Special shoutout to @unremarkablegirl​ for giving me some of her favorite lines as well :D

What’s gonna be left of the world if you’re not in it?

Hold me in this wild, wild world / 'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be

In these darker days, I push the limit to the love you offer / There's a riot in my head, demanding we do this forever

And then you put your hand in mine / And pulled me back from things divine

Aim, throw your best shot right at me / 'Cause pain, I can take it easily / Did you really think I'd fall to my knees / Just to pray for some sweet simplicity?

I’m the lesser of two evils / Or am I, am I tricking myself nice?

Tell me a piece of your history / That you're proud to call your own

We're living in the currents you create / We're sinking in the pool of your mistakes

Crawl and beg and plead, sing: "You’ve got the power to control" / Don’t pin it all on me

Show me joy, flower through disarray / Let's destroy, each mistake that we made / Then restore the color back to the grey

It's 4am, here comes the fear / I'm not prepared yet / And when we pick over the past we / Glorify it

You can put some joy up on my face / Oh, sunshine in an empty place

Have you and I been sleepwalking way too long?

It must be so lonely, knowing what you know / Man, it must be lonely, keeping it on the low

I miss us dancing through the same noise / But here we are my friend / We're miles from way back when

I can't say the words out loud / So in rhyme I wrote you down / Now you live through the ages / I can feel your pulse in the pages

And it's harder than you think, telling dreams from one another

It's a quarter past midnight / And the secrets are flowing / Our lips are getting looser

You always let me down so tenderly

Let's pick the truth that we believe in / Like a bad religion / Tell me all your original sins

No, there is nowhere I would rather be / Never felt more comfortable, could never want for more when you're near

So don't make promises to me that you're gonna break / We only ever wanted one thing from this

Those nights when you crave someone / To be there at dawn, to wake with, 'cause aren't we all just / Looking for a little bit of hope these days

Oh joy, when you call me / I was giving up, oh, I was giving in / Joy, set my mind free

Well it fucked me up when I fell for you / I shouldn't have let me fall for you

Kindness is what you showed to me / It holds me 'til I ache / Overflow, and start to break

Oh you played me, like I was music made by your hands / Still ringing out and echoing around

I read them all one day / When loneliness came and you were away / Oh, they told me nothing new / But I love to read the words you use

As the friendship goes, resentment grows / We will walk our different ways

These streets are yours, you can keep them / In my mind, it's like you haunt them

You're putting up your armour when you leave / And you leave because you're certain / Of who you want to be, oh

You always take it further / Than I ever can

You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve / And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground / Dig them up; let's finish what we've started

Just listen to your friends / They only care and hope you're alright

As you turn to your mind and your thoughts, they rewind / To old happenings and things that are done / You can't find what's past, make that happiness last

All the things you've said and the things you've done / Can you carry it with no regrets? / Can you stand the person you've become?

You checked out years ago / Oh what I'd do not to worry like you

'Cause when it feels when I'm lost at sea / You're the song that I sing again and again / All the time, all the time / I think of you all the time

All you want is someone onto whom you can cling / Your mother warned of strangers and the dangers they may bring

"I'll see you in the future / When we're older / And we are full of stories / To be told”

Song listings below the cut:

Good Grief

Warmth

Divide

Glory

Power

Two Evils

The Silence

The Currents

Blame

Fake It

Winter of Our Youth

Of the Night

Way Beyond

Campus

Shame

Poet

Daniel in the Den

Quarter Past Midnight

Bad Decisions

Doom Days

4AM

Another Place

Those Night

Joy

When I Watch the World Burn All I Think About is You

An Act of Kindness

Good Lesson

Things We Lost in the Fire

Bad Blood

These Streets

Icarus

Oblivion

Flaws

The Draw

Haunt

Weight of Living Pt. I

Lethargy

The Anchor

Sleepsong

Laughter Lines

[writerfangirlbooks]

Alive Again

Gabriel x Reader

Prompt: Imagine finding out Gabriel is still alive and keeping it a secret from the Winchesters until one day it slips when you are chilling out with the boys at the bunker.

This is a two parter from my collection on Wattpad that I mixed together here!

Word Count: 2200ish

Credit to gif owner!

"Movie night?" You suggested. There were plenty of popcorn packets in a large cabinet. You were still getting used to the Bunker, but one night when you could not find a hunt, decided it was a good time for a night-in with the guys.

"Sure. As long as I get to pick." Dean yawned, his flannel shirt unveiling the lower part of his stomach as he stretched. He noticed you were flicking through DVDs, though most of them were fairly old. He continued into the kitchen and grabbed a beer.

"Um, no." Sam and you answered in unison. Sam was sitting in the chair next to the couch you lounged on, reading. His coffee was still steaming, but the horrifying thought of allowing Dean to pick the movie was enough to grab his attention. For once, he appeared fairly relaxed, in a fitted grey shirt and sweatpants.

Dean sat on the other half of your red-dust colored couch with a frown. "Why not?"

Sam and you made eye contact, both with raised eyebrows. You knew you were both thinking the same thoughts. It reminded you of someone else that you knew, but would only choose a movie like... that, just to tease you and either put you in a mood or end up changing it to a comedy. You actually have not seen this person in a few weeks, but didn't worry too much despite knowing he was on the run. It was crazy to fall in love with an angel, heartbreaking when he died... but he didn't stay away long, as who could keep the great angel Gabriel down? And now you're hiding the secret that he's alive, even from your own friends.

You cleared your throat, trying to distract your thoughts away. "Like it isn't obvious, Dean. Let's think of something actually... good. Horror, maybe? Or a documentary..."

"I think we have enough horror. Maybe we should just skip the movie and call Castiel to see if he can help us with our main problem at the moment." Dean suggested.

"We're taking a night off, Dean. No hunts, no cases, nothing. We don't have to watch horror. It was just a suggestion," you responded.

You realized you might have spent too much time thinking about Gabriel, even if it was just for a few moments. Sometimes your thoughts come off as prayers to him, and if he's busy, you don't want to distract him. It made you miss him even more, so you tried to focus on the whole out of sight - out of mind, kind of thing.

Sam remained silent, now flipping through a magazine. You sighed. "Well, if we're going to watch one of your favorite movies, then I'm going to need a drink."

Three drinks and a movie later, you closed your eyes slowly before reopening them. You were a little passed buzzed and your toes were tingling by the end of the movie. Sam had continued to read his magazine and jotted a few notes down before setting his stuff down and actually paying attention. The movie was more romantic than you expected it to be, was obviously intimate, and a fair amount of action. Dean nearly seemed bored throughout, but you guessed that was just a trained reaction.

A conversation began to pick up between the brothers and you went to switch from your daytime chilling in the house clothes to more appropriate sleep wear. You sat down for a few minutes to write a letter to Gabriel. Every once and a while, he would send you an address, and leas often, an always different phone number. The first few times you visited, he was only there once. The timing didn't always add up, but it was okay for the most part, as long as you always had a way to communicate. It seemed like he would stay in one place for at least a few days because he would respond to your letters, which you had to carefully intercept as the bunker does not have a mailing address. You took a deep breath and began.

Hey lover,

In response to your last letter, I will start with no, I have not watched any new episodes of our show since the last time we were together.

You know I don't mind us hanging out inside, but I have missed going out in public with you. Just the simple things, like holding hands or going out for coffee.

Things have slowed down a bit at the Bunker. The boys have been spending time with Castiel. I think they're worried, since they have lost Balthazar... and you.

You paused to clear your thoughts and went to the restroom, leaving your door open and lights on. When you returned, the letter was no longer on your desk. Okay. That's strange. Maybe you put it in the drawer. Nope. You scanned the room, searching to see if anything else appeared misplaced. Other than the missing letter, your room appeared to be in order. Even the hidden box of letters received from Gabriel were in its place. You said a quick prayer to calm your nerves, hoping he was nearby.

You did your best to act as if nothing was wrong when you walked back into the main living room, but the guys' faces exposed the truth. They were sitting next to each other. Dean's arms were crossed. Sam's leg was tapping anxiously and his eyes were stuck on a sheet of paper that laid on the coffee table. Your letter. Dean jaw was clenched and you didn't like the look on his face when his eyes met yours, stopping you in your tracks.

"Y/N, why were you writing a letter to Gabriel?" He asked, his voice too calm.

"Why were you in my room?" Answering a question with a question is always a good idea and most certainly will end wonderfully.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "We wanted to know if you were changing because you wanted to go to sleep or if you wanted to watch another movie. Y/N, why were you writing a letter to Gabriel?"

Man, you really hated lying to them. "Is that such a bad thing? You know he was my boyfriend-" You tried to find a good excuse. You could see Gabriel talking to you, holding you the first time you reconnected after what was meant to be his death. It's not good for them to know, cupcake. It'll only complicate things and things are already complicated.

"No." Sam cut you off, finally meeting your eyes, and standing up. "This is writing present tense to a dead angel. To Gabriel. The trickster. He betrayed us, Y/N. And I know you loved him, but this letter makes it seem like you're hiding things from us."

You could easily lie and act as if everything was as fine as it could be, that you were just writing letters to your dead boyfriend. You knew you would be able to convince the untrusting brothers, but you did not want to. They were your friends and the three of you shared so much. Frankly, you had met them because of Gabriel. You were both on search of what you believed to be the Trickster, ran into each other on the job, and worked your way into being friends and hunting buddies. But you had also fallen in love with a hidden archangel that you would do anything for. The scales were weighed and you opened your mouth to speak as the faintest creak from the kitchen gathered your attention.

“Don't shoot, it's only me." A sweet voice sang out. He was shorter than the brothers and it was a nice change. His green eyes were mesmerizing, as you felt it had been an eternity since you had gazed into them. He winked at you as he stepped out of the shadows. Dean shot out of his seat, grabbing the knife that lay on the ground next to the couch. Sam stared in shock.

It was Gabriel.

-

Don't shoot, it's only me." Gabriel winked and moved closer, cautiously with his hands raised.

"Gabriel..." Sam's voice trailed up, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"What the hell, man? Where have you been?" Dean yelled, his jaw clenched angrily. He noticed Gabriel's eyes flicker from the gun and back, so he set it down on the coffee table. He sighed. You stood silently, flicking your y/e/c eyes between the brothers and the angel, uncertain on how this scene will play out.

"I've been a bit preoccupied in the underground scene, trying to avoid being spotted, and all that jazz. After my death-by-brother, I realized it was not safe to be around my siblings, or those from other religions. You two were such a large part of the upcoming war at the time and I couldn't risk it anymore..." Gabriel trailed off, lost in thought. His death scene was something the two of you had discussed after the thought, leaving everyone shock and distraught to be genuine.

"Risk what, Gabriel? Your life? You know with how many times that Sam and I have died combined you should know by now that death doesn't always stick. You just left us!" Dean shouted, clearly setting into a defense mechanism of arguing and putting up walls.

You saw Gabriel falter, torn. You wished you could know what was running through his mind at this moment, between longing for safety versus a family. But maybe you didn't. He just saved you from being torn a new one by the brothers and exposed himself. You wanted to comfort him, take his hand and tell him it would be okay. You supposed that's what love was, knowing the other person was suffering and something understanding there was nothing you could do for them except be there. Sometimes that really sucked, but it was how life was meant to be. Although you knew one day you would die and Gabriel would continue to live, but you wouldn't trade your relationship for the world.

"It was better for me to be away. I was no help. I didn't intend to fake my death that night, but I realized I could not find my brother. In the end, no one would win. So I applaud the tribulations you faced." He took a deep breath and you felt yourself step closer into the room. "I'm sorry. I should have done things differently, but I didn't."

You watched Gabriel completely open himself to the Winchester brothers. You were angry for a while after his death, even once it was shown to you he was well and alive, and it took time to heal and get over his lies and the pain he caused. But he bared his soul to you more than once, and after time, you forgave him. You hoped the boys could do the same.

"What, you expect to waltz back in here and all is forgiven? That's not how that works. The second Y/N is under heat for you - you're here. What's really going on?" Dean's voice was louder, his arms crossed. Sam still hasn't said anything.

You stepped forwards, pleadingly. "Dean, please don't be too mad. I know I hid this from the both of you and I'm sorry. You knew my feelings before what happened and when I discovered Gabe was still alive, he asked me to keep it secret, and I did."

Sam saw your nerves and though he seemed to be unsure of his own emotions at the moment, spoke up. "I get it, Y/N. I'm not thrilled about it, but I get it. But Gabriel, you died. We trusted you and got thrown into this whole mess of a whirlwind between Lucifer and Gabriel and things have only been getting worse for years."

Gabriel repositioned his feet. "I know. And I'm sorry. Sam, I am. To all of you, but I would not fight my brothers. This was a battle I could not get in the mix of. I hope you'll forgive me one day."

Dean still appeared angry, but his eyes softened when they looked at you. He could see the anxiety building up, how torn you must have been. He sighed. "Maybe, one day. But not right now. I'm going to go out for a drink. Sam?"

Man, did movie night get intense.

[godlessarrow]

💋

[ Prompt: Slyvain grade pick up line - Any students she interacts with, let’s assume they have post time skip, and the appropriate supports yeah?  ♡〜 ]A recon mission this was.It’s been quite some time, how the two would sometimes share more time with one another. Not that she mind, though Shamir felt like she ought to make more of an effort to reach out to Lukas himself. For the knight always remained ever so patient. The two were helping rebuild a nearby village a few years after the Empire attacked Garreg Mach. Villagers seemed rather thankful for the assistance the two were giving- even though frankly, Shamir started to think it wasn’t enough.Maybe it was just because all the remaining Knights of Seiros could only have these two to spare. Most were, on the lookout for Rhea- though Shamir believed the woman herself must been held captive by the empire. She wouldn’t dare speak those thoughts out loud however, for the thought could only upset them. And as much as she’d hate to admit- she cared for Alois, Cyril, and Catherine- even if Shamir herself did not believe in the teachings of the Goddess. Religion was a tool to be used in her own opinion, but that must had been the fact she was a Dagdan in a land she didn’t belonged in.Come to think of it, he wasn’t from here either, right?As she hammered a fence, her eyes made contact with Lukas. Great. Shamir made a weak attempt to shoot him a smile, before returning back to work.The sun set down, and the villagers were having a little bit of a celebration out of tradition. Shamir figured she ought to call it a night, but children soon approached the two knights and donned them with flower crowns. Lukas politely took his, and thus the other woman begrudgingly donned theirs. It was then she realized it’d might deem difficult for her to sleep, considering the sounds of music that played by their bonfires. Sure, she was aware the people were grateful- but there was so much left to be done- and not enough time or resources to do so.And soon enough, a little girl asked the knight to dance. “I don’t dance.” A lie and a half truth. They looked a touch discouraged, and Shamir felt bad- so she humored her. Just for a little while. Thankfully though, it didn’t last too long itself- and the woman wondered if she ought to get to know her partner a bit more.Daring to inch forward, this time around she extends out her hand- much like the times he’d done before. “Hey Lukas.” With a warm honeyed smile, Shamir asks. “Shall we dance?”

[sol1056]

Your posts on clone Shiro have been really interesting - I hadn't considered why the Black lion would lead Keith to the clone when it knew where the real Shiro was (unless maybe it was thinking that Shiro's spirit needed a new body and hey, that one's close enough!). But also, since Kuron had all of Shiro's memories from the time he first escaped back to Earth thru the end of S2, does that mean Haggar's been spying on them via Shiro's arm from the beginning?

Judging from my inbox and comments on other posts, you’re not the only one asking that question. A few examples:

The saddest thing about Kuron is that he wasn’t even actually bad. ... He is compassionate when there are no witnesses. Haggar yells at him to stop resisting when she possesses him, and his screams of agony make it clear that the process is nonconsensual. 

i can’t see any [clone resolution] scenario being handled well. the worst one would probably be if keith (maybe lance) has to kill him … the only thing that could be even worse is if they have the clone commit unambiguous suicide. they can’t do that any justice.

If Kuron had wanted to kill the paladins from the beginning, all he had to do was NOT intervene when they were being destroyed in S4E1. It seems like he was a good guy who got brainwashed into doing evil against his will, so it wasn’t even his fault.

I was really disturbed with what happened to Shiro and clone. Do you think they’ll even address this in the future?

A clone plotline – like a brainwashing/personality implant plotline – will inevitably raise heavy-duty questions about humanity, individuality, personality, and how great a role memories play in who we are. Going in unprepared will result in a story crumbling under that immense philosophical weight – or alternately, providing so many conflicting messages that the readers react with a variety of concerns like the ones quoted above.  

So, let’s talk science, philosophy, and metaphor.

Behind the cut: cloning vs SF make-believe, the ethics of cloning, the question of souls, fictional metaphors for souls. I’ll do a follow-up that gets into the clues in VLD’s text, how a cleaner metaphor could resolve the clone storyline’s plot holes, and what tweaks could’ve unified the metaphor.

The only way to avoid these reactions is to think through the ramifications, and give the narrative a very clear opinion on the answers. You’ve got to do the worldbuilding and decide whether this story’s world is essentialist or existentialist, and how that will change the consequences. It helps to pick a metaphor, but it must be relatively simple (so you don’t need exposition hell to explain), and it must be consistent. The instant the narrative starts waffling on its opinion of its ‘truth’, audiences will sense this and suddenly all those philosophical questions are going to come down, hard.

real cloning vs SF make-believe

In 1885, Hans Adolf Eduard Driesch produced the first viable clone: a sea urchin. In 1902, Hans Spemann cloned a salamander embryo. It wasn’t until 1996 that anyone managed to clone something other than embrionic cells, when Dolly was closed from adult somatic cells. And now, in 2018, biotech company Stemagen has come up with a process that uses an adult human’s cells to create the embrionic material needed for an actual, human, clone. It’d still need to be implanted in a womb, and from there on follow regular human birth and growth, but yes. It’s a human clone.

A clone is not born full-grown. A clone has no memories of anything that gave it genetic material, any more than you remember a parent’s tenth birthday or first kiss. A clone is no more artificial than a baby created by in vitro fertilization. The only difference between Dolly and other sheep was her method of birth; in all other ways that matter, she was a normal sheep. She grew up, had kids of her own, and died. Once the person (or animal) is born, they are their own person, with their own experiences and memories.

A cloned being does not automatically look like its genetic parent; you can still end up with a crapshoot in terms of appearance. Sometimes genes switch on and off, as a body grows; even identical twins are not truly and perfectly identical. Also, injuries (including scars) do not convey. On a glossy level, what’s stored in the DNA isn’t the injury but the body’s need to create collagen to repair that injury. Think of it like a band-aid: even if the body records the need for that bandaid, the clone’s lack of injuries would prompt the body to dismiss the bandaid. 

ethics of cloning & the question of souls

Once you recognize you’re talking about a living creature, the ethics simplify into being the same as what you’d raise for any other living creature. Banks and banks of post-birth clones, even in stasis, are as much living creatures as any other. Slaughtering them is still murder. Enslaving them is still slavery. Brutalizing them is still abuse. Cool clone, still murder.  

Where things get sticky is when the issue of clones runs up against religiously-based beliefs, most of which lack a solid framework for this modern concept. (Some religions have addressed in vitro and cloning birth technologies, but the specifics aren’t really relevant here.) Since this show is American-made, I’m going to stick to Western concepts, since that’s the most likely influence on the various creators involved in VLD. But to discuss souls, first we have to talk about the two theories on how personhood develops.  

essentialism vs existentialism

In essentialism, essence precedes existence: the person’s essence comes before all other things, even the spark of life itself (or alternately, the essence is the spark that kicks life into being self-aware). Spirit, soul, whatever word you use, it’s some inherent and inviolable thing that forms the basis of the individual’s personhood. It maps roughly to the nature half of the nature-vs-nuture debate – but it’s bigger than that.

Essentialism, at its extremes, is a position of seeing that originating spark/soul as the entirety of a person’s truth. When you reduce someone to their gender, or their race, or some other facet of their birth, that’s essentialism; when you declare that someone born X at birth can never be Y, again, that’s essentialism. When essentialism mingles with religious beliefs, you get a concept of a soul that exists before birth, and continues after: the person’s true essence, for which the body is only a thing to put it in. It’s the ultimate Cartesian separation between the mind-that-is and the body-that-experiences.  

Existentialism is the opposite, and maps more closely to nurture-over-nature. Existence precedes essence: personhood is the culmination of all our experiences, our memories, our interactions, our successes, our failures. Everything you’ve ever done, known, said, thought, or dreamed: these are your interactions with the world, and they are the entirety of what has shaped you into who you are. If there is an essence in play, it is formed out of your existence, rather than informing it. We are each born a tabula rasa, and there is no division between mind as objective observer and body as the vehicle of experience. These things are basically one and the same, in existentialism.

This perspective can also be taken to extremes; at its worst, it’s been turned into a kind of AI-like philosophy, where culture, genetics, family, can be swept aside – along with any future paths. Nothing is true; everything is permitted – a phrase whose roots are deeper than any video game, in a murky muddle between François Rabelais and Hassan-i Sabbah (by way of Vladimir Bartol). If you’re curious, this is the best short explanation I’ve found. 

fictional metaphors for souls

I bring up those competing paradigms because for most religious worldviews, ‘what brings life’ can be hugely important. If the process of birth is defined as a soul exists, the body is created, the soul enters thus making life, does this change if a body is created intentionally? What SFF likes to ask is whether a creature could be only as the shell, lacking that pre-existing substance. (Existentialism bypasses all of this, of course – but that would make for a boring story. It’s just one more individual who is born, lives, and eventually dies.) 

The hitch lies in our real-world metaphors mapping to computers. I’ll walk through a metaphor based on real-world computing rules, and hopefully it’ll become clear how this contradicts with the Western religio-spiritual assumption of a pre-existing, unique, 'soul’.

The mind-body separation exists in the basic metaphor. Hardware is the body, which can run with little oversight; the software (the mind) can usually be updated without disturbing the hardware. Sometimes the hardware ages out and this impacts the software; extend this metaphor and you get the SFF premise of transferring to new hardware so the software (the mind/soul) continues to run. Sometimes the software demands too much and burns out the hardware. 

Overall, the computer-based metaphor plays neatly into the Cartesian system where the two (mind and body) are separate but co-influencing. Note that part about 'transfer to new hardware’ – this is where this metaphor breaks down. 

Remember that Cartesian (yes, 'I think, therefore I am’ guy) posits a separation, and lends itself to an essentialist view where the mind can exist separately and objectively from the body. The same is not true of computers. Ask questions about pre/post life and the computer metaphor swerves into existentialism.

To illustrate: let’s say you have a laptop running a Unix OS, and one day you uninstall Unix and install Windows. It’s now common enough to do fresh installs that the average audience-member will grasp the metaphor: the laptop is now Windows. There is no more Unix. If there is a ghost in the machine, it’s a newborn with factory settings. If you were to reverse your actions and go back to Unix, the original system doesn’t pop up out of nowhere; you now have a newborn system that just happens to be Unix. Unless you took other precautions, the original is gone.  

I mention precautions because there are real-world alternatives in the process, and those impact the metaphor. The first is ghosting to an external drive: that entire Unix setup was copied over to a secondary home, broken away from the hardware. It’s no longer interacting; it’s in stasis. 

Yet, from the perspective of the laptop, it’s now Windows and must start over. The computer has no knowledge of once being Unix. Its self-knowledge begins with its 'birth’ as a Windows machine. If the computer is then wiped and the ghosted Unix is returned to the hardware, the re-installation would have no record of what happened in the meantime, because from the OS’ perspective, there’s no break in its experiential record. It was Unix, it was in stasis, it woke and was still Unix.

The alternative is an OS split into two; memory (the database) and personality (the OS). This paradigm gained strength with the rise of large external drives for long-term storage, while the laptop acts like a terminal, storing little and retrieving as-needed. An uninstall/install will produce artifacts: tiny footprints of a previous OS. (In an archive moved from Mac to Windows, you can see this in the .DS_Store files in every folder.) You could say that the newborn Windows system arrives with clues to its hardware’s previous existence, but in this metaphor, those 'memories’ may make no sense to the current OS. Windows has no idea what to do with a .DS_Store file; it doesn’t need it, and can’t even read it.

the narrative needs to be certain of its opinion

Given those variations in the person-as-computer metaphor, it’s imperative that a story know exactly how its world works. Without that strong and settled opinion, a stray remark within the narrative can mislead readers into thinking they should be following a different version of the metaphor. 

If your story will stand or fall on the concept of a ghost in the machine, you’d better clarify that there’s a backup copy somewhere. If you want the memory without the personality, you’ll need to bring in the concept of external memory paired with a new OS. Otherwise you risk readers kneejerking at the notion that the unprepared, unsaved, and uninstalled Unix OS is just floating out there in the ether, waiting to return. You’ve broken your metaphor.

Next post: the clues in VLD’s text, fixing the clone-created plot holes, and some minor tweaks that would’ve unified the metaphor.

[ellacrossman96]

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[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 8- Impasse (Darejones)

Yikes, down to the wire with his one. And how do these keep doubling in size?! Oops. I still need to edit it, but I think I like where it went. Hopefully you do too. As usual, prompt list here, and links to previous days at the bottom. Thanks for reading! Also, sorry I didn’t add a read-more, but I’m posting on mobile because I Am lying in bed, trying not to fall asleep. And as far as continuity goes, could really fit with any of my other stuff, after they’ve gotten together. Enjoy!

Day 8- Impasse

Their first real fight is a bit of a doozy. And it hits him out of nowhere. For a while, he even worries that it might mean the end for them.

They are laying in her bed on a Saturday night, having just had some pretty damn good sex, talking and laughing and generally enjoying themselves. She’s getting sleepy, he can hear it in her voice, and the warmth radiating off of her is starting to make him sleepy too, like it’s trying to convince him to stay. But he takes a deep breath, trying to force himself to leave, because if he doesn’t get up now, he’ll stay until the morning, again. And that wouldn’t be bad, except for the fact that he hasn’t been to Mass in weeks, in so long that he’s forgotten just how long it’s actually been, and it’s starting to eat at him.

Her breathing is evening out, and he knows it’s now or never. So he inhales one last breath of her hair, and rolls to the edge of her bed. “Call me tomorrow if you want to get lunch. Or a drink.”

She groans and rolls toward him. “I didn’t take you for the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ type, Murdock. What gives? I was just getting comfortable.”

He chuckles softly and stands, beginning the search for his clothes. He finds his boxers and steps into them as he answers her. “I need to get up early, and I thought it would be easier for both of us if I left now.” He bends again, this time grabbing his shirt and shrugging it on.

He hears the springs of the mattress wine faintly as she props herself up on an elbow and rests her head on her palm. “Must have a hot date. Should I be jealous?”

He can’t help but smile at that, laughing brightly as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Nah. Father Lantom’s not really my type.”

She snorts a laugh as he bends to pick up his pants.

“Going to church, then? Huh.”

He raises an eyebrow as he steps into his pants. “Was that a good ‘huh’ or a bad ‘huh’?”

She shrugs. “Neither. Just an expression of my surprise.”

A frown furrows his brows as he buttons and zips his pants. “My going to church is surprising? I was under the impression that you knew I was Catholic.”

She heaves a heavy sigh at that. “No, I knew that. I just didn’t think you were a particularly … good one.”

He blinks at that, unsure of what to say, in no small part because she’s unknowingly given voice to a worry that plagues him constantly. An uncomfortable silence descends upon them as he struggles to find words, and he can hear her pulse rising with each second that passes. Finally, she can’t take it anymore and sits up, pulling the sheet around her lap.

“Look, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean th-“

The sound of her voice breaks him from his trance, and he shakes his head, cutting her off. “Didn’t mean that as an insult?”

Her teeth grind the slightest bit as she sets her jaw, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine. Her tone is low and begrudging when she answers him. “Yeah.”

He raises his eyebrows once, then hangs his head. “It’s okay, I know. And even if you did, you’re not wrong. But that’s part of the reason that I need to go. It’s been too long.” He bends to pick up his tie and starts threading it under the collar of his shirt.

She licks her lips and turns away from him, her pulse speeding all the while, as though trying to decide whether or not to ask a difficult question. As he finishes tying his tie, she speaks, voice hesitant.

“So does that stuff really work for you?” She turns her head back toward him, and he can feel the look she’s giving him- like she’s scrutinizing him.

He can’t hold back a chuckle at the way she phrased that question. “What do you mean?”

She lets out an exasperated sigh that would make him laugh if there wasn’t suddenly such tension in the room.

“Does the stuff that you do- like going to church and being a Catholic, believing in God, and whatever else- actually help you?”

Her skeptical tone takes him aback almost as much as the question; he can’t seem to wrap his brain around it. His answer comes out sounding like a question also, because he’s still confused about what she’s asking him and why she’s asking it.

“Yes… otherwise I wouldn’t be going.”

The disgusted scoff she gives him at that sends a flare of anxiety up in his stomach. His heart starts to race because he doesn’t know where she’s going with this, but it doesn’t seem good.

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m serious. Do you honestly believe there’s a god out there, even with all of the suffering and pain and bullshit that exists in this world?”

Wow, he really didn’t expect that. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He hears accusation in her tone, as well as incredulity, and a hell of a lot of pain. A beat passes and he can do nothing but gape at her as his anxiety skyrockets.

But then he blows out a long exhale to try to calm himself, and puts his hands on his hips to help him feel more grounded. He can still feel her staring at him, and he has to work to regulate his breathing as he opens his mouth to answer her. But his answer is clear.

“Yeah, I do.”

But that doesn’t seem to be the answer she was looking for. He can’t understand why, but suddenly fury is radiating off of her like heat from the sun. Her voice is harsh, a mix of confusion and frustration as she pleads with him.

“H-how? How can you think that? You’re not a dumb guy, Matt, so explain to me how that makes sense.”

But he’s just as confused and frustrated as she is. “Jess, what is this really about? Because I don’t think those have to be mutually exclusive things. I don’t see why the existence of suffering is counter to the idea of God. We all have free will, and sometimes the decisions we make cause pain and suffering for others. That’s why it’s important that we try to follow God’s teachings- so we don’t end up hurting other people.”

Somehow, he keeps picking the exactly wrong things to say to her. Because now she’s seething. He thinks that, if she were clothed, she’d be pacing the floor and pushing into his personal space.

“Right, right. So, let me see if I have this straight- it’s all God’s plan until it isn’t, because of good ol’ free will. And the truly evil people in the world, well, they just need to learn to make better choices. But that’s totally on them, no responsibility at all for the guy who allowed the situations to occur that taught those people to make bad choices. It all makes sense to me now.”

The more she talks, the more his hackles are rising, but he doesn’t want to fight with her. Hell, he’s still unsure of exactly how this fight started in the first place. He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose as he lets a beat pass. Then he speaks to her in a soft, calm voice.

“Jess, I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t know how we got here, and I really don’t want to fight. So maybe we should both just take a breath and agree to disagree for now. We can save this conversation for another time- when it’s not almost midnight and when we’re both … dressed.”

He hears her scoff at that, but counts it as a win, because she seems much calmer when she answers him. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have-“ she heaves a sigh, and her hands shift on the bed, as she takes hold of the sheets, as though they are her anchor. Then she tries again.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start a fight, either. And I’m not angry at you. But I have a lot of problems with religion and the idea of God because… I’ve seen the actual face of the devil, and I can’t imagine a God who would allow anyone to be subject to his torture if he actually cared about anyone on this piece of shit planet.”

And just like that, the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place. No wonder she has such strong feelings about this topic. From what he’s read, Kilgrave is the closest thing to the literal incarnation of the devil he’s ever heard of, even more so than Fisk. And that’s saying a lot. Her arguments make a lot more sense when he’s considering the lens through which she views the world. But it’s still not a problem they’ll solve tonight.

“It’s okay. Those are discussions I would be happy to have, at some point. But Jess, please know that just because I believe that we all have free will doesn’t mean that I think you deserve what happened to you. Because nothing could be further from the truth. And a part of me wishes that bastard was still alive so that I could give some of his own medicine, Catholic or not.”

She’s silent for a few moments, and his heart threatens to hammer out of his chest because he’s afraid that for the third time tonight, he’s said the wrong thing to her. He really didn’t mean to add that last part, even though it’s true, for fear that he might frighten her with the intensity of his reaction to that bastard, Kilgrave.

But then she breaks the silence, voice flat and nonchalant. “I guess that’s what confession is for.”

He chuckles in spite of himself and gives her a smirk. “Something like that.” He crosses the few steps back to the bed and traces the line of her cheek before he moves his hand to thread through her hair and pull her closer so he can place a kiss on the crown of her head. She sighs softly at the gesture, and he says a silent prayer of thanks that he did not see to ruin things between them.

He steps back, but she grabs his hand before he can step out of her reach. “Have fun being a good little Catholic boy.”

“I will. Call me tomorrow if you want to talk. Or if you’d rather do something more enjoyable.”

She chuckles and squeezes his hand once before dropping it. He turns and heads for the door. She calls to him before he reaches the threshold.

“‘Night, Murdock.”

He turns to call back to her over his shoulder as he crosses to the front door. “‘Night, Jones.”

And then he’s leaving her apartment, mind going a million miles a minute as he processes the last half-hour. They survived their first fight, though it was touch and go there for a bit. And even if they weren’t able to settle their argument, they were able to reach an understanding for the time being. And maybe it’s better this way, because it will give both of them time to formulate their thoughts for the next time they have the chance to discuss the issue. But until then, he’s happy to know that she cares enough about him to have broached such a personal and intense topic. And he’ll use whatever opportunities he is given to remind her of the fact that what happened was not her fault.

If he can convince her of that, maybe he can get her to consider his perspective a little more seriously. But in the end, all that he really cares about is that she is able to work through her feelings about the awful things she has experienced and find peace. And he’ll do whatever he can to help her with that process, impasse be damned.

Day 7 | Day 9

[elddansurin]

found another fun OC prompt and nabbed that shit up for myself. i’ve said it before but i’ll say it again, i’m a very big proponent of filling these questionaires out completely and on my own time, just like we all used to do back in the livejournal days. let’s bring that back. be the master of your own destiny.

today i filled it out for my current golden boy, gavriil. because of course i did! also that was a fun joke, see, because he is an altmer. they’re yellow, or at least they are in my heart (looking at you, ESO)

anyway. this is long. info dump inbound:

A. Psychology

1. What of the Meyers-Briggs personality types they most fit into? INFP, ENFT, et cetera…  Lord I know so little about this shit. Let's go with... ISFJ? I had to look at a chart to type that.  2. What alignment are they? Chaotic neutral, lawful evil, et cetera…  I'm swinging between Lawful Good and Lawful Neutral. He very much has established morals, but whether he's good or just acting in his own self interest really depends on the circumstances.

3. Do they have any emotional or psychological conditions? Are they aware of it? Do they try to treat it? Very yes, and also very yes. Gav's got no name for what's going on with his head, and that alone is just killing him, because he's spent his life trying to quantify, trying to verbalize what he's feeling, but he's coming up short. And that fucks with a guy who's usually pretty good with words. That much aside, his coping mechanisms vary throughout his life, but he has some consistent phases: getting into relationships with dudes who take advantage of his vulnerability and low self esteem, turning hardcore to religion to feel some semblence of emotional connection to another entity, and/or drinking frequently enough that the people in his life begin to Notice. It goes without saying that his timeline is pockmarked by some rather extreme nervous breakdowns, and the only solution he has is "move somewhere new and start over." That's what got him into Skyrim, and all through the main quest storyline, all he can think about is going to Morrowind to try again. 4. Are they a pessimist or an optimist? He's a pessimist who dearly tries to be an optimist. It just doesn’t come naturally to him! 5. Are they good at handling change in their life? Generally, yes. He's gone through a lot of very radical changes, so if nothing else he knows that he'll be able to adapt. 6. Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.” One of the reasons Gavriil loved being a scholar, loved learning about the arcane, is that concrete facts were very comforting to him. He brought a lot of stability into his life when he was able to dig through texts and see plain truths written out. He doubts a lot of his reality, and that lack of stability gets really close to the root of what's completely wrong with him. 7. Is your OC confident in their reactions to life in general, or do they get embarrassed or easily shamed for it? I.e., if something startles them, do they insist it WAS scary? When they cry, do they feel like they overreacted? When he was younger, he did a LOT of justifying for his reactions. Now that he's older and way more burnt out, he feels a lot more confident in his emotions. That, or he'll chalk it up to "yeah, I'm just fucked up." 8. Is your OC a martyr? I don't really see him as one, no. I feel like one needs a broader sort of cause to be a martyr. Gavriil can barely stop dissociating for long enough to figure out what’s going on. 9. Does your OC make a lot of excuses? For themselves? Others? He excuses other people far more often than himself. He's extremely self-critical, but his gut reaction is that someone else's actions are probably justified. There's a reason he winds up in the kind of relationships he does. 10. Does your OC compromise easily? Too easily? A bit too easily. He bends, and he's not always even sure why he does it. You want him to do some outrageously intensive task for no apparent reason? He'll be all indignant about it, but he'll do it. He won't know why, but he'll do it. 11. Does your OC put others’ needs before their own? He thinks of himself as an extremely self-absorbed, self-serving person, but the truth of the matter is he prioritizes others well past the point of his own detriment. 12. Does your OC have any addictions? If so and problematic, have they admitted it to themselves? Oh yes. In his heart of hearts, he knows he has issues with drinking, because he's been self-medicating with alcohol on and off through the vast majority of his adult life. He's even been called out on it in very plain terms, but he uhhhhh relapses from time to time. Never when his life is stable and happy, imagine that. 13. Does your OC have any phobias? If so, where did they come from? In his own words, he has a handful of "powerful aversions" with no particular cause. Horses, for one. Raccoons are a newer thing. 14. Is your character empathetic? Rather so, yes. 15. Is your character observant? To a point. Gav has a bad habit of getting stuck on minute details and thus missing the larger, often blatantly obvious picture. 16. Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?  He's largely a trial-and-error kind of guy. Doesn't always learn from the errors of his ways, though.

17. What’s one of your OC’s proudest moments of themselves? Those academic accomplishments are kind of a double-edged blade for Gavriil, as he feels a (justified) sense of pride in having learned as much as he has, but at the same time that comes with a very intense feeling of incompetence, because of course it does. He takes that feeling of "the more I learn, the less I know" to mean that his grasp of a particular field is insufficient, or that he's actually learned it wrong and is completely misunderstanding the material. He ends up feeling like a genuine fraud, like he's tricked people into thinking he's knowledgable. Dude can bust out master-level shock spells and brush it off as "basic knowledge," because if he's able to learn it, then it must be something anyone could pick up, right? This got off topic so fast but the gist of what I'm saying here is he's a very smart guy who feels very stupid, but he occasionally gets glimpses into his own level of genius and feels pretty okay about it. 18. Do they get jealous easily? Do they feel bad if they do? He does go through a lot of "god I wish that were me" moods when getting to know anyone who has their shit together, but never to the point of feeling anger or contempt toward the person in question. He's happy for them, but also wants what they have for himself. Romantically, he's not jealous at all. Kind of ties in with what I was saying about him forgiving people who don't deserve forgiving. Cheat on him, and he'll almost certainly look the other way and ask himself how he could have prevented it. 19. What instantly irritates them or puts them in a bad mood? Anyone who expects him to follow orders without actually getting to know him. As much as he bends over backward to please the people in his life, some rando asking him for favors is going to sour his mood pretty quickly. He'll... probably still do it, though. He'll just have an attitude about it. 20. Are they harsh on themselves? Oh god yes. 21. Is your OC intended to be found generally attractive? Unattractive? Average? Is there a reason why? Gavriil's look, the way I designed it, is supposed to resonate "could arguably be attractive in close to or approaching the traditional sense, but he's tired and haggard and has stopped taking care of himself, and therefore looks pretty slovenly." It's kind of reflective of his character in general: there's potential in him, but Circumstances haven't treated him well. 22. Does your OC place much importance on their appearance? Do they feel confident in it? Not at all. By the time the story takes place, he's completely stopped taking care of himself because he feels ugly and dirty, and he doesn't care if that's what he reflects. I wouldn't say he's confident in his mess, so much as he just doesn't care. He's tired, nothing feels good, and he doesn't care if his hair is growing in unevenly or he smells like an armpit. Which it is, and he does. 23. What are some of your OC’s biggest personal obstacles? This could be emotional, physical, social… Are they aware of it? Are they trying to overcome it? His paaaaaaaast. His past! He knows it, but he doesn't know what to do about it! He keeps hoping that time will heal him, but surprise: it super fucking hasn’t.

B. Social

1. Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it? I can't figure out what this question means, much less what Gavriil's take would be, so I'm skipping it. 2. Do they get frustrated when lines at places like pharmacies, check-outs, delis, banks, et cetera, are moving slowly? Dude's got all the time in the world. He's old as shit. A long line doesn't mean dick to him. Fucker is completely unfazed. 3. Under what situations would they get angry at servers, staff, customer service, et cetera? These days, they'd have to talk shit directly in front of him to get much of a reaction. He's mostly happy he's not being chased off the porch with a broom (which... has happened). Different story when he was younger and was still kinda coming off his upper class upbringing. 4. Do they tip well? How easily can they be moved to not leave a tip? You know, I don't think there's much for tipping culture in Tamriel, but assuming there was one, he'd be pretty generous. He doesn't have much to give, but he also doesn't have much to lose, so he's pretty easy about spreading around whatever wealth he has (which isn't much) 5. Do they hold doors open for people? Yes, but in the "walks in first then holds it open for you" way. 6. Would your OC let someone ahead of them in line if your OC had a big cart and the person behind them had very few items? Yeah, probably. 7. How do they respond to babies crying in public? He doesn't react much outwardly, but it's a very "nails on a chalkboard" reaction internally. Gav isn't great with kids. Doesn't necessarily dislike them, but he has no idea what to do around em and dreads interacting with them. It's like when you never know what to do with your own hands, so you take up smoking. 8. Is your OC considered funny? Do they believe they’re funny? Most people come off with the impression that he's pretty dour, but he does have a deadpan sense of humor that a lot of people mistake for genuinity. 9. What kind of humor does your OC like the most? Slapstick, ironic, funny sounds, scare pranks, xD sO rAnDoM…   The quiet, subtle kind. 10. Does your OC find any “bad” or “mean” humor funny? Do they wish they didn’t? Most of the time he thinks it's just incredibly mean spirited and ends up feeling bad, because 'they're probably a really nice person,' and all that. If ever he does find it funny, he immediately feels awful about it. 11. Your OC is running late to meeting someone: Do they let the other person know? Do they lie about why they’re late? He'd never lie about why he was late unless he was hiding something ("no, I haven't been crying, why do you ask"), but whether he'd be apologetic about it or just say "I'm late because I don't want to be here" depends on his mental state. 12. Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do? Eat the food he didn't want, feel extremely disappointed about the entire situation, pay the bill in full, then go sulk somewhere else. 13. Do they have a large or small group of friends? At best, he has a small group of friends who he knows very intimately. At worst, he's completely socially isolated. 14. Do they have people they are genuinely honest with about themselves? Serras is the only person he's ever really spoken to in depth about his emotional issues, and that's only because it has legitimately taken him that long to find someone else like him. Doesn't matter how nice someone is, how much he trusts them, he'd at best be vague about what he's going through. Doesn't help that for most of his life, he assumed he was the only one Like That. If he ever actually met up with someone else who goes through dissociative episodes, he'd have the world's biggest Same Hat moment. 15. Does your OC enjoy social events, such as parties, clubs, et cetera..? He's fine, as long as they're in moderation and in such an environment that he can stand off to the side when he needs to. He doesn't necessarily mind socializing or being around people, but it can get draining. 16. Does your OC like to be the center of attention or more in the mix? He's happiest when he's flying under the radar. Sure would suck if he turned out to be some kind of a mythological figure, wouldn't it?

C. Morality

1. Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it? He has a pretty strong set of morals that generally fall under the classical "good" umbrella. More than anything, he is extremely against hurting other people, and he is very much not willing to budge on that. That aside, he does see the necessity of grays when the situation calls for it. Eg stealing is generally wrong, but stealing to survive is an exception. That sort of thing. 2. Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it? He'll break his own code from time to time, and that's the sort of thing that tends to stick with him. You know, the shit that keeps you up at night. 3. Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own? For the most part, but there are things that he's willing to budge on. For instance, he's extremely over the idea of Altmeri superiority, and he's not going to mix well with anyone who thinks like that, because it's unnecessary and unjustified hate, which kind of goes against his religious beliefs and whatnot. But if he's dating a greasy klepto then, well, pobody's nerfect. 4. Do they consider themselves superior or more important than anyone else? Lesser? If you asked him this, he'd say he doesn't feel superior to anyone. Subconsciously, though, he still kind of holds a subtle disdain for non-elves, even though he doesn't realize that's what's going on. He'll look at the Skyrim locals and think they're superstitious rubes and feel pity, because that kind of thought process is so deeply socialized and ingrained him in that he doesn't even realize he has that kind of prejudice. And while he has very good impressions of Khajiit (largely thanks to Yanni and his fam), he's very uncomfortable around Argonians. Gav's a ultimately still a product of his environment, and unfortunately, his environment was not a good one. 5. Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational? For the most part, no! He's very firm in his moral code. Someone could be attacking him, and he'd feel terrible for fighting back. 6. What do they do when they see someone asking for money or food? If they ignore them, why? If they help, how so? He'd absolutely help, even if he didn't have much to help with. He's been in some extremely dire financial straits (including during the story), so he can empathise very much with other people who are down on their luck. 7. Do they believe people change over time? If so, is it a natural process or does it take effort? He believes that ultimately, people are good, and that those who don't act good have the potential for it. That love and compassion can ultimately overcome hatred. This is probably the most optimistic aspect of his personality. This is due in no small part to his particular religious affiliations. 8. Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical? He's fairly practical. For as much good as he believes is in the world, he knows that it's a lofty ideal that he's got in his head. And, well, he's seen enough cruelty to know that not everyone is willing to tap into that potential.

D. Religion and Life and Death

1. How religious is your OC? What do they practice, if anything? If they don’t associate with any religion, what do they think of religion in general? He's very devoted to the cult (sect? church?) of Mara, as interpreted in the Aldmeri pantheon. He does pay lip service to some of the other aedra, but at the end of the day, Maran tenets are where he's at. He's also a little averse to other Altmer who talk a big game about Auri-El, due to Circumstances. That all said, the intensity of his belief comes and goes in phases. Sometimes he feels very jaded about his beliefs, and other times he's like "hey I should become a priest for five years." 2. Do they believe in an afterlife? Yes, but he has a lot of issues with the concept of dying, so the entire subject makes him nervous. 3. How comfortable are they with the idea of death? Not very! 4. Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be? He'd honestly feel very torn on this. Life is suffering, natch, so an eternity of suffering is a tall order. But he is also lowkey fucking terrified of dying, so he's pretty torn. 5. Do they believe in ghosts? If not, why? If so, do they think they’re magical/tie into their religion, or are they scientifically plausible? I feel like he's probably met at least one ghost by now.

E. Education and Intelligence

1. Would you say that your OC is intelligent? In what ways? Would your OC agree? He's ridiculously, like viciously educated. He's smart in the classical sense of being a booksmart academic, and he knows way, way more than most about the arts of destruction and alteratation magic. He acknowledges that he is educated, thinks that the only thing going for him is his intelligence, but he feels pretty dumb. 2. Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera) I had to fucking look this up, but whatever. He'd be strongest in linguistic and logical-mathematical types of intelligence, and very lacking in intrapersonal and existential intelligence. He has no idea what's going on with his life or who the fuck he is, and philosophical debates make his eyes roll back in his skull. But the dude has a pretty firm understanding on the general workings of physics and mathematics, because you can't break laws you don't understand. This bastard loves the levitate, so you better believe he's familiar with the laws of gravity. 3. How many languages do they speak? Just the one. When I said he had linguistic smarts, I didn't mean that would extend to other languages. Just the one he knows. He's very good at that one. Not so much anything else. 4. Did they enjoy school if they went to it? Oh he absolutely thrived in any academic setting. 5. What’s their highest education level? Do they want to continue their education? Gav would have the wizard equivalent of a PhD, and he's the kind of guy who'd have worked on his thesis indefinitely if the University hadn't more or less begged him to please, please graduate. Either start teaching or hit the road, you've been a student for too goddamn long. 6. Do they enjoy learning? Do they actively seek out sources of self-education? After he left the University, more or less the first thing he did (after hitting the ground pretty hard, natch) was immediately pick up a new area of study- alchemy. At that point, he had no idea what else to do with himself! 7. Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous? He takes meticulous, fucking METICULOUS notes, probably way more than necessary. He has testing anxiety, so he's a chronic over-studier. Not the healthiest behavior, but it worked to his benefit, because he was always overprepared for exams and almost always the first to finish. It's a little hard to trip up the guy who obsessively prepares. 8. What’s one of your OC’s biggest regrets? Not getting leaving home sooner.

F. Domestic Habits, Work, and Hobbies

1. What sort of home do they live in now, if at all? How did they end up there? Dude sleeps on the ground, because he is in a very gradual recovery period from an extreme breakdown. He left his home and possessions and just ghosted his entire social network, and he's still too unstable to stop moving. You ever get way, way too hot and you just start pacing, as if that's going to make anything better? But you just can't stop yourself, because your discomfort is making you so restless that you can't stay still? I think that's a good analogy for what Gavriil's going through right now. 2. What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it? Shit, can I quote Tom Petty here? I'm going for it: "So I've started out / For God knows where / I guess I'll know / When I get there" 3. Could they ever live in a “tiny home”? He's living out of a tent right now, so anything with solid walls is already an improvement. 4. How clean are they overall with home upkeep? Not very. He's a hybrid of "stereotypical academic who leaves his notes strewn all over the place" and "just depressed," so environmental cleanliness is never at the forefront of his mind. 5. How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera? Oh, he's not handy at all. If something breaks, it's broken. Poor bastard barely even learned how to sew, so he's walking around with tears and holes in his clothes more often than not. 6. How much do they work? What do they do? Do they enjoy it? He currently has no fucking idea what to do with his life. Not that he doesn't have prospects, but he has such little self worth and he tends to get paralyzed with fear when faced with the potential to fail, on account of Circumstances. 7. What’s their “dream career” or job situation? He would actually do very, very well as a teacher. Explaining the things he knows is probably the one time he kind of wakes up to "holy shit, maybe I am retaining this stuff a bit better than I thought." 8. How often are they home? Ideally, quite frequently. He's at his best when he can unwind in the comfort of his own space. 9. Are they homebodies and enjoy being home? This seems like a nearly identical question, so yes. 10. Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are? He frequently makes botanical/biological sketches for alchemical record keeping purposes, but I imagine those to be a bit closer to the equivalent of a geologist's field sketches than actual art. He's pretty stunted in regards to the arts, actually. That’s more of Serras’s thing. 11. What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most? He loves to read, particularily academic texts. He feels the most valuable when he's learning! He also likes smoking anything that'll get him high, and even some shit that doesn't.  12. Would they enjoy a theme park? Not at all. Too loud, too many people, too much stimulation in general. He'd just want to sit down in the shade.

G. Family and Growing Up

1. Is your OC close to their family? No. 2. Who makes up your OC’s family, at least the more important members to them? His father, mother, and little brother. He does have extended family, but none of them were every particularily close. 3. Does your OC find their family supportive? If not, what would be an example why not? Gavriil hasn't been in communication with his family in a timespan best described as "centuries."  I'm TRYING not to get into spoilers here, so I really gotta be vague here. 4. What kind of childhood did your OC have? Bad.  5. Did they go through any typical phases growing up? He was a very shy, sheltered kid, right up until his first year at the University. Before that, he was more or less in his larval stage, if I may. 6. Do they have any favorite childhood memories? Most of them involve his childhood pets (he's had a few colorful birds and whatnot) 7. Do they have any childhood memories they’d rather forget or be less affected by? He's repressed most of his younger years at this point. Yes, he is aware of that, and no, he doesn’t want to remember.

H. Romance and Intimacy

1. What is your OC’s orientation, romantic and/or sexual? Has it ever been a source of stress for them? Have they always been pretty sure of their orientation? He's a big gay, and it took him getting out into the world to let that click into place. Afterward, I'd imagine he'd have a lot of "this makes so much sense now" type of revelations. I don't think he'd have considered being gay as an option prior to going to college. But once it fell into place, he kind of went ham on the identity. To make up for lost time, if you will. 2. Is your OC a thoughtful partner, in whatever aspect of that you want to cover?  Definitely. He puts a lot of himself into his relationships, puts a lot of effort into making things work. Lets the small stuff slide. Lets some pretty big stuff slide, actually. He'd be a fantastic boyfriend to someone who actually respected him. Hmmm. 3. Does your OC believe there’s only one ideal partner (or multiple ideal if not monogamous) for everyone, or that there are many people who could be right?  He's never really bought into any of that soulmate type of stuff, instead believing that effort is the key component in making a relationship work. I feel like a lot of this might have come from his recent stint as a priest of Mara. Those guys perform marriage ceremonies in Skyrim, and I can’t help but feel like they’d inevitably end up as the Tamriellic equivalent of marriage counseling. So Gavriil’s probably at least a little wise to the notion of “we love each other just because.” Now that I’m thinking about it, I feel like Gav would be the kind of guy who gives amazing relationship advice, and takes absolutely none of it to heart. That actually sounds pretty damn consistent to his character... 4. Does your OC believe in love in first sight? Perhaps. He's never actually felt something like that, however. It always takes him a bit to warm up to someone enough to start feeling anything beyond basic infatuation. 5. Does your OC believe in marriage (or their culture’s equivalent)? Dude was a priest of Mara, of course he's game for marriage. Thinks that shit fucking rules. Almost got married at one point, even! Didn't work out. 6. Has your OC ever cheated on anyone or been cheated on? Never the former, as he is extremely, extremely morally opposed to that kind of thing. He has been cheated on, though. A lot. 7. What do they look for in partners? (Emotionally, mentally, physically..) His standards are low. Like, low. Read also: he has a laundry list of terrible, terrible boyfriends. That all said, his track record is comprised almost exclusively of Bosmer and Dunmer. He kind of has a type, as far as looks go. 8. What’s your OC’s idea of a perfect date? It's changed a lot over time, but now he's old and tired. He just wants something quiet and intimate, probably fairly low-key. He's not really one for sweeping romantic gestures, at least in most circumstances. 9. What are some things that your OC finds to be an instant turn-off in potential partners? Seeing a potential suitor treating someone else like shit will have him turning tail on the spot. He can and will put up with being treated like a dog, but the second it happens to someone else, that makes it real, that makes it harder to justify.

I. Food

1. What are their favorite kinds of flavors– Sweet, salty, sour, spicy, creamy, et cetera? He really likes spicy foods. If nothing else, at least well seasoned. He can roll with a lot, but bland food takes an emotional toll on him. 2. Do they have any eating requirements or preferences? Allergies, vegetarian, organic-only, religious restrictions… He licks ants off of rocks for sustenance. Picky, he ain’t. 3. Are they vegan/vegetarian (if their overall culture/species generally aren’t)? If so, why? Do they think animal products are wrong in all circumstances? He's probably not as empathetic toward animals as he could be. He's far from cruel, but he just doesn't really feel bad about slaughtering an animal to keep himself fed. 4. How often do they cook? Do they order out a lot? He cooks more often than not. He's a decent enough cook in a home setting, when he has access to things like utensils and counter space. As far as camping food, which makes up 99% of his diet right now, that's kind of Serras's job. I would refer back to the “eating bugs” statement above. 5. Are they a good cook? He's decent. He's probably not going to fuck up a dish he's making, but his recipe pool is probably pretty shallow. 6. Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly? Yes, it's a survival technique you need to develop when you're poor enough. So says the writer, a man who can eat chili for two solid weeks because it's CHEAP and LOW EFFORT. Gav is no different.

J. Politics, Current Events, Environmental Aspects

1. Where does your OC stand most politically? What would they align with most?   For an Altmer, he's fairly progressive. At least, considering the current political climate, he’s progressive. 2. How politically aware are they? Gavriil on the Stormcloaks: "Who?" Gavriil on the Mede Empire: "Oh, how are those guys doing these days?" Gavriil on the Thalmor presence in Skyrim: “Wait, what are those guys doing up here?” 3. How politically active are they? He keeps his head down. The political environment post-Oblivion Crisis is a bit overwhelming to him, so he's kind of maybe stuck his head in the sand. 4. Is your OC the sort to fall for fake news? If not, do they ignore it or make a point to clarify that it’s wrong? His reaction is kind of along the lines of "Sounds fake, but I don't know enough about [SUBJECT] to debate this." He’d probably be looking for the next available out to just completely bail. 5. Are they or would they protest for a cause they’re passionate about? Depends on what sort of consequences he'd face for doing so. If it'd make a political target of himself, then fuck no. 6. How do they react to people whose political viewpoints are very opposite of theirs? Quiet disdain and the desire to vacate. 7. How much interest in environmental health do they have? Fairly decent, I guess? If for no other reason than superficial; he'd want to keep pretty locales pretty. That sort of thing. 8. In reality-based or applicable worlds, do they believe in global warming? Do they recycle? He would, he's a pretty facts-based sort of guy. I feel like in a different setting (ie Earth-based), he'd be a lot more environmentally conscious.

K. didn't apply to Gav at all, so I skipped it

L. For the Writer/Owner

1. How have your characters changed since you created them? Honestly, he hasn't changed very much! I made his ears bigger, if nothing else. 2. What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any? Doubt, self-sabotage, and painfully unaddressed emotional traumas. 3. Did you create the character to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you? I didn't set out to project as much of myself onto Gavriil as I did, but here we are. He's not a perfect self-insert, but there is an awful lot of me in this elf. 4.Would you hang out with your OC if you could? I'd smoke with him, tbh.

There were more questions, but they started arbitrarily going off into 'which of your OCs' territory, and I'm kind of keeping this to Gav for now, so let's just stop here.

[chocolatequeennk]

Forever and Never Apart, 7/42

Summary: After taking a year to recover from the Master, the Doctor and Rose are ready to travel again. But Time keeps pushing them forward, and instead of going back to their old life, they slowly realise that they’re stepping into a new life. Friends new and old are meeting on the TARDIS, and when the stars start going out, the Doctor and Rose face the biggest change of all: the return of Bad Wolf.

Series 4 with Rose, part 7 of Being to Timelessness; sequel to Taking Time (AO3 | FF.NET | TSP)

Betaed by @lastbluetardis, @rudennotgingr, @jabber-who-key, and @pellaaearien. Thank you so much!

Coincidentally, this includes the @legendslikestardust prompt, “paint”--thanks to the appearance of the Sibylline Sisterhood.

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Chapter Seven: The Wisdom to Know the Difference

Donna scowled up at the temple ceiling. “You have got to be kidding me.” This was not what she’d had in mind when she’d imagined seeing classical architecture in person. It was hard to enjoy it when she was strapped to an altar, surrounded by a bunch of girls who looked like goths dressed in red.

Only their white-painted faces were a sign of their role of priestess, and these priestesses were intent on sacrificing her. One lifted her knife and stared at it dramatically. “The false prophet will surrender both her blood… and her breath.”

Donna tugged at her ropes, but they didn’t give. “I’ll surrender you in a minute,” Donna retorted. “Don’t you dare.” She wanted to think the Doctor and Rose would find her, but how would they even realise she’d been taken, since she hadn’t been able to call out?

The priestess glared at her, and the haughty gleam in her eyes would have triggered Donna’s ire even if the other woman hadn’t been preparing her for a sacrifice. “You will be silent,” the priestess ordered.

“Listen, sister,” Donna whispered. Then she raised her voice to a full yell. “You might have eyes on the back of your hands, but you’ll have eyes in the back of your head by the time I’ve finished with you.” Donna swivelled her head to look at the circle of priestesses gathered around the altar. “Let me go!”

“This prattling voice will cease forever,” the priestess intoned as she raised the knife above her head.

“Oh, that’ll be the day.”

Donna sighed with relief; the Doctor was here. She lifted her head and peered around the priestess, and Rose waved at her.

The priestess spun around and threw her head back when she saw the Doctor. “No man is allowed to enter the Temple of Sibyl.”

The Doctor pushed off the pillar he was leaning against and started meandering around the back half of the temple. “Well, that’s all right. Just us girls. Do you know, I met the Sibyl once. Yeah, hell of a woman. Blimey, she could dance the Tarantella. Nice teeth. Truth be told, I think she had a bit of a thing for me. I said it would never last. She said, ‘I know.’ Well, she would.”

While the Doctor was rambling and wandering around the temple, picking up artefacts and tossing them in the air, Rose had insinuated herself into the circle of priestesses and used her sonic screwdriver to undo the ropes binding Donna to the altar.

“You all right there?” she asked in a low voice as she worked.

The sound of the sonic screwdriver caught the sisters’ attention, and they turned around in time to see the knots came undone, freeing Donna. “What magic is this?” the leader asked, eyes wide.

Rose twirled her sonic screwdriver before sliding it into the coin purse she wore tied to her belt. “Just a little manipulation of the sound waves,” she said breezily. “Nothing magic about it.”

“Little less space woman, little more getting me off of here,” Donna grunted, and Rose smiled apologetically and helped her to her feet.

The Doctor was leaning against the altar when Rose and Donna hopped down to the floor. “Let me tell you about the Sibyl, the founder of this religion,” he said. “She would be ashamed of you. All her wisdom and insight turned sour. Is that how you spread the word, hey? On the blade of a knife?”

“Yes, a knife that now welcomes you.”

Rose took a step forward when the priestess raised her knife, but before she could do anything, another voice interrupted them from behind a gauzy red curtain.

“Bring them to me.”

The Sibylline Sisterhood spun in place, then knelt as one, facing the curtain. “High Priestess, the stranger would defile us.”

“Let me see,” the high priestess insisted. “This one is different. He and his mate carry starlight in their wake.”

Rose felt the same protective instinct from the Doctor that had shot through her a moment ago, and they shared a rueful look before climbing the stairs together.

“Oh, very perceptive,” the Doctor said as they approached the curtain. “Where do these words of wisdom come from?”

“The gods whisper to me,” she said, her gravelly voice making it sound like every word took effort.

“They’ve done far more than that,” the Doctor countered. Then he spun around to look at the sisters. “Might I beg audience? Look upon the High Priestess?”

Two sisters pulled back the curtain to reveal a woman made entirely of stone, clothed in the same red robes and veil of her priestesses. It wasn’t the strangest thing Rose had ever seen, but it did rank up there.

Donna, however, was shocked. “Oh, my God. What’s happened to you?”

“The heavens have blessed me.”

“If I might?” the Doctor asked, gesturing that he would like to touch her.

She held out an arm, and the Doctor and Rose both approached her. It was really, truly stone. When she and Donna had seen Evelina, Rose had wanted to believe that it was just… some kind of condition, something that happened in small doses, but this was far more than that.

“Does it hurt?” the Doctor asked softly.

The high priestess straightened haughtily. “It is necessary.”

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. “Who told you that?” she demanded. Honestly, all these religions with their glorious sacrifices…

“The voices,” the high priestess said enigmatically.

“Is that what’s going to happen to Evelina?” Donna asked.

Rose turned around and watched her look at all the sisters.

“Is this what’s going to happen to all of you?”

One of them pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing a large patch of stone on her wrist, just above the eye painted on the back of her hand. “The blessings are manifold.”

“They’re stone,” Donna whispered.

“Exactly.” The Doctor got to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Rose followed him back down to the temple floor and stood with Donna, watching the Doctor work.

“The people of Pompeii are turning to stone before the volcano erupts.” He spun back around the glare at the high priestess. “But why?”

She rose slightly off her bed. “This word, this image in your mind. This volcano. What is that?”

Rose narrowed her eyes. Something had been bothering her ever since Donna had pointed out that none of the soothsayers knew about the volcano. “Hang on, why don’t you know about it?” she demanded.

“Oh, very good, Rose.” The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest. “Who are you?”

“High Priestess of the Sibylline,” she claimed proudly.

“No, no, no, no.” The Doctor shook his head. “I’m talking to the creature inside you. The thing that’s seeding itself into a human body, in the dust, in the lungs, taking over the flesh and turning it into, what?”

The high priestess looked rattled, as much as it was possible to determine a facial expression on a face of stone. “Your knowledge… is impossible,” she gasped.

“Oh, but you can read my mind. You know it’s not.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood to his full height. “I demand you tell me who you are.”

“We… are… awakening,” the high priestess said, in a strange, dual-toned voice.

“The voice of the gods!” the sisters exclaimed. They swayed in place on the temple floor and began chanting, “Words of wisdom, words of power. Words of wisdom, words of power. Words of wisdom—”

The Doctor ignored them. The Sisterhood were not the ones in charge here. Instead, he stared down the creature who had once been their high priestess. “Name yourself. Planet of origin. Galactic coordinates. Species designation according to the universal ratification of the Shadow Proclamation.”

The creature on the bed slowly got to its feet. Doctor, what do you need me to do? Rose asked.

Make your way over the hypocaust, casually as possible. See if you can get it open without anyone noticing.

“We… are… rising,” the creature said, sounding less human with every word.

“Tell me your name!” the Doctor demanded, being as theatrical as possible to keep all the attention in the room focused on him while Rose crept over to the hypocaust.

“Pyrovile,” the high priestess cried out.

“Pyrovile. Pyrovile. Pyrovile,” the sisters chanted.

Donna sidled over to the Doctor’s side. “What’s a Pyrovile?” she asked.

The Doctor nodded at the high priestess. “Well, that’s a Pyrovile, growing inside her. She’s a halfway stage.”

“What, and that turns into…?” Donna asked, letting the question dangle open-ended.

“That thing in the villa. That was an adult Pyrovile.”

The high priestess pointed at him. “And the breath of a Pyrovile will incinerate you, Doctor.”

The Doctor reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the yellow water pistol he’d found in his coat pockets before he and Rose had gone after Donna. “I warn you, I’m armed.”

Donna was still at his elbow, and he leaned closer to her. “Go help Rose. I’m right behind you.”

She crossed the temple floor, and the Doctor shifted a foot to the left so he was directly in the high priestess’ line of vision, keeping her attention focused on him. “What are the Pyrovile doing here?” he asked, pointing his water pistol at the Pyrovile’s heart.

“We fell from the heavens,” she said, still using the dual-toned voice. “We fell so far and so fast, we were rendered into dust.”

Got it, Doctor, Rose told him.

He adjusted his hold on the toy and shifted on the balls of his feet, ready to run. “Right, creatures of stone shattered on impact,” he muttered to himself.

He made eye contact with Rose over the high priestess’ shoulder. Get down in there, he told Rose. I promise, I’m right behind you.

You’d better be, she told him, and he watched just for a moment out of the corner of his eye as she convinced Donna to go down into the tunnel.

To keep the attention focused on him, he raised his voice. “When was that, seventeen years ago?”

The Pyrovile shook her head. “We have slept beneath for thousands of years.”

That only surprised the Doctor for a moment before he realised what it meant. He nodded quickly. “Okay, so seventeen years ago woke you up, and now you’re using human bodies to reconstitute yourselves.” He suddenly remembered the high priestess was not the only member of the Sibylline in the room, and turned quickly to brandish the weapon at the young women chanting on the floor before asking another question. “But why the psychic powers?”

“We opened their minds and found such gifts.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. Humans didn’t have psychic gifts. Not like this, anyway. “Okay, that’s fine. So you force yourself inside a human brain, use the latent psychic talent to bond. I get that, I get that, yeah.” He shook his head. “But seeing the future? That is way beyond psychic. You can see through time. Where does the gift of prophecy come from?”

The high priestess writhed on the bed, and the Doctor decided that maybe his interview was over. “On second thought,” he said as he pivoted and started jogging towards the hypocaust, “maybe it doesn’t really matter.”

He’d almost made it when one of the sisters called his bluff. “Sisters, I see into his mind. The weapon is harmless.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s got to sting,” he countered, shooting the high priestess several times before dropping through the open grate, down into the tunnel.

The heat hit him like a brick wall, and he took a second to regulate his own internal temperature before grinning at Rose and Donna. “Just the kind of weapon I like,” he said, squirting into the air.

Donna laughed. “You fought her off with a water pistol. I bloody love you.”

Rose pushed herself off the wall and grabbed his hand. “Mmm, so do I,” she agreed.

Donna wrinkled her nose. “Not quite what I meant.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “This way,” he said, before Donna could go into another long tirade about how unappealing she found his attributes.

“Where are we going now?” Donna asked.

The Doctor shook his head, pulling his thoughts away from the amusement he could feel fizzling over the bond. “Into the volcano.”

Donna gaped at him. “No way.”

“Yes way.” He twirled the water pistol around his finger as he started into the tunnel. “Appian Way.”

Rose snorted. “You are such a dork,” she told him.

The Doctor pointed at her with the water pistole and shook his head. “Never let a pun pass you by, Rose,” he said seriously. “They are the height of humour.”

She nodded, although the Doctor suspected the serious expression on her face was fake. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

Choosing to ignore the affectionate mockery in her voice, the Doctor brought the conversation back to Pompeii, rambling as they walked. “Why can’t this lot predict a volcano? Why is it being hidden?”

“And why doesn’t it feel like a fixed point?” Rose asked. “Because I think those questions have the same answer, don’t you?”

He nodded as he ducked beneath some low-hanging rocks. “That seems highly likely. So we have a fixed point that doesn’t hurt and soothsayers with an uncanny knack for speaking the truth who can’t see the one thing we know for sure is coming for this city.”

As they jogged towards Vesuvius, Donna asked the question that had been building in her mind ever since they’d discovered the Pyrovile were behind what was going on in Pompeii. “But if it’s aliens setting off the volcano, doesn’t that make it all right for you to stop it?

He shook his head as they walked down roughly cut stairs into a larger cavern with a fire burning in the middle. “Still part of history. Still a fixed point.”

Donna looked over at Rose, and she nodded. “Doctor, I told you that Donna and I think we should save Caecilius and his family.”

“And I told you that we can’t,” he snapped.

To Donna’s surprise, Rose stopped dead in the middle of the tunnel. Her palla had slid off her head to drape around her shoulders, and she put one hand on her hip. “Give me one reason why we can’t,” she insisted. “We’re not talking about changing the fixed point, or saving everyone in the whole town.”

The Doctor raked his hands through his hair. “Just one family?”

“Just one.” The hard line of Rose’s jaw softened and she took the Doctor’s hand. “Wouldn’t you feel better if we saved someone, even though we can’t save them all? Wouldn’t it be better to show as much compassion as possible?”

He sighed and clenched his eyes shut, but a moment later, Donna watched the lines around his eyes smooth out. “You’re right. Thank you, Rose.”

“Thank Donna,” she said. “It was her idea.”

Something roared in the distance behind them before the Doctor could offer Donna his thanks. “They know we’re here.” He pushed Donna into another narrow tunnel with a hand on the small of her back. “Come on.”

“Of course they know we’re here,” Donna said breathlessly as they ran. “They watched us disappear through the hypocaust.”

Rose chuckled. “She has a point, Doctor. We weren’t exactly stealthy.”

“Oi!” the Doctor protested. “Is this what my life’s going to be from now on? The two of you, ganging up on me?”

To his surprise, Rose’s hand went limp in his when he suggested that. He glanced down at her, but the tunnels had just broadened out again, leaving them in an open cavern where voices could echo.

Rose? he asked as they carefully picked their way down a rocky incline. The closer they got to the heart of the volcano, the warmer it got.

Rose bit her lip. Is it really okay if we save Caecilius and his family? she asked. I don’t want you to feel like we’ve forced you to do something you’re not comfortable with.

The Doctor smiled and brushed a kiss over her knuckles before dropping her hand. I promise, it’s just fine. I was only teasing when I said you were ganging up on me.

The last tunnel finally led them onto a rocky overhang that gave them a view of the mountain’s opening, and the Pyrovile marching around the lower cavern. “It’s the heart of Vesuvius. We’re right inside the mountain.”

“There’s tons of them,” Donna whispered.

The basalt they’d been walking through gave way to porous pumice. Magma bubbled up through cracks in the Earth, and everything looked… well, volcanic. Everything but that, the Doctor realised when his gaze landed on something distinctly artificial in appearance. He pulled a spyglass out of his jacket pocket and used it to get a better glimpse. “What’s that thing?”

Distant footsteps rumbled in the tunnel they’d just walked through, and Rose crouched lower to the ground. “Better think of something fast, Doctor,” she said. “I don’t think they’re gonna leave us alone for much longer.”

The Doctor pressed his lips together. The artificial structure he’d spotted was a door. “That’s how they arrived,” he said, handing Rose the glass so she could look. “Or what’s left of it. Escape pod? Prison ship? Gene bank?”

“But why do they need a volcano?” Donna asked reasonably. “Maybe it erupts, and they launch themselves back into space or something?”

The Doctor thought of the humans he’d witnessed turning to stone, and shook his head. The Pyrovile didn’t want to return home. “Oh, it’s worse than that.”

“What do you mean, worse?” Rose asked as she handed the spyglass back.

Donna glanced over her shoulder when the rumbling sounded behind them. “Doctor, it’s getting closer.”

“Heathens! Defilers!” Lucius stood in the middle of the crater below and shouted at the Pyrovile. “They would desecrate your temple, my lord gods.”

Oh, that’s not good. That’s very much not good. “Come on,” the Doctor hissed, eager to get out of range before the Pyrovile could track them down.

“We can’t go in,” Donna protested as he led them forward, deeper into the volcano and closer to Lucius and the Pyrovile.

“Well, we can’t go back,” the Doctor retorted. A groaning rumble sounded from the tunnel at their backs to prove his point.

“Crush them. Burn them,” Lucius ordered.

The Doctor scrambled over the rocks, heedless of noise now. Behind him, Rose and Donna sent more rocks skittering down the slope. A huge Pyrovile rose up out of the rocks and loomed over them, and they skidded to a halt. The Doctor stared for a second before he reached into his back pocket and pulled the water pistol out.

The Pyrovile shrieked when it was hit by the stream of water, and the Doctor, Rose, and Donna used its moment of confusion to dart around it to the escape pod, dodging the flames of the Pyrovile as they ran.

“There is nowhere to run, Doctor and daughters of London,” Lucius hollered.

The Doctor paused in the door of the escape pod, his water pistol held at the ready. “Now then, Lucius. My lords Pyrovillian, don’t get yourselves in a lather.”

Rose and Donna groaned, and he looked over his shoulder at them.

“In a lava? No?” They shook their heads, and he shrugged. “No. But if I might beg the wisdom of the gods before we perish. Once this new race of creatures is complete, then what?”

Because that was what it really came down to. This was the Pyroviles’ last chance, though he didn’t use those words.

The Pyrovile stomped towards them, his fiery footsteps crushing rocks as he went. The Doctor kept an eye on him, while waiting for an answer from Lucius.

“My masters will follow the example of Rome itself,” Lucius shouted. “An almighty empire, bestriding the whole of civilisation.”

Donna took a step forward. “But if you’ve crashed, and you’ve got all this technology, why don’t you just go home?”

“The Heaven of Pyrovillia is gone,” Lucius explained.

“What do you mean, gone? Where’s it gone?” the Doctor asked as the mountain rumbled beneath his feet. He could feel seconds ticking by and knew the time of the eruption was almost upon them… if he could repair the timelines so it actually happened.

“It was taken,” Lucius shouted. “Pyrovillia is lost. But there is heat enough in this world for a new species to rise.”

Rose snorted. “You do realise it’s like, seventy percent water out there?”

Even from a distance, Lucius’ smirk was obvious. “Water can boil. And everything will burn, Doctor.”

The Doctor pressed his lips together and nodded once. “Then the whole planet is at stake,” he said as he put the pistol back in his belt. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to know,” He bowed, then gestured for the women to go into the escape pod. “Rose, Donna.”

He followed them inside and then used the sonic screwdriver to seal the doors. “Could we be any more trapped?” Donna asked.

Rose shook her head. “We’re exactly where we need to be, aren’t we, Doctor?” She’d felt the turmoil in his mind calm the moment he realised the entire planet was in danger.

Instead of answering, he peered at the controls, not even blinking when steam filled the chamber as the Pyrovile tried to smoke them out.

Donna took a breath and fanned her face. “Little bit hot.”

“See?” The Doctor pointed at the circuits, which had been set up along the wall of the pod. “The energy converter takes the lava, uses the power to create a fusion matrix, which welds Pyrovile to human. Now that it’s complete, they can convert millions.”

Rose sucked in a breath. He’d turned the controls on as he explained, but she had a feeling he wasn’t going to let the energy converter work according to plan. And that meant…

“That’s why they can’t see the volcano,” she realised. “If the Pyrovile are using the lava, they’re funnelling all that power away from the mountain. It’s never going to erupt.”

“And they’re going to use the power of the volcano to take over the world,” the Doctor concluded.

Donna looked from the Doctor to Rose and back again. “But you can change it back.”

Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes when she saw the choice looming before the Doctor. It wasn’t a choice anyone should ever have to make, and somehow, it always fell on his shoulders.

He nodded once in answer to Donna’s question. “I can invert the system, set off the volcano, and blow them up, yes. But…” He looked at them then, and for once, his age showed in the lines of his face. “That’s the choice, Donna. It’s Pompeii or the world.”

Donna recoiled from the pain in his eyes. “Oh, my God.”

“If Pompeii is destroyed then it’s not just history, it’s me. I make it happen.”

Rose took his hand. “No, Doctor. We make it happen.” He frowned at her, and she brushed her thumb over his knuckles. “It has to be done, but the responsibility won’t rest on your shoulders alone.”

His body shook with repressed emotion. “Vesuvius explodes with the force of twenty-four nuclear bombs. There’s no way we’ll survive.”

His eyes begged her to find another way, but there wasn’t one. It was their first, “I could save the world but lose you,” moment since their year-long holiday, and Rose tried to project as much trust as possible over the bond.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then went to work on the controls, resetting them to funnel the power of the mountain out through the volcano, instead of into the energy converter.

When the controls were reset, the Doctor swallowed hard and put his hands on the lever. “Push this lever and it’s over.” He looked at Rose, then at Donna. “Twenty thousand people.”

Rose put her hands down on top of his, and a moment later, Donna rested hers on the lever in between theirs. The three of them shared a last look, then closed their eyes and pushed.

The change was immediate. The mountain rumbled beneath their feet, shaking the pod and tossing them around.

Time shifted, too, and the Doctor and Rose both felt it. There was a moment, just a second, where timelines blurred and a rift in time opened before healing itself almost instantly.

At the same time, the fixed point cemented back into place. The Doctor and Rose both shuddered as their time senses awoke with all the fury of a cat who’d been dropped in water. As uncomfortable as the sensation was, it was also a relief that this moment finally felt as forbidden to them as it should have from the start.

The pod whirled and tilted as it was projected through the air. “Come on,” the Doctor shouted. “Get down on the ground.” He pulled Rose and Donna both down with him and wrapped an arm around each of them, trying to protect their heads from falling rocks.

But there was no staying safe when the pod spun end over end, and eventually, he gave up and covered his own head. They were tossed about for almost a minute until they landed with a hard thud.

The door popped open when they hit the ground, and they crawled out at the base of the mountain. “It was an escape pod,” he mumbled as he looked up at the sky.

The Doctor looked back towards the rumbling mountain, and his eyes widened when he saw the pyroclastic flow of ash and rock rushing towards them. He grabbed Rose and Donna’s hands and yanked them towards Pompeii.

“Come on!” he yelled as they ran. “We’ve got to get to Caecilius’ before the worst of the ash hits, or we’re going to die!”

Day turned to night as the cloud of ash blocked the sun. When they reached Pompeii, people were standing in the streets, staring at the mountain in horror. None of them had any frame of reference for something like this, any way to explain what had happened today. To a society living before the age of scientific discovery, it would appear that the gods had gone mad, raging at the people on the Earth below.

Donna slowed, and her slack hand fell from the Doctor’s grasp. There was so much destruction all around her… so much death coming. She stared at the people running towards the water, and even though she knew this had to happen, she couldn’t help but yell advice at them. “Don’t. Don’t go to the beach,” she shouted, remembering how tsunami worked. “Don’t go to the beach; go to the hills. Listen to me. Don’t go to the beach. It’s not safe. Listen to me.”

No one listened. Rose took her hand and pulled her away.

“Come on, Donna,” she said, pitching her voice low to be heard. “We can’t save them, but if we hurry, we can save our one family. Remember?”

Donna looked away from a little boy crying in the street and swiped at the tears on her face. “Yeah. I just…” She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” the Doctor said, leading the way to Foss Street.

When they reached the villa, Caecilius, Metella, Quintus, and Evelina were huddled together against one of the interior walls. “Gods save us, Doctor,” Caecilius shouted as his family whimpered in fear.

The Doctor took a deep breath and nodded. “Come with me,” he ordered, then ran for the TARDIS, pulling his key out as he went.

He stalked towards the console, talking to the TARDIS as he went. It’s my fault, he lamented. I swore I’d never push another button like that, but you made me do it.

She hummed apologetically while he moved around the console, setting the coordinates for a safe distance from the disaster. Rose joined him and helped him finish, and a moment later, Donna ushered the stunned Pompeiian family into the TARDIS.

“It’s all right,” she said soothingly when Caecilius froze in the doorway. “I promise. We’re going to take you someplace safe.”

“We can’t stay here, Dad,” Evelina said, her voice soft, and together, she and Quintus convinced their parents to enter the ship.

Rose guided them to the railing, and once they were hanging on, the Doctor flipped the lever without a word. There were no words for a day like today, and he wouldn’t disrespect their guests or the people who’d died by pretending there were.

The TARDIS was kind enough to give them a light landing, and he stuck his hands into his pockets and nodded at the door. “I think you’ll find we’re safe now,” he said quietly.

Caecilius and Metella blinked at him in confusion, but Quintus nodded and pushed the door open. “Come on, Dad,” he said quietly. “Look, we’re safe.”

The Doctor put his coat back on while everyone else filed out of the ship onto a hill some twenty miles from Vesuvius. When the ship was empty, he ran his fingers lightly over the controls, then followed them outside.

They stood on the hill in silence, watching the destruction of Pompeii. Then the Doctor took a breath and turned to the man standing beside him. “It’s never forgotten, Caecilius,” he promised. “Oh, time will pass, men’ll move on, and stories will fade. But one day, Pompeii will be found again. In thousands of years. And everyone will remember you.”

Donna stepped out of the shadows to stand by Evelina. “What about you, Evelina? Can you see anything?”

The girl shook her head. “The visions have gone.”

Rose put a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “The force of the eruption actually cracked open a rift in time, just for a second,” she explained.

The Doctor nodded. Finally, there was an answer to everything. “That’s what gave you the gift of prophecy. It echoed back into the Pyrovillian alternative. But not any more.” He smiled at her. “You’re free.”

“But tell me,” whispered Metella. “Who are you, Doctor? With your words, and your temple containing such size within?”

“Oh, I was never here.” She frowned, and he shook his head quickly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“The great god Vulcan must be enraged,” Caecilius mused. “It’s so volcanic. It’s like some sort of volcano. All those people,” he sobbed, and Metella turned and buried her face in his shoulder as they watched the destruction of the only life they’d ever known.

And that’s our cue to leave. Rose and Donna were already slipping back inside the TARDIS, and the Doctor took one last look at Vesuvius before he joined them.

Rose was at the console, and as soon as he closed the doors, she threw the dematerialisation lever. The Doctor took his coat off as he felt the TARDIS slip into the Vortex, then he looked at Donna, who was staring down at her clasped hands.

“Donna Noble,” he said, giving her name some weight. She looked up at him, and he tried to let her see how grateful he was to her. “Thank you. Thank you for helping us find a way to show compassion, even when we’re dealt a bad hand.”

Donna smiled and tipped her head back. “Thank you,” she returned. “For being the people I thought you were.”

The Doctor nodded. “Time for a night in, I think.”

Donna rubbed at her face, streaking tears and ash over it. “Yeah,” she agreed wearily. “There’s an enormous bathtub in my ensuite that’s calling my name.” She paused at the entrance to the corridor. “I’ll see you for breakfast?”

“Of course,” Rose said, and Donna nodded, then walked away.

The Doctor tossed his coat onto the strut and took Rose’s hand. “I think a bath sounds like an excellent idea, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Rose ran her hands over the wall as they walked to their room, and when they pushed the door open, they could hear the water running and see steam billowing out of the ensuite. They both stripped silently, tossing their soiled, dusty clothes straight into the laundry chute.

The tension in the Doctor’s body was obvious when he stood before her, naked and vulnerable. Come with me, my love, she beckoned, walking backwards toward the open door. He followed, only hesitating when she turned the shower on instead of stepping into the bath.

“We need to rinse off quickly first,” she told him gently. “Or our bathwater will get muddy.”

He nodded, and they both stepped under the stream of water for a few minutes, letting it rinse away most of the ash and get their hair thoroughly wet.

After turning the water off, Rose climbed into the bath and indicated that he should sit down in front of her. Let me take care of you tonight.

The slight hitch in his chest wouldn’t have been noticeable to most, but Rose knew her Doctor. She waited patiently while he stepped gingerly into the water and sat down, his spine stiff.

Rose took the bottle of shampoo from the ledge of the bathtub and squeezed some into her hands, rubbing them together until it formed a rich lather. The Doctor sighed when she sank her hands into his hair, massaging the shampoo into the scalp and getting every bit of dust and grime washed away.

“Tilt your head back,” she ordered softly. When she could see his eyebrows, she reached for the cup on the ledge and used it to rinse the soap away.

“Feel better?” she asked when his hair was clean.

He nodded, but she could still feel the tension in his body. “What about you?” he asked.

Rose started to tell him that this was for him, not her, but then she caught a glimpse of his thoughts—he’d been on edge all day, afraid they wouldn’t get out in time. Then in the escape pod when they pressed the lever, he’d been certain they were going to die. He needed to take care of her for a moment, just like she’d needed to take care of him.

They turned carefully in the tub, managing not to slosh huge amounts of water onto the rim as they moved. Rose’s hair had dried slightly while they’d sat in the bath, and the Doctor used the cup to get it wet again before washing it. Well-trained, he reached for the conditioner next and carefully untangled the snarls that had formed, not rinsing it out until he was satisfied.

“I think that’s good enough,” Rose said gently when he set the cup down. She leaned forward and pulled the plug, then stood up and grabbed the warm, fluffy towels that were waiting on the rack. “Let’s put pyjamas on and go to bed.”

After drying off, Rose started to wring the water out of her hair with an extra soft towel kept just for that purpose. However, the Doctor pulled it from her hands and motioned for her to sit on the bed. The towel she’d wrapped around herself tugged loose as she sat down, and she let it fall to her waist.

A moment later, Rose felt his fingers comb through her hair. “You shouldn’t go to bed with wet hair.” She heard the hum of the sonic screwdriver, then felt the subtle vibrations shift against her scalp as he used it to get her head dry.

A tingling sensation started at the base of her skull, triggered by the combination of the Doctor’s fingers and the sonic massage. The rhythmic motion of his hands seemed to spread the tingles, until they covered her whole scalp.

A moan escaped her lips when he pressed his fingertips to her scalp and massaged lightly. “Doctor…”

“Frisson,” he whispered. “I didn’t think about it before, but I’m not surprised the sonic caused it.”

His fingers slowed, and finally he pulled them away from her head. Rose sighed in disappointment as the feeling faded, but at least the remaining tension from the day seemed to have left her body. She pulled on one of the Doctor’s vests and slipped under the covers.

Watching the Doctor, she quickly realised he was more tightly wound now than he had been when they’d entered their room. She rolled over onto her side and watched him meticulously hang up their towels and clean up the water on the bathroom floor.

When he ran out of meaningless chores to fill the time, he shuffled over to the bureau and found a clean pair of pants to put on. Then he climbed into bed and lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, until Rose reached out hesitantly and took his hand.

That simple gesture seemed to flip a switch. A choked sob escaped his throat, and he rolled over and pressed himself to her side.

Rose blinked, but she responded almost immediately, rubbing his shoulders and stroking his hair. “Talk to me, love,” she pleaded.

He drew a shuddering breath and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Too much like pressing the button,” he mumbled.

Her heart clenched. The parallel had not been lost on her, either, but feeling his aching sorrow as he said the words made it so much worse.

“Only you weren’t there when I killed everyone that time. You were there today, and it was—”

The Doctor swallowed hard. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. If he said it was, Rose would tell him she’d chosen to be there. It wasn’t his fault.

Her gentle fingers stroked along his temples, and he sighed. “That’s right, love,” she whispered. “It wasn’t your fault. And not only that, but we all made it out just fine. We’re here. We’re home.”

He blinked. That… that was true. How had he missed that? He turned his head slightly so he could see more of their room. They were home.

He sighed and pressed himself tighter against Rose’s side. “But… that wasn’t the only thing,” he said quietly. “You and Donna, you both wanted me to save someone.”

She caught the amorphous thoughts floating through his head, but they were too scattered and trauma-driven to make any sense to her. “Why didn’t you want to?”

He turned his head so it was resting on her shoulder. “You don’t understand, Rose. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was that I did. I wanted to save someone… I wanted to save everyone.”

She felt a tear on her shoulder and waited while he took a few deep breaths to bring himself back under control. “Why could I save someone today, but not on Gallifrey?” he finally whispered.

Rose didn’t have an answer for that. The best she could do was reach through the bond and soothe the ache she could feel pulsing back to her. He shuddered again when she traced a light telepathic touch over the open wound, but eventually, she felt him drift off to sleep.

Even his sleep was fitful though, and Rose wondered, not for the first time, if there wasn’t some way of saving Gallifrey without giving the Time Lords free rein to wreak havoc on the galaxy. It was an impossible wish, but if they ever found a way, however faint the possibility of success, she was determined to make it happen.

oOoOoOoOo

When Rose woke up the next morning, the Doctor’s head was pillowed on her chest, his hair tickling at her neck and chin. His desperate hold had relaxed in his sleep, the arm that had been clutching tightly to her now draped over her waist.

She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair. It didn’t often happen that she woke up before him, so the chance to witness him completely relaxed was welcome.

The Doctor stirred, and his lips brushed against the swell of her breast. “You can keep doing that,” he mumbled as she scraped her nails over his scalp.

Rose chuckled, but her hand slowed. “I can’t actually,” she told him.

“Oh, come on!” He pressed his head into her hand, silently begging for more.

Rose gave his hair one last stroke, then pushed at his shoulders. “I’m starving, and I need to wee.”

The Doctor flopped onto his back, his arm flung dramatically over his head. “Fine,” he muttered as Rose hopped out of bed. “I guess I’ll make breakfast then.”

After using the toilet and freshening up a bit, Rose pulled on slippers and her dressing gown and went to the galley. The Doctor was putting bacon in the frying pan, and several bowls of various sizes cluttered the countertop.

“Crepes?” Rose guessed when she saw the thin batter and the large, flat pan.

“Yep! I don’t know what Donna likes, but she strikes me as someone who enjoys good food.”

Rose leaned against the counter and watched for a moment as he sliced strawberries. “And then what do you want to do today?”

The knife stilled, and his expression was sober when he looked up at her. “I really need a slow day,” he admitted. “Is that all right?”

His brow furrowed slightly, and Rose reached out to rub the crease away. “Of course it is, Doctor. I could do with a bit of quiet myself. A walk in the woods, maybe? With a picnic?”

He nodded, but he still looked too uncertain for Rose’s satisfaction. She glanced quickly around the kitchen, smiling when her gaze landed on the bowl of strawberries. She snagged a whole berry and popped it into her mouth, humming at the sweet flavour.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes and shook his finger at her. “No snitching, Rose Tyler. If you eat it all now, we won’t have anything left for breakfast.”

Rose arched her eyebrow and grabbed another berry, then danced back a few steps. She bit into the strawberry, feeling the juice drip over her lips as she maintained eye contact with the Doctor.

“How do you plan to stop me?” She licked her lips and watched his Adam’s apple bob in response.

Then he was standing in front of her, bringing the hand still holding the rest of the berry to his mouth and taking it from her with his teeth. I think I’ll just have to teach you how to share. He tugged on her hand until she was close enough for him to wrap his other arm around her waist.

Rose looked up at him through her eyelashes, not even trying to pretend that this wasn’t exactly the outcome she’d aimed for. He leaned down slowly, and after a moment of breathless anticipation, Rose whined softly. Doctor… He chuckled, but gave in and pressed his lips to hers.

Her mouth opened beneath his immediately, letting his tongue sweep inside, chasing the lingering taste of strawberries. The hand on her back flexed, then pulled her closer. I’ll never get tired of kissing you.

Rose sighed and her hands raked through his hair. Well I hope not! She scraped her teeth against his lip, and he groaned softly into her mouth.

“Good morning!”

Donna’s louder-than-usual greeting made the Doctor and Rose jump back like guilty teenagers. She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a mildly amused look on her face.

“I know this is your home, but I think we need to make a list of places I don’t want to catch you snogging.” She tilted her head. “Scratch that, I’d rather not catch you snogging anywhere.”

The Doctor felt his ears turn bright red and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the wild hedgehog look he knew he sported. Donna pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, so he suspected he’d failed spectacularly.

“Sorry, Donna.” He shuffled his feet back and forth. “It won’t happen again.”

She snorted. “Somehow I have a hard time believing that. You’ve been married for a year and you still look at each other with hearts in your eyes, like you’re on your honeymoon.”

Rose poured water into the kettle and turned it on. “We’ve been married for three years actually,” she said while pulling mugs and the tea canister out of the cupboard.

“But—”

“Time machine,” she reminded the other woman. “And we’ve been alone for the last year, so I guess we’ve forgotten to be considerate of other people who might walk in. Sorry.”

Donna relaxed and waved off the apology with a smile. “If you’ve been on your own for a year, I can see how you might forget.” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not permission to let it happen again, mind.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “No, you’ve made your position on that very clear. Now, breakfast?”

oOoOoOoOo

After the somewhat awkward start, breakfast was perfect. The Doctor’s assumption that Donna would enjoy crepes was proven correct, and they talked and joked for nearly an hour before leaving the table.

When they’d done the washing up and put everything away, Donna looked at the Doctor and Rose. “Well. Where are we going today?”

To her surprise, Rose reached into the pantry and pulled out a picnic hamper. “We thought we’d take it easy today—just a picnic in the countryside. You up for it?”

Donna felt a band ease around her chest, and she sighed as her whole body relaxed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” she agreed, and helped Rose make sandwiches while the Doctor added drinks and picnic dishes.

When the hamper was full, he nodded at the door. “Well, let’s go then,” he said, leading the way to the console room.

Donna sat down gingerly on the jump seat and watched the Doctor and Rose move together around the console. It was like a dance, the way they spun and twisted in harmony to reach all the levers and knobs at the right time.

When the ship landed, she shoved aside the worry that today would be another day like yesterday and walked to the door. “So, where are we?” she asked as they stepped outside. The sun was warm on her shoulders and she caught a sweet floral fragrance in the air. “Are we on an alien planet?”

The Doctor shook his head. “We’re on Earth. Italy—Tuscany to be exact. The year is…” He tilted his head slightly. “1324.”

Rose linked her arm through the Doctor’s and rested her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes, after a trip like yesterday, we just need…”

She sighed, and the Doctor picked up the train of thought. “We need to do something to remember that it was worth it. Making the choice to let Vesuvius erupt was hard on all of us, but if we hadn’t…” He stretched his arm out and gestured at the gently rolling hills surrounding them. “None of this would be here anymore. Or if it was, it wouldn’t look like this.”

Donna looked at the hills covered in vineyards with new eyes. She hadn’t slept well the night before, unable to stop thinking about the people they hadn’t saved. The little boy who’d been scooped up by his mother, the fruit vendor who’d sold the TARDIS to Caecilius in the first place… Every face she’d seen in their twenty-four hours in Pompeii had gone through her head on a constantly repeating reel.

But with her lungs full of the rich, loamy scent of tilled earth and a castle looming in the distance, her enthusiasm for travelling returned. They’d saved the whole planet yesterday! She, Donna Noble, temp from Chiswick, had helped save the Earth from alien invasion.

Oh, no one back home would ever believe this.

[profound-boning]

Huge GTKM Game

I’ve been tagged in several of these over the past several months I know I’m a mess I’m sorry and I’m finally going to answer some of them!

Tagged by @thecuriouscrusader​ @blissfulcastiel​ @glowingdean​ @casbakespie​ @adoringjensen​

no I’m not tagging anyone else in this monstrosity lol

Relationship status: Taken, just celebrated five years!

Lipstick or Chapstick: I wore lipstick every day when I was in college but now that I’m living with Boyfriend it’d be a big ol waste of time and money and also messy

Last Song I Listened To: uhhh the Star Wars: The Force Awakens soundtrack because I watched that yesterday?

Last Movie I Watched: lol see above

Favorite Color: Pink

Top 3 Favorite Shows: Supernatural, SKAM, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine (I really need to get caught up on those last two damn)

If I had a cat what would I name it: Ooooh see that totally depends I’d have to meet them in person first

Height: 5 foot 3 and one half

Hogwarts House: SLYTHERIN HISS HISS MOTHERFUCKERS

Time right now: 17:09

Average hours of sleep: lmao like under 7 right now because I keep staying up late and then waking up early by force of habit??

Favorite number: 47

Last thing I Googled: ”where do psychiatrists work” for a fic

Fictional character you want as your younger sibling: I want this answer to be Charlie Bradbury except I’d want her to be my OLDER sibling... so let’s go with Rey (sw: tfa) or Isak Valtersen (SKAM)

Blankets I sleep with: Sheet and comforter

Favorite band/artists: Oh man lmao uh Taylor Swift, Fall Out Boy, Paramore, Adele, Ed Sheeran, twenty one pilots, the Arctic Monkeys, others?

Dream trip: GREECE I want to cruise around the islands and see all the history and art

What am I wearing right now: A Corgi crop top and my new THINX undies (all y’all menstruating folk I literally cannot recommend these highly enough)

When I made this blog: THIS blog was like September/October of 2015 I think? I’m too lazy to pull up my archive at the moment. But I’ve been on and off of tumblr since 2011.

How many blogs I follow: 330ish I believe? Again too lazy to open a new tab. It’s a mix of spn blogs and multifandom ones as well as a handful of lovely mutuals :)

What do I post about: On this blog, only supernatural, mostly destiel and brothers and my tears

Pick a word that starts with the first letter of your real name and ends with the first letter of your url: sap

Do I get asks on a daily basis: lmfao no

Why did I choose my tumblr url: I looove my url more than anything and tbh it happened because I came across a text post right when I got into spn (2015) about how dean and cas need to start profoundly boning and here we are :’)

My aesthetic: hot tea brewing in the kitchen, you can see the flowers on the balcony from where you’re standing at the counter, slouchy sweater brushing bare thighs, curls falling loose from your top knot. toes in the sand at the edge of the water, wide brimmed hat casting a shadow on your nose, smiling so big your eyes crinkle in the corners, licking ice cream from your fingertips. lipstick tacky on your bottom lip, eyelashes painted dark, skirt clinging to your ass, swaying your hips to the rhythm, the room is dark and smoky, never touching anyone but relishing that their eyes are on you.

Last show you watched: We don’t have cable so I don’t get to watch shows live on tv. Last time I watched any tv show I believe was Kitchen Nightmares on Hulu!

Last book you read: tbfh it’s been a long time, I’ve been reading mostly fanfiction for a while now. I just finished reading a two part series called “all the stars above and below” a finnpoe au by AndreaLyn on ao3 here

Last thing you ate: Applesauce

If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?: This is strange question because I’m in my very nice bed and I don’t really want to be anywhere else at the moment but like in general Boyfriend and I are planning on moving to England so I’d like to be there? Kind of? Or like... sitting on a beach somewhere? Sitting next to my sister? I’m not really longing to be somewhere else so much as wanting some things to be a little different? But on the whole I’m extremely satisfied with where I’m at right now.

When would you time travel to?: lol fuck any time period before this one (modern medicine and some more rights are v nice) so I’ll say 3017 but that’s assuming tr*mp doesn’t get our entire goddamned planet fucking destroyed and also that people aren’t asshats to each other based on social constructions and institutions like gender and religion and identity and also ethnic backgrounds :’)

First thing you would do with lottery money: Pay for car repairs and for some of my sister’s university

Character you would hang out with for a day: Castiel or Poe Dameron

Pets: None because we move too much!

First Fandom I joined: Oh boy this is a good question. I was just talking to Boyfriend the other day about how Han/Leia was my first OTP before I really knew what that meant? Like watching the movies as a kid I felt in my heart like “yes they’re so good together please be happy together forever” I wasn’t on the Internet at all until 2008, and not on tumblr until 2011, and not on stan twitter until earlier this year lmao. When I started the tumblr, it was mostly disney and then avengers when it came out? This blog is my first like dedicated I’M IN A FANDOM venture.

Favorite book: I hate this question because I know someone out there will hate me for it *squints* but the honest truth is “The Outsiders” by S.E. Hinton it’s been my favorite since seventh fucking grade so fight me about it!!!1!

Worst thing you’ve ever eaten/tasted: Oh no this is horrible because I’m a fucking picky ass eater lmao uhhh I hate rice?? bad texture.

What class do you wish you paid more attention to in school? This is not the answer you’re looking for but I had some severe problems in my life when I was in high school so really I wish I had been able to pay more attention to everything in school. I would literally time travel back and redo it all if I could. I would have taken my government classes more seriously, gotten more into my history classes, and would have signed up for AP Art History because I fucking wanted to but I didn’t. If those problems hadn’t been there or hadn’t affected me so badly I would have gotten better grades and could have chosen something different for college. In college, I might have looked for something more like anthropology and focused more on language in a cultural and socio-historical context and not just language and teaching language. Similarly without those problems I would have been able to pay better attention in college and have gotten better grades, done more academic research, etc.

Just hypothetically, if you could get rid of one entire species and not have it screw up the ecosystem at all, what would it be? Humans :’) we’re the worst.

First foray into fanfic? How To Train Your Dragon on that fanfiction net website. I remember seeing the second film and feeling so, like, when are those two going to kiss and get married and live happily ever after? I needed that closure. Then I discovered AUs and ~lemons~ and then I was reading Frozen fic for a while(??) and finally Supernatural. Apple Pie Life by @heyacas​ was the first fic I read on ao3 after it was recced to me and I never looked back.

You can have unlimited anything from a magic cookie jar (item must fit in a standard sized cookie jar) with the caveat that you cannot monetarily profit from it. Like unlimited cash or things you would sell for cash. What’s in the jar? Firstly what the fuck is a standard sized cookie jar. Secondly this wording prompts me to say... cookies

What do you think about Bill Nye the Science Guy? President Nye 2020

That one book you will never read enough times? Other than the one I mentioned above I’ve read Princess Academy by Shannon Hale a million times and I love it so, so much

What’s something super popular that you just. don’t. get? This is the first thing that comes to mind because frankly there are several things that could go here but I’m answering Videos Of People Getting Hurt. Seriously. Why do I want to watch someone fall off of something or worse get pushed/tricked/otherwise manipulated into doing something I can see (or worse, hear) is painful for them? I can’t stand it.

What’s your super power? Not like telepathy (unless you really have telepathy…), but like. what’s the one thing that you’re known for? Uh... nothing probably? I’m not memorable

What’s that story you tell at parties or whatnot to impress people? I am literally the worst at parties? and impressing people? One story I like to tell is how Boyfriend and I met!

What’s the furthest you’ve ever been from home? Home is an extremely fluid concept. Right now I am about 825 miles from the house that I lived in for about 17 years, Boyfriend is at his work around 16 miles away, 5000 miles from Spain... I could go on.

Hobbies: Writing and reading fanfiction

Favorite place: Favorite beach: Lagos, Portugal. Favorite city: Barcelona, Spain. Favorite museum: the Louvre. Favorite church: Saint Mary of the Angels in Winona, Minnesota. Favorite restaurant: This brunch place we found while wandering in Paris, France. Alternate answers: Boyfriend’s snuggles.

Movie you are most excited about for next year: I haven’t seen Spiderman: Homecoming yet but I’m excited to do so! Also STAR WARS THE LAST JEDI

Beanies or Scarves? Scarves

Last person you texted? Boyfriend

Favorite food? Pasta

Favorite season and why? Summer! Because winter is the FUCKING WORST!

Left Twix or Right? Did you mean: belongs in the trash?

Who would win in a fight: Captain America OR Captain Kirk? Okay like Captain America because? superserum? But James T. Kirk is my precious babe I don’t want them to fight :3

Avengers or X-Men? Avengers

Dream Concert: Go back to my Favorite Artists answer and put all of them together in one show :’)

What fictional world/universe would you want to spend a week in: Either Harry Potter’s or Rick Riordan’s (but only if I’m friends with The Squad)

Last video game played: Okay on the real it’s probably Dance Dance Revolution from, like, 2006

[bitchyfeminist]

Feminism: Empowerment or Oppression

I was raised as a feminist before the term ‘feminism’ was mainstream. My mother looked at my family women who felt that they were subservient to men and decided something needed to change.

In the late 70’s, my mother was born in a family of a young teenage mother and her teenage father, who were forced into either marriage or an abortion. They decided on the marriage, though were divorced shortly after because my grandfather was abusive toward my grandmother. My grandfather gave the same ultimatum to my own mother when she was pregnant at fifteen-years old. My grandfather tried to raise my mother to be someone who felt that women belonged in the home taking care of a husband and children, just as his family believed. But using the wise words of my mother, she said, “fuck that,” and raised two daughters to be strong and independent women who never needed to rely on anyone, no matter what.

My mother made us into the type of people that could be role models for young girls and women of all ages. Because of this, I’ve received numerous messages from not only my tumblr page, but even personal friends, who have commended me on being so outspoken during a time of harsh politics. My mother never wanted my sister and I to be like she was – a stay-at-home mom with four kids by the age of twenty-two – if we didn’t want to be. My mother has never been a stagnant person, and she didn’t want us to settle.

Obviously, I have my own opinions on the matter of feminism. This isn’t just about my opinions, though. This is about other’s opinions. This is about making up your own opinion using the ideas others share.

I’ve always believed feminism to be equality between the sexes. Helping to raise women up in the patriarchy and even helping men. While women have their issues with being disrespected and sexualized, men have issues when it comes to showing their emotions.

I believe feminism to be empowering to women. I believe it shows that women don’t have to be any different than men, and they don’t have to change. My little sister doesn’t have to babysit our cousins while the men move mattresses, she can help just as much – if not more since she was a competitive cheerleader and weightlifter in high school – as the men can.

But not everyone has the same concept of feminism. Some are similar, but everyone has their own version of what it is, just like everyone has their own version of religion. I’ve come to the conclusion over the years that some people don’t believe in the legal definition of feminism, that is, equality between men and women. Some reject the definition flat out.

And I’ve learned that many people these days don’t want to claim feminism as a title of theirs simply because of the negative stigma, though they do believe in gender equality. Rejecting the title of feminism doesn’t mean they don’t care, it just means they don’t consider themselves a feminist.

After making a post on tumblr, I became more aware of what many call “tumblr feminism”. I had never thought of others believing women to only want benefits to equality and not the consequences as well. I’ve always believed that if men have to sign up for the draft, women should be required to as well (but I don’t believe in the draft for anyone). That a male abuser should receive the same punishment as a female abuser. Some have lashed out at me and said I’m a supporter of the patriarchy because of this. Most have given their support on the matter. Some have even said I’ve given them faith in modern feminism because of my stance on the matter.

I’ve said so much about how I believe feminism to be, but it’s about time I get to the other opinions I mentioned earlier. I spoke to several different people on the matter of feminism*. I wanted to get plenty of different opinions about why they do or do not believe in it.

On tumblr user, content-stunner, says, “I belie[ve] that feminism is the fight for women to have what men have always taken for granted”. A sweet and simple idea of why this user supports feminism, and it brings up the great concept of women fighting for rights, such as voting, that men have always had given to them.

@silverthewolf2202 says, “feminism to me is just the idea that women are equal and should be seen like they are humans and can do the same as a man”. This is brought up well with the general idea of feminism – sometimes known as gender equality. They follow with, “I also think they shouldn’t always be so sexualized in movies”. There has been constant debate on women being oversexualized in video games with female character’s body armour, as well as female actors being sexualized for commercials and such.

Now, I wrote this next paragraph before Carrie Fisher passed away, but I want to include the original paragraph anyway. I had actually written this just days before she passed, and I wish she would have had the chance to see it.

“I don’t know if any of you are Star Wars fans, but when I saw the new one (no, not Rogue One), I heard people comment on Carrie Fisher’s “dwindling” looks more times than I can count. But no one said anything about Harrison Ford (may Han Solo rest in peace) and Mark Hamill wasn’t in it until the end, so you didn’t even really get to see him, but I know he’ll be in the next one. I think the only beneficial thing from Carrie Fisher’s aging is that Star Wars doesn’t oversexualize her like they did in the older movies anymore.

Carrie Fisher, you’re amazing. Don’t let people hate on your looks. You’re a mature woman who has aged gracefully. I hope you’re in the next Star Wars movie.”

An anonymous user stated, “I think feminism is very important because we live in a world where women still aren’t equal to men. To me, feminism is about making the world a better place for women in the future”. There are a lot of people who don’t agree with feminism because they believe they live in a world where women are equal to men. Many people like to believe that things like gender wage gaps and glass ceilings don’t exist.

Another anonymous user states, “I understand why they picked feminist, because the text-book definition of feminism implies what they’re trying to do; they want equality across all genders”. This viewpoint is particularly interesting because the anonymous user happens to be a man. I wanted to include a man’s opinion on the matter since the majority of feminists voicing their opinions happen to belong to women. He continues, “[S]ince you have that minority group of feminists that are the loudest and talk over everyone else (…) a lot of people who aren’t overly involved in it see feminists as not-good people (…) making other feminists look bad. And other feminists (…) just ignore it, but nothing ever really happens because the only people you see are the over-reactive people that are going to get offended by something and throw out tweets, Youtube videos, and comment on someone, when any intelligent and real feminist is the last to respond – not because they aren’t active, but because they are going to take their time and think about what they’re [saying] so they can get their words across without being taken out of context.” He finishes with, “[y]ou can do the whole feminist movement thing without calling yourself a feminist. You can call yourselves whatever and it shouldn’t matter. You have feminists and anti-feminists who believe in gender equality. For me personally, I agree with gender equality one-hundred-percent for every gender (…) not just male and female, but female to male – [trans men] – and male to female – [trans women] – but I wouldn’t call myself a feminist because of the minority that makes the group look bad and I’d rather personally just stay out of it”.

It was a long one that I’ve had to reduce, but I think he speaks volumes about the subject. To tell you the truth, this anonymous user and I were up for three hours in the middle of the night hashing out the subject and it was while he was talking that I started taking notes on his words. After we had finished our discussion, I asked if I could include what he said in this and he said yes. I’m glad he did.

Another anonymous user said, “[f]eminism is standing up for what is right. It’s fighting for fair and equal treatment of women and against systematic oppression” and that, “[f]eminism is something that shouldn’t have to exist, because men and women should be considered equals in all respects”.

The last user I was able to get into contact with is a user by the name of @loudlytransparenttrash. This person is an anti-feminist who I believe had a lot to bring up on the subject. However, their post was very long in what they had described to me, and I unfortunately can’t include all of it. However, if you were to message them, I’m sure they would be just as kind to you as they were to me and let you view the private post.

loudlytransparenttrash begins with, “I was a feminist for many years and I have plenty of feminist friends so I have nothing personal against individual feminists”. I believe this is one of the reasons they were so willing to speak with me, as other anti-feminists I reached out to for the purpose of this piece were unresponsive.

They continue with, “What is the definition of feminism? I have no idea. Why? Because not even feminists can decide on a definition and stick to it for more than a second. When prompted for the definition of feminism, most self-proclaimed feminists will trout out the very nice sounding ‘belief in equality between the sexes’ line”. They continued with, “there is (…) the real definition: feminism is the pursuit of unlimited rights, privileges and power for women and women alone”. Honestly, this is the definition of feminism I see most often on tumblr.

“Feminists set the trap by saying feminism’s on the side of truth and equality, and if you don’t call yourself one, it means you favour women being sexually harassed, assaulted, or worse (…) Believing women deserve equal treatment and rights doesn’t make you a feminist, it makes you a regular, everyday decent person,” loudlytransparenttrash continues.

“Feminism for what it used to be is finished in the first world. That brand of feminism is over (…) Today [feminists] try so hard to keep themselves in the past world of oppression and inequality while forgetting that they are some of the most free, capable, equal and privileged people in the world. Real feminists are ashamed of what they women are doing with the freedom and rights they once so vigorously fought for.

“Modern feminism has become beyond embarrassing. There’s a reason why so few women identify as feminists: it’s less a true ‘women’s movement’ and the public face of hysterical leftist intolerance (…) Feminists point to the wage gap, glass ceiling, women’s vulnerability to sexual objectification, rape culture, mansplaining, street harassment and before long you have constructed a full-scale patriarchy (…) You can still believe in equality without believing in feminism,” loudlytransparenttrash finishes.

As I said before, I did leave out quite a bit of loudlytransparenttrash’s original post, since I believe it was almost 3 pages long on its own. But, as I also said before, if you speak with them directly, I am sure they will link you to the original post.

As you can see, feminism for everyone is different, like loudlytransparenttrash said before. There are different ideas associated with feminism. Some believe it to be empowering, others believe it to be oppressing.

With all these different ideas of what feminism means, from feminists to men to anti-feminists, I encourage you to find your own idea of what feminism could mean to you.

 *All non-anonymous users have agreed to be named prior to the writing and editing of this piece.

[kidsviral-blog]

How I Rebuilt Tinder And Discovered The Shameful Secret Of Attraction

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/how-i-rebuilt-tinder-and-discovered-the-shameful-secret-of-attraction/

How I Rebuilt Tinder And Discovered The Shameful Secret Of Attraction

Why we swipe the way we swipe.

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Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

Suppose you’re a straight woman thumbing through Tinder while waiting for the train, avoiding your homework, or bored at work. A picture of a deeply bronzed man pops up in your stream. How do you swipe? More interestingly, if someone asked you to explain why, how would you answer?

Say that it’s this guy:

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

His location is exotic. He’s doing something that requires a wetsuit. Chances are, he needed a good amount of money to do what he’s doing in the place he’s doing it. But the dark tan, large tattoo, long hair, and name like “Kip” indicate a lifestyle that is probably not that of an investment banker. You can’t really see his face, but surprisingly that doesn’t really matter because the overwhelming reason that hundreds of men and women who swiped “no” in a full-fledged Tinder simulation I unleashed on the internet had nothing to do with attractiveness. Instead, it had everything to do with the type of person Kip seemed to be:

“He probably calls himself a ‘humanist’ instead of a feminist and tries to impress people with how much he ‘made friends with the natives’ when he travels. Barf.” –straight/white

“I love the tattoo, but he seems too skeezy in a way I can’t put my finger on. Scuba is pretentious? Longer greasy hair?” –bi/Hapa/Japanese

“close call, but i hate his sunglasses and also i am imputing all sorts of things about him. like he probably says namaste to the barista at the coffee shop and has a profile picture of him with a bunch of african children” –bi/white

“Lol he’s too old and it looks like the sea is his mistress already I can’t compete with that.” –straight/white

It’s possible these respondents are “overthinking” their response to what, on the surface, is a very straightforward question: Am I attracted to this person or not? Indeed, some would argue that there’s no reason to even explain: You can’t argue with your genitals.

But maybe what we call the argument of one’s genitals is, in truth, incredibly — and both consciously and subconsciously — influenced by the cultures in which we grow up as well as our distinct (and equally culturally influenced) ideas of what a “good couple” or “good relationship” would look like. Put differently, we swipe because someone’s “hot,” but we find someone “hot” based on unconscious codes of class, race, education level, religion, and corresponding interests embedded within the photos of their profile.

Essentially, we’re constantly inventing narratives about the people who surround us — where he works, what he loves, whether our family would like him. And more than other dating services, which offer up comprehensive match dossiers, Tinder appears to encourage these narratives and crystallize the extrapolation process and package it into a five-second, low-stakes decision. We swipe, in other words, because of semiotics.

“Semiotics” is, quite simply, the study of signs. The field of semiotics tries to figure out how we come up with symbols — even as simple as the word in front of you — that stand in for a larger concept. Why does the word “lake” mean that massive blue watery thing? Or how does the stop sign, even without the word “stop,” make everyone understand not to go forward?

But signs aren’t always static in their meaning — it’s all about context. Wearing a camouflage jacket can mean that you’re in the military, a hunter, a punk, a redneck, a misogynist; having a shaved head, as a girl, can connote that you’re a radical, a cancer survivor, or a lesbian.

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

  I first noticed this “crystallizing” tendency in Tinder when a friend, let’s call her Katie, starting playing it for fun, three beers in, at a bar. She was thumbing through prospective matches’ profiles (usually comprising six Facebook pictures, authenticated Facebook age, and a brief bio line) for the table, yelling out her immediate reaction: too old, too manscaped, too short, too bald, too Jersey, HOT, too douchey, too finance-bro, too “ew,” too hipster, too boring, too CrossFit, TOTALLY HOT.

Katie’s performance is indicative of a larger truth: that most of the fun of checking people out isn’t actually talking to them, but thinking about whether or not you’d talk to them and how. Katie was using Tinder at a bar, but instead of squinting across the room, she got to look at well-lit pictures of each potential match attempting to present his best self, seeing what phrase he uses to describe himself and a collection of ironic bon mots or general pronouncements (“no offense, but no crazies”).

Tindering thus mimics the relationship of checking someone out on the street, in the classroom, or on the subway, but with the added tactile pleasure of physically swiping the rejects out of your field of vision (and your life). That’s the real difference between Tinder and sites like OkCupid, Match, eHarmony, and J-Date: The end game on those sites is an actual date (and a lot of times marriage!); the end game on Tinder is the web version of a low-stakes bar conversation, which may or may not lead to a date or relationship.

Katie’s verdicts were often based on obvious, glaring “facts” of the profile: A 5-foot-7 male was “too short.” A 39-year-old guy was decidedly “too old” for Katie’s 33 years. Another is bald; she decides him “too” much so. But other swipes relied upon more a more vague, albeit immediate, calculus. To be “too douchey” is to have a bad goatee, a shiny shirt, an unfortunate facial expression, or a certain type of sunglasses. “Too ew” could be any blend of traits that, to white, straight, middle-class Katie, read as repugnant.

But some judgments are too secret — and shameful — to say out loud, or even admit to ourselves. Katie never said “too not-white,” “too poor,” or “too uneducated.” We cloak those judgments in language that generally circles the issue: “Nothing in common,” “he wouldn’t like me,” “I can’t see us together.” Those statements aren’t necessarily lies, but they’re also not always full truths either — and often rely on overarching assumptions about what differences in race, class, education, and religion dictate not only in a relationship, but any interaction, romantic or otherwise.

After watching Katie and tinkering around on the app myself in a game-like fashion, I wanted to see if, relying on anonymity, I could get at the heart of the subconscious snap judgments behind each wipe. Why do we swipe the way we swipe? And are those assumptions “just human,” or indicative of larger, enduring, and possibly destructive cultural divides?

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Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

Since there’s no way to standardize Tinder’s in-app selections for all respondents (and because using and publishing the real identities of strangers poses more than a few concerns), I decided to make my own, somewhat crude simulation. The first step: Scour stock images to find a broad array of profile “types.”

The process proved fraught, as stock images for casually dressed black males, women over a size 4, and anyone who didn’t fulfill stereotypical understandings of what male/female looks like require some unsettling search queries and yield clichéd and borderline racist results (try searching “curvy” or “fat,” for example, and you get a sea of women looking very sad while looking at food or standing on scales).

I winnowed the profiles down to around 30 men and 30 women, processed them through Instagram filters to make them seem more like something someone might actually have on their account, and put them in standard Tinder profile frames. I picked approximate ages and came up with a mix of names — some of which were intended to complicate or amplify the mix of signs in the profile.

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

  The result is an approximation, but not re-creation, of what Tinder is actually like. The goal was to correlate each participant’s race, class, education, religion, and sexual preference to their swiping habits. For each Tinder “profile,” regardless of whether they swiped yes or no, the user was prompted to answer “What race/religion/class and education level is this person?” And, if they swiped no, they were asked to write a brief explanation for “why,” with a specific instruction not to simply note, “not attracted.”

The survey circulated via Twitter, Facebook, email, and among friends, amassing 799 seemingly earnest respondents. It’s not divided by the gender of the respondent, but by sexual preferences: If you desire men, you took the male simulation; if you desire women, you took the female one. If a participant identified as bisexual, he or she could take either.

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Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

The most swipeable woman — no matter if the user identified as straight, gay, queer, or bi — was Yasmin, with an 89% swipe-yes rate, a full 10% higher than her closest “competitor.”

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

But why? She signified as middle-class (85% believed so); she seemed as if she had finished a four-year college degree or higher (83%). She looks Christian (42%), spiritual (20%), or agnostic/atheist (17%), and reads as either “mixed race” (48%) or black (40%).

Look closer at this image: Yasmin’s teeth are white and straight and her skin is clear. Her shirt is nondescript, but doesn’t read, at least from what we can see of it, as “cheap.” The contrast between the shirt color and house in the background makes her look crisp and clean. Her overarching look is bourgeois, like a model in an issue of Real Simple.

Her eyes are “smizing,” which makes it seem like she’s actually happy, not just posing for the camera, all of which combines to create a feeling of “genuineness.” Her hair seems only the slightest bit unruly — hey, she’s not uptight! — but is also well-conditioned and cared for. She probably has means; she is content; she is educated; you will have something to talk to her about, and she will be pleasant.

But perhaps the most attractive thing about Yasmin, at least according to the simulation, is that her race is ambiguous. In his new book Dataclysm: Who We Are (When We Think No One’s Looking), OkCupid co-founder and data scientist Christian Rudder asserts that “when you’re looking at how two American strangers behave in a romantic context, race is the ultimate confounding factor.” Working with star ratings and messaging data, Rudder found “two essential patterns” of male to female attraction: First, men tend to like women of the same race; second, men “don’t like” black women.

So why, then, do Rudder’s OkCupid findings not apply to Yasmin? It would appear she’s not black enough. Just contrast Yasmin’s profile with that of Lindsay, whom users read as unquestionably black (97%) and who received only a 43% swipe-yes rate.

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Most respondents explained their rejection of Lindsay based on height and race, or, in one straight white male’s words, because of “unconscious racism?” He continues: “Not that I don’t find black women attractive — and not just the Beyoncés of the world, either — but this woman’s aesthetic, which has definite racial and class markers, doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

Here, “aesthetic” seems to mean manipulated hair, more visible makeup, cluttered clothing, and a less-inviting facial expression. And those “definite racial and class markers” make users more likely to see her race. For Yasmin it’s just the opposite: The absence of those racial and class markers make her race recede in importance (only two respondents, both straight white males, cited race as their reason for swiping no).

The same holds true for Xavier, who had the most swipeable male profile.

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Xavier received a 79% overall yes rate — 10% higher than the closest “competitor.” Ninety-five percent of users read him as black — a similar percentage to Lindsay — but users also perceived him as well-educated (95% percent thought he’d finished a four-year college or higher) and middle- or upper-class (74%/24%). The business attire makes him look professional, but not overly boastful; he looks directly at the camera and his arms are folded, which makes him seem direct. You could read his lack of smile as menacing, but the shirt and tie soften the effect.

The 21% who swiped “no” were bluntly concerned with race: “Not into black guys” (gay/white), “I think I might be racist” (straight/white), “interracial dating is not for me” (straight/white). Some pointed to race-specific traits without explicitly mentioning race: “his lips are way bigger than mine. I have thin lips and the thought of always kissing gimungous [sic] lips is scary to me,” wrote one bi/white user.

Then there’s the cultural extrapolation: “Man, he’s pretty. And he seems really engaged and confident. But I can’t see him at the next big half Polish, half French, all judgmental family picnic” (white/straight).

But why was Xavier rejected for his race more than Yasmin? Both read as middle-class and educated; both appear clean-cut in their pictures. But Xavier reads as “more” black and he isn’t smiling; black men read, stereotypically, as more threatening than black women. Now, that’s all racist and speculative, but it also seems to mimic how our racist and speculative subconsciousness functions in the split second it takes to swipe a Tinder profile.

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BuzzFeed

Here’s the religious breakdown of the simulation participants compared to national statistics from the 2012 Census:

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Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

The discrepancy is fairly easy to explain — the mostly twenty- and thirtysomethings who took the simulation are less religious than their parents and grandparents. Participants were willing, however, to assign religious beliefs to the profiles they rejected.

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

  Take, for example, Junior, who garnered a paltry 7% swipe-yes rate. The stated reasons for rejecting Junior were variations on “he seems old school, like he’d be really patronizing to women” (bi/white) and “He’s overweight/doesn’t seem athletic” (straight/Asian). Eighty-one percent of users also read him as Christian — which could be correlated to the 70% who believed he was Hispanic, an ethnicity often associated with Catholicism. (Importantly, no respondent cited religion or ethnicity as their reason for swiping “no” on Junior.)

Same with Jimmy, who also pulled a 7% swipe-yes rate. Users didn’t like his truck and read him as “Southern” and working-class (84%). Seventy-five percent of users believed he was Christian, despite no physical indications of religiosity. A similar yoking happened with Chase, a man with a nice smile and a cowboy hat, whom 86% of users read as Christian.

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

By contrast, here’s Conor — who received a 56% swipe-yes rate. He’s holding a mandolin, he has a beard and long hair, and the reasons for rejection usually had something to do with said beard and the lifestyle it connoted. But only 10% of users thought he was Christian — while 60% thought he was atheist/agnostic, and 20% believed he was spiritual. Even though, like Jimmy and Chase, he’s photographed outdoors, certain hipster signifiers (not looking at the camera, long hair, mandolin) negate that reading.

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

When a profile includes obvious signifiers of religious belief, however, the reading process becomes more complicated. Thirty percent swiped “yes” on Kate, and despite signifiers that many interpreted as hipster, many signaled the cross around her neck as indicative of Christianity. A white, bisexual respondent wrote, “I don’t date people serious about their religion”; a gay Hispanic woman called the cross “a huge turn off”; and one who identified as mixed race and straight thought she seemed “a bit arts-y and sanctimonious (spiritual).”

That said, perceived religiousness is not an automatic “no.” Take Johanna, who had an overall yes rate of 64%:

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Eighty-seven percent of users read her as Muslim. The reasons for swiping “no” were almost entirely contingent on her perceived religion and its cultural extrapolations: A white male said, “I wouldn’t want to deal with cultural differences in the bedroom”; a gay Hispanic user said, “I have no patience for religious people. She’s hot, but sadly religion is the biggest turn off for me.”

Overall, however, Johanna had an excellent Tinder swipe-yes rate (58% of straight men, 75% of bi men or women, and 78% of gay women).

Johanna signifies as religious, but unlike Jimmy, Junior, or Conor, she also signifies as middle- or upper-class (71%/26%) and college- or graduate school-educated (64%/26%). Like Chase and Jimmy, she’s photographed outside, but she wears a women’s suit jacket. Even those who swiped “no” on her profile for religious reasons conceded that “she is very cute” and “she’s hot.”

Religion — even religion that would likely preclude a successful relationship — seems to matter less when the subject seems to belong to a higher class and educational level (especially if that subject is gorgeous).

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Via Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

Let’s examine Dave, one of the lowest-scoring male profiles. It’s an ambiguous profile — there are four men, and no sign as to which one is “Dave” — but that’s also the case with many Tinder profiles. But the rage directed at Dave wasn’t primarily due to the inclusion of his friends in the shot. Rather, it was his apparent privilege — communicated via the golf course, the uniform whiteness of himself and his friends, and the apparent gall to use a golfing photo as one’s profile picture — that led respondents to say the following.

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Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

It was bad. Like, really bad:

“NO NEVER IN A MILLION GODDAMN YEARS. This privileged fuck, first of all, which one is he? Does it even matter? No, because all polo shirts are interchangeable.” –bi/white

For the record, not interested in any of those white frat boys in that picture.” –straight/Asian

“I can’t tell which of these four dudes he is, but I don’t want to date The Man.” –bi/white

“they all look like finance bros which might be the worst subcategory of bro.” –straight/white

“Not sure which one of these guys is Dave, but that doesn’t matter, because they all seem like Republican d-bags. Also: Pleated khakis? No.” –gay/white

“SO WHITE” –queer/Asian

“golf. overabundance of white dudes. who is Dave? Dave is legion. a legion of golf-playing white dude demons.” –pansexual/white

Dave scanned as well-educated (71% believed he’d finished college; 20% thought he’d finished grad school) and definitively upper-class (73% believed as much, the highest of any profile). But unlike other white men of higher class and education level, users also overwhelmingly read him as Christian: a whopping 79%. (Compare with Kieran, another white, well-educated male, whom 64% of users read as agnostic/atheist.) Respondents read Dave’s hobby and whiteness as indicative not only of wealthy, but Conservatism — which is often associated, explicitly and implicitly, with Christianity.

Dave demonstrates how Tinder’s lack of information forces assumptions from its swipers, which is is a perfect example of what makes Tinder so unique and perfect for this experiment. On OkCupid or Match, there would be clear markers of one’s political views. But on Tinder, you have only the presence of a pair of pleated khaki pants to tell you if the person is, say, conservative, “a douche,” and thus unattractive.

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BuzzFeed

No one wants to believe their attractions are racist, or classist, or otherwise discriminatory. We use elaborate phrasing to cover it up or explain it away, but it’s still there, even if not always to the profile’s detriment. The fact that the two profiles with the highest swipe-yes rate were both people of color seems to suggest something about shifting understandings about attractiveness, which makes sense given our respondents (overwhelmingly middle-class, largely white, and mostly urban and suburban denizens of the internet).

But “what we find attractive” appears to be far less about someone’s face and far more about the signs that surround that face. Think, for example, if a woman like Marit, pictured below, had the cheap highlights and unfixed teeth and name of Crystal?

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

Thinkstock / BuzzFeed

  Though still anecdotal, Tinder rejection in this simulation appears to be more about class than race or religion. If a user self-identified as upper-middle-class and identified the male profile before him or her as “working-class,” that user swiped “yes” only 13% of the time; if they identified themselves as lower-middle-class, the swipe rate rose only slightly to 17%.

If those same users identified the profile before them as middle-class, that number rose to 36% and 39%, respectively. The same trend held true when judging female profiles: If the user identified as upper-middle-class and identified a profile as working-class, the yes rate was 26% — compared with 52% if they identified a profile as middle-class.

Whatever the signs that made someone think that a profile was working-class — McKenzie’s fishing pole, Renee’s dye job and pool pose, Ricky’s tattoos and piercings, John’s tank top, Toby’s camo, Jimmy’s truck — the swipe rates plummeted.

Which isn’t to suggest that poor people are ugly. The vast majority of explanations for the no swipes on all of the above profiles pointed to a perceived lack of common interests: “we’d have nothing to talk about,” “I don’t think our politics would mix,” “nothing in common.” Sometimes those assumptions stem from depicted activities — fishing, body modifications — but some are just the way the mind runs wild with class, weaving the narrative that a working-class person probably doesn’t read books for pleasure, or enjoy art cinema, or seek out microbrews, or go on hikes the way a bourgeois, middle-class person does.

Now, the results of a small sample-size Tinder simulation doesn’t mean that we’re all destined to marry within only our own classes. Data on the tendency to marry within one’s class is difficult to come by, but if relying on education level as an (imperfect) proxy for class, then the rate has decreased dramatically over the 50 years. Even as more and more people marry “across” lines of race and religion, fewer and fewer are willing to cross the education/class line.

Tinder is by no means the cause of this decline. It simply encourages and quietly normalizes the assumptions that undergird it. The Tinderspeak of “we’d have nothing in common,” taken to its natural extension, bolsters and reifies the idea of “two Americas” with distinct values and worldviews, two discrete factions with little impetus to support that which doesn’t necessarily personally affect us or our class.

It’s not as if race and religion aren’t still mitigating factors in our decisions about whom we find attractive, with whom we emphasize, or for whom we feel compassion. Race and religion do matter (and might always), but almost only when they intersect with a class identity that isn’t our own.

Ultimately, this admittedly un-randomized sample seems to suggest that the raw idea of attraction — that knee-jerk “thinking from the genitals” decision — has less to do with our unmentionable parts and much more to do with a combination of our deepest subconscious biases and with our most overt and uncharitable personal politics. And if that’s the case, it’s no doubt the reason why Tinder is so popular, addictive, and ultimately insidious.

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/annehelenpetersen/we-are-all-classists

[thebloggirl4religion-blog]

My Introduction

The concept of religion is one that has been questioned by many people of all types over the course of history, since the dawn of man itself even. It has been an ever-evolving concept, and everyone seems to have their unique opinions on it, even if people claim to follow the same ideas inside an organized religion. That is why I find it to not be a shock at all that I started to question the religion I was indoctrinated into: Christianity.

            Since my birth I have been raised with the idea of the Christian God being all-loving, a magnificent being of the universe that cared about every single human on Earth. With this idea, I was also shown the ideas of Heaven and Hell, and grew up with an underlying fear of displeasing my loving and generous creator with the consequence of burning in a place void of love and filled with torture. The last important element that I had been introduced to was the Bible, the book, or collection of many books, that, supposedly, outlines the beliefs of all Christians.

            I am only in high school. There is so much in the world I do not understand, and yet daily I am forced to confront myself with the question of God. Is there a God, and if there is, is he the Christian God, the Jewish God, the Islamic God? How can one know? How was I, a girl not even out of high school, supposed to know?

            I cannot tell you when I even started to question the ideas behind my faith that I have believed in for so long. It had nothing to do with the stereotypes of how people lose their faith- a horrible accident, and injustice, a formed hatred of God. On the contrary, I was surrounded by people who firmly believed in God, who encouraged my belief in God, and who believed in God themselves. Now that I reflect on that fact, maybe that is what lead me to question.

            The people in my church are filled with stories of how they came to God and Christianity, how they found God through a spiritual journey. Even my parents, or at least my dad, went through his own spiritual journey before becoming a Christian. I lacked that. I hadn’t been born without faith, I was born into it. I had never been without God, I had never known a place where God wasn’t there. I had always believed Christianity as the truth. Maybe this is why I started asking what it was like without God. Maybe this is what lead me to turn away from faith.

            I had one friend in my church in particular who also influenced my beginning to search, probably without his knowledge. He was also born into the church, his parents were very religious, strictly so, and this boy, he hated it. He shared with me about how hypocritical his parents were, how they seemed so nice when inside the church, but were different when not surrounded by people of faith. I never knew if he shared the truth with me, but it prompted me to start looking for the hypocrisy inside my own self and others in the church. My friends who claimed to be religious, they only seemed to act the part, not truly believe. None of them seemed to be passionate in Christ, not even many of the leaders at times. I noticed I only played the part as well. I could answer all the questions, I could give fantastic answers to group discussion questions and be praised by the church leaders, I could lead groups of children in worship and teach them about the word of God, but slowly I started not to believe. It became as if I was just analyzing the story of Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, two characters I had grown out of believing in. God and Jesus alike were becoming less real to me each Sunday. Church and everyone in it had become superficial to me, and it seemed like I was expecting someone at some point to tell me that this was just another story, such as the mystical holiday characters mentioned before.

            Another thing I will admit that happened is I started researching the other side, or maybe not researching more as discovering it. It started on YouTube. I have an idea of how I discovered Atheist YouTube speakers such as JaclynGlenn and T J Kirk, and my answer is that it was by pure accident. I believe I was watching another YouTuber at the time, who goes by Onision, who had a conflict with JaclynGlenn, and because of this YouTuber’s videos I discovered Jaclyn’s channel. At this time in my life, I was already, as I mentioned before, questioning things, but now I also realize I never acknowledged the question inside myself. I let the church tell me that it was normal to question, without asking the questions and challenging things. I told myself it would pass, that the questions would go away.

            JaclynGlenn is a YouTuber who used to be a Christian, who grew up in a Christian household just like me, but became an Atheist when she was in college and now speaks on YouTube about religion, politics, and other topics. I listened to her, because I realized she was like me. What really got to me first, however, were her videos about all the harm religion, and in particular Christianity, has caused in America. I had never heard of any negative effects of Christianity before, and hearing about them from her made me wonder why that was.

            Here I will once again admit something. At the time, I was questioning my sexuality. I had become friends with a group of girls, most of whom were bisexual or lesbian, and I myself was starting to ponder who I was attracted to. Because of this, Jaclyn’s videos of Christianity and LGBT+ issues called to me, because I felt I was informing myself on what I was- a bisexual Christian. I started asking my Christian friends of their opinions on LGBT+ people, and I will admit I did not like the reactions. Nothing was particularly bad, but nothing was particularly good either. I distinctly remember one of my friends answering the group discussion question we happened to have in church one week of “What would you do if a homosexual person came to our church?” with, “I would let Jordan,” my name, “deal with it.” This startled me, made me proud of myself, but also made me worried about my friends- as this was before I had “come out” to them. When had I become the designated homosexual bridge of my friend group, of my church even? Why had I suddenly seen myself as the person who was tolerant, accepting, who didn’t think homosexuality was wrong, a sin?

            Another thing Jaclyn’s videos did was give me very blunt and harsh criticism of people who are Christians. She talked about how Christians “cherry-pick” what they do and do not like in the Bible. She mocked Christian arguments for God and the concept of objective morality, the concept of a set good and evil, and she talked about her journey in over-coming the fear and habits that religion had instilled in her. She talked about her college experience and how she developed critical thinking skills that caused her to really think about the religion she had believed in for so long.

            The cherry-picking was the first thing I realized that I, and everyone around me I knew, was doing. I had been taught about only the good parts of the Bible, the parts that say to love and be kind to all. I believe that the issue of homosexuality and how the only argument against it was the Bible and Christian/Religious beliefs was what opened my eyes to seeing that the Bible was not all love and acceptance. Abortion was another issue, as I myself am Pro-Choice and nearly all my Christian friends are Pro-Life, even the female ones. I also realized that very few of the Christians I knew had even read through the whole Bible. I, at this point, have not even read through the whole Bible, yet I am told it is the Holy Word of God and that I am to believe every word.

The other significant idea that I learned was that of critical thinking. My father is a scientist. He has talked to me before about how he takes many things in the Bible metaphorically and not literally, and for a small while I accepted that that was something I could do also. With Jaclyn’s videos, she opened my eyes and showed that the practice of taking certain parts of the Bible literally and other parts metaphorically was using secular morality, morality adopted because of a person’s envorment. My father was choosing what he wanted to believe from a book that is supposed to tell him all that he is supposed to believe. It started to make no sense to me. If the Bible is a Holy Book, the word of God, why did so many people feel the need to sort through it and only practice what they approved of?

This is where I am left now, I suppose: I am not a Christian, I am not an Atheist. My main goal as of now is to educate myself. I want to read the Bible and take it as it is, discover how I feel about what it says. I don’t want to listen to someone else’s interpretation, I want to have my own personal journey. I want to research religion, figure out what I agree with and what I feel needs to change. I want to make my own decision.

You will notice I have refrained from criticizing the Bible and the texts and verses themselves. This is because, as I said, I have not read the Bible. I have no interpretation to give that wouldn’t be based on the opinion of others. I can give you the thoughts of my Pastor, my parents, JacylnGlenn, but not myself. I want to change this. Maybe I will return at a later date and write about my thoughts of the Bible once I have read it.  

I know this is a big journey for someone like me to embark on, but I am tired of the constant confusion, of possibly living in unnecessary fear, of everyone else telling me what to believe and think and feel. I also realize it is too late for me to turn back, for me to ignore the questions my brain has begun to ask. My goal is to take this slow, not let it consume my entire life, for now. The question of God is something that needs to be answered over time, and as I said, I am in high school. I do have other events in my life to deal with, which seems to make the question of God almost… pointless, at times.

I am also being very careful not to jump into anything. At first when I watched JaclynGlenn and other YouTubers I feel I was sucked into Atheist culture too quickly. I am trying to remove myself from both Atheist and Christian influence as I learn. I want to get my own sources, decide what I want to hear and read and watch. Some might call this cherry-picking, but I have promised myself here that I will try and research every side of the argument. I also don’t want to set any expectations for what I expect my outcome to be, which will be difficult. I want to be able to end this journey feeling satisfied, which could very well be impossible.

I don’t know when or where this road will end. I obviously have a lot to learn, read, write, but mostly, to think about. I cannot be sure about anything yet, and maybe I never will be. I said earlier I wanted to end this journey feeling satisfied, and maybe the best way to do that will be to ensure that I explore all my options and come to, what I believe to be, a logical decision. If you want to put a label on it, I believe the term is Agnostic - a person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena; a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God- as defined on Google, the true God in modern life. This is a joke, but I’m sure there is someone out there who worships Google.

To end, I would like to form a list of questions I hope to come back with answers to. Maybe someday, this will have a proper end to it, but for now, I am going to leave these out there as the questions I want to answer for myself.

Is Christianity the religion I want to follow?

Is there a God?

If there is a God, what type of God are they?

If there is not a God, what is the meaning of life on Earth?

Is Christianity dangerous?

Is religion dangerous?

What do I believe needs to change in myself?

[typologycentral]

[Type 2] Stackemup Enneagram Description for Enneatype II

Type 2 Twos are sociable, energetic and friendly people who strive to be loved and approved of. They want to be needed and seen as indispensable in the lives of others. They have given up on their desire for mirroring because it wasn't given to them in childhood. So they seek love by giving others the mirroring that they were deprived of. Twos aren't wired to compromise/negotiate/bargain with the world in order to do so, though, but attempt to seductively maneuver others into a spot of dependence, maintaining themselves in the willful position. Twos are other-directed. They are unable to approve of themselves internally therefore approval and validation has to be bestowed upon them by others. As a result, Twos turn their attention outwards and have difficulty forming an identity that is separate from other people. This “other-directed tendency” makes Twos vulnerable to the dispositions of other people but also gives them sensitivity for the thoughts and feelings of those they seek the approval of. It also gives them a vigilance for possible rejection. Ultimately, they want to win people over and are on the look-out for signs of indifference. Indifference is something that Twos hate as they interpret emotional neutrality as rejection. Twos often have a religious orientation. Religion stimulates the Twos idealized self-image of somebody saint-like, loved and adored by the world for their deeds. Religion also offers an avenue by which Twos can be more helpful in the lives of others. It gives Twos a way to convey that they are good intentioned people as well as encourages others to support the view that Twos are indeed self-sacrificing. Twos repress their own needs in order to maintain a positive image of themselves as unselfish, helpful, nurturing, and good. Twos often like to talk about their good intentions in conversation. Other people are needy and dependent in the Two’s view, not them. Twos are people-pleasers. They adapt themselves to others in the anticipation that they will be rejected if they do not and approach interpersonal relations through “maneuvers.” They become artful in the “seductive ploy.” Such ploys are designed to elicit love, attention and approval. Twos also engage in an unconscious form of competition with individuals of the same sex. Twos are assertive. They are not meek and don’t sit around passively waiting for people to show up with approval in hand. In fact, they have a strong will when it comes to getting what they want. Often, they look for situations and people they can cheer on. They sometimes display a great deal of brashness in the service of courting approval. They are action-oriented, while still primarily emotional, and take the initiative to fill voids where they can be indispensable. Twos are often brash in conversation as well with love running through their thoughts as a constant theme. They tend to pry for secrets and look for opportunities where they can give advice to others, even where the Two has no more than general advice to give. All that really matters is that the Two be appreciated for giving the advice. Twos will often “relationship-hop”. The Two may successfully win somebody over only to reveal a lack of internal prompting about what to do once the relationship moves into a more serious phase. Because they are so outer-directed, their inner world tends to lack substance and complexity, often rendering them uncertain or confused when things get serious. This can often cause them to connect with others in only a facile and fickle way. Like all image types, there is a disparity between their inner world and the outer impression they give. And Twos express this disparity more than the other image types. In the inner world, they remain naïve and immature. But their external presentation has a pretense of being deeper and complex. Twos deal with this disparity through repression. They don't let their own emptiness enter their mind. And once the person they are in a relationship with starts to catch onto their lack of depth, Twos look for new relationships to hop into in order to keep the truth about their emptiness hidden from others and, more importantly, from themselves. Twos are superficial. They overdo their affect to an extent that their displays of affection can come across as smooth and glib. They start to snowball people about their feelings and use expression to amplify their connections to people. The positive is a feeling they exaggerate and the negative is a feeling they underplay. Twos may also utilize words and phrases that happen to be in fashion or to convey an impression of substance. Their orientation towards sensory detail and knowledge tends to be impressionistic and highly subjective. Very often these impressions are infused with the Two’s own repressed hostility and neediness, often disguising a lack of any real thought or curiosity. The passion of type Two is pride. Twos use pride to cover the hole in their self-worth. The pride is essentially an over-exaggerated sense of self-worth based on what the Two provides to others. Perhaps we can turn to a post from a real life type Two to illuminate the inner experience of pride: The verbal representation of the feeling goes like this: "I'm so great, they couldn't manage without me." There's a bloated/inflated feeling to it... imagine a water balloon and you're on the right track. You can see why it's so important not to recognize the meaning of the feeling. The inner illusion of humility is the crucial "ticket" that gives the 2 permission to keep feeling prideful. Twos are manipulative. One way that Twos try to bloat up their sense of worth is by “collecting” needy people that they can rescue. In some cases the Two may try to manipulate adults who aren’t needy into occupying the role of children who are. It’s not uncommon for Twos to pick up hitchhikers or build relationships with the homeless. It’s not that other types never do such things, but with prideful Twos, their entire sense of worth and importance depends on doing it. Twos often seek to mold a network around them. The Two will positions themselves at the center of the network, serving all the needs of others in return for an endless stream of adulation and love. Twos may be quite skilled at eliciting the admiration of others while not giving much of their own in return. Twos begin to think of themselves as the most important thing in the lives of the people they have “sacrificed” so much of themselves for and they feel threatened by signs of independence or ego from others. When Twos sense that people are making shows of independence, they will call attention to it. Twos are enabling. They develop an “enabling tendency” and expect others to reciprocate by doing what the Two wants. The main thing is that Twos are out to enable others if it will strengthen that person’s dependency on the Two. This only prompts further rejection and leads Twos into openly demanding that people love them back. They start to encroach on people’s boundaries and try to coerce them into doing things that will reflect back the Two’s own sense of importance. Twos get bossy. However, when the Two does receive love and approval, they tend to get little satisfaction out of it since they wonder whether people would have done the same without the Twos’ prompting. Twos still believe that their intentions are good. If Twos were to view their intentions as bad, then they would not feel their actions are justifiable. Unhealthy Twos are masochistic. They manipulate people into keeping all their attention on them, even if the Two brings harm upon themselves in exchange for the attention. Twos grow more co-dependent and increasingly possessive of intimates. They condition themselves to withstand as much abuse as others can throw at them. By withstanding abuse they see themselves as doing others a "noblesse oblige" service, on a deeper level assuming that abuse indicates how important they are to their abusers, which becomes another source of pride. To the extent that a two takes pride in their ability to let others abuse them, the two will go out of their way to court such abuse. Healthy Twos are emotionally honest. They let go of their positive self-image and realize that their own actions have been selfish. This leads Twos into a more genuine ability to help people unconditionally. They come to view that they aren’t going to just ride in and save the day. They also recognize that not everybody needs their help and that people are not as needy as the Two assumes. They gain a sense of boundaries. Healthiness for Twos also gives them an ability to appraise themselves independently and to recognize their own worth. Approval is not something that has to be gained but exists naturally and independently of outer approval is what Twos realize. 2w1s are altruistic. They strongly embody the servant aspect of type Two and feel a strong sense to volunteer themselves for the welfare of others. They often disdain ‘ownership’ and ‘greed’ and are drawn to work in the healing, helping, or sometimes legal professions. 2w1s are serious. They are more restrained in their emotional expression, sometimes spock-like, but not as a rule, and tend to get things done. They have more common sense and practical survival skills than 2w3s. They are also driven by more guilt and self-criticism than 2w3s and don’t go after what they want as manipulatively, or connect with people as easily, often preferring to work behind the scenes or in an independent capacity. They don’t get distracted by frivolous pursuits. 2w1s can often get argumentative and be outspoken. They are rigid in their views and more critical of other peoples’ actions. They can overreact when rules are unfair, take their marbles and go home. They give moral credence to their feelings, “it’s the right thing to do”, and will start to talk at people rather than to them. They can be punitive and are quicker to reject people for calling their good intentions into question. However, such separations are often just temporary. 3w2s are charming. They exude feel-good vibes, are hyperactive, and can seem nervous around issues that pertain to validation. They are more prone to temper tantrums.They know how to sell people on their desirability. They can turn moods and feelings on like a light switch, knowing what will garner them attention. A master at reading others' needs, they can project feeling-states on cue. 2w3s are fickle. They can be histrionic attention-seekers. They seek out stimulation on a constant basis and they try to impress and amuse people, seeking to sell and market themselves, and they engage people as if they were trying to fill a bottomless pit within themselves. They seem caring, have a softer touch and look for ways to please others as a way to court admiration. They constantly perform and enjoy the spotlight. They can be prone to exaggerated overconfidence and extreme forms of workaholism 2w3s are coquettes. Giving others gifts or simply their attention is their main form of generosity. They have more awareness for image and tend to strongly embody the seductive aspect of type Two. They like to flatter and stroke people’s egos more than the other wing does and 2w3s often do it indiscriminately and on occasions not suited for it, but can go hot and cold, very often compartmentalizing their connections. 2w3s are clingy. When less healthy, they don’t just let go of relationships or take rejection easily. If rejected, their focus can escalate to the point of stalking and harassing. They may spy on people or show up in unexpected places. They can become obsessed with individuals, sometimes consumed by a destructive jealousy. Distinctions: Threes are self-validating. Twos seek external validation from others. Fours dwell in their inner worlds. Twos usually avoid it. Fives are detached. Twos are emotionally expressive. Six vigilance scans for danger. Two vigilance scans for rejection. Seven hedonism is unrestrained. Two hedonism is well-mannered. Both eights and twos are energetic and assertive. However, the assertiveness of type two does not run on an aggressive mind. Eights are aggressive-minded. The two energy and assertiveness works more in the service of volunteering and sacrificing themselves to others. Twos are assertive in their other-seeking. Nines are fatalistic in their other-seeking. Ones are more focused on principle. Twos focus more on people. http://www.typologycentral.com/forums/enneagram-type-profiles/88500-stackemup-enneagram-description-enneatype-ii-new-post.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr