billy-the-brainless

[asjjohnson]

@danphanwritingprompts this post:

After being revealed and arrested by the Guys in White, they surprisingly didn’t torture or experiment on him. Instead, they completely removed his ghost half, “cured” him of being a halfa, and that, somehow, was a hundred times worse.

---

Alright, I have a thought. :)

Someone sees Danny using his ghost powers at the very beginning, when Danny had wanted to be 'cured'.

(Indented text is taken directly from the first episode)

Danny, Sam, and Tucker pause to talk on the staircase's landing between the first and second floor of Casper High. "It's been a month since the accident, and I still barely have any control. If somebody catches me, I go from geek to freak around here," Danny says, not realizing his legs are beginning to sink into the floor. "Kinda like what you're doing now?" Tucker asks. Danny looks down and yelps. His friends help him back up. "Oh, darn it." Danny continues up the steps. "If my dad can invent something that accidentally made me half ghost, why can't he invent something that turns me back to normal?!"

Danny glances up as he reaches the top of the stairs—and freezes.

A girl stands beside the banister, her mouth hanging open and her eyes staring straight at Danny.

She drops her books and runs.

"Uh-oh," Danny says.

"Hmm..." a new voice says. "This won't end well."

Clockwork can already tell, but he still waves his staff to fast-forward the images playing in the time portal.

Surrounded by a large crowd, the girl, still looking spooked, with men in white suits behind her, points at Danny.

Danny being dragged away as he struggles, one of his limbs flickering between visible and invisible. His parents being held back as they try to reach him.

Danny inside a bright white room with two agents. His tense and fearful posture and expression slowly turning to calm.

Danny being dropped off at his front door, a smile on his face as he waves at the leaving car. His parents jerking the door open and hugging their son and checking him for injuries.

Danny in his basement, gesturing at the ghost portal as he says something, his parents displaying a range of emotions, but concern and protectiveness and love and pain are most noticeable. Even without sound, it's obvious when they ask why he didn't come to them. The family sharing a tearful but happy group hug.

Danny walking down a school hallway, his friends trying to shield him from the crowd. 'FREAK' spray painted across his locker. The Lunch Lady phasing through a wall and everyone running.

Technus, Desiree, and Skulker battling above the streets of Amity Park, uncaring of the property damage caused. The Fenton parents blasted off their feet by a combined attack.

The Fenton family within a dented RV, each with frazzled hair and dark rings under their eyes, but the parents also wearing semi-hopeful smiles. They pass a sign that says, "Welcome to Wisconsin!"

Danny sitting in a chair with a pale, shocked expression, his sister sitting beside him. Vlad Masters standing nearby, a sympathetic frown on his face and an arm wrapped around a weeping Maddie.

People arriving for a reunion but being turned away. Some staying for a funeral.

Maddie, back at Fenton Works, sitting in the corner of the living room. Wearing something other than a jumpsuit.

A grinning school therapist watching as students try to avoid stray ghost attacks and debris in the hallways.

People across the human world being conquered through music via live broadcast, and also through electronic devices via the Internet.

A power struggle beginning to develop between Desiree, Technus, Ember, and Freakshow. The four splitting up, picking large sections of the Earth for themselves, with their borders continually shifting.

Vlad Masters repeatedly trying to speak to and win over a depressed Maddie, who's still wearing ordinary clothes.

Other ghosts beginning to move in on the big four and winning over parts of Earth for themselves. The Egyptian ghost Hotep Ra, after disposing of his human pawn. Nocturne. Undergrowth and his human extension. Vortex. The Earth dividing into eight shifting sections of control. Amity Park the exception, no single ghost able to lay claim to it.

Vlad finding the Ring of Rage.

The play of images on the time portal begin to slow, as though the timeline were nearing its end.

Vlad falling through the Fenton Works' portal, into a dusty lab.

Maddie still depressed, barely looking up as Vlad enters the living room.

Danny arriving home with no friends by his side. Eyes downcast, a banana peel in his hair.

Vlad giving Danny the Ring of Rage.

Amity Park being overrun and conquered.

The Eight bowing to Pariah Dark, the Ghost King.

Amity Park becoming the capital of Pariah Dark's kingdom, stuck between the Ghost Zone and Human Realm.

The ones who oppose Pariah Dark being seized by skeleton ghosts.

Pariah Dark with a pleased smile, sitting in a large throne-like chair among a cheering crowd, as a long line of ghosts and GIW agents await their executions. The line taking a step forward as the one at the start of the line is guided onto a stage that has a guillotine.

Heads at the base of the stage beginning to destabilize, green skin and large, single eyes halfway-melted into glowing puddles.

The ghost now being led onto the stage proudly holding his head high, glaring defiantly toward the stands. The ghost, gloved hands handcuffed behind his back, being pushed toward the guillotine. The purple hood of the ghost's cloak falling back as he's pushed downward and his head is positioned.

The guillotine blade beginning to fall, sliding downward, slowing down, barely moving as it approaches the ghost's neck, beginning to slice through ectoplasmic flesh. Slowly, very slowly, going deeper. Completing its descent.

The time portal freezes at that instant.

The timeline would, of course, continue forward, but his time portal stopped recording.

Clockwork saw plenty, however.

He enters the past.

And subtly clears the upstairs school hallway of students. Replacing them once Danny and his friends pass by.

The boy's secret needs to remain hidden, and his ghost powers kept.

[the-fae-folk]

What is a Fairy?

I suppose they probably need some explanation, especially nowadays. Fairies (Faeries, Fay, Fey, Fae, or even Fair Folk) could be considered a type of mythical being. Some have described them as spirits, others as ghosts of the deceased, some deified ancestors, prehistoric precursors to humans, personifications of nature, pagan deities, or even angels and demons in the way of Christian traditions. Often they encompass a metaphysical aspect, being depicted as spirits or beings who transcend the physical universe and world that we know. Or given features of the Supernatural, such as magic or extrasensory perception, which allow them to violate or go beyond the laws of nature. Even sometimes Preternatural, which something abnormal or strange and explainable but still within the boundaries of the natural laws of the universe (for example I could say someone is a preternaturally good cellist, and mean that they are impossibly good beyond expectations or even belief, but I’m not saying that they are actually magical...just that their apparent abilities and how they gained them are unknown and very strange to me.) But what is a fairy? Well you already know what some of them look like. Many people might immediately picture Tinkerbell from the animated Disney feature film, or even from the original Peter Pan novel by J. M. Barrie. And they would be correct, in part. Tinkerbell is a depiction of a Pixie, a specific type of fairy. But there are lots of fairy types, I don’t actually think there’s a complete list. (I should probably try to make one at some point, but no promises.) During some points in history the label of fairy was used to mean magical beings who had a mostly human shape. Gnomes, leprechauns, goblins, pixies, dwarfs, elfs, etc etc etc. And at other points it also included non humanoid magical creatures such as Unicorns, Dragons, Kelpie, Basilisk, and more (Sometimes these were referred to as Fairy Creatures). So where did they come from? Well the funny thing is that Fairies don’t actually come from only one area or set of myths. They are a strange combination of the folklore from all over Europe (and possibly beyond) and include ideas and stories from Celtic, Scandinavian, Nordic, Germanic, French, and English Folklore and Mythology. As these stories were passed around and intermingled and changed they brought about the collective creatures we know today as the Fae or Fairies. The Renaissance, Romantic Era, Victorian Era, Edwardian Era, and even the Celtic Revival Movement of the 19th and 20th centuries all had their influences on the stories and ideas connected with the Fairy folk, some significantly less helpful than others. Even the Fantasy Literature Genre, with Tolkien at its forefront, has added and changed much about people’s view on these creatures. So lets talk about some basic things you’ll want to know when dealing with Fairies. The first thing you might want to remember is that many people view the Tuatha Dé Danann (Supernatural gods, goddesses, heroes, and kings of Irish Mythology) as being the source for Faeries, or at least one of the strongest influences. Celtic Folklore and culture is easily one of the most visible bits of Faerie lore that you can find these days, but there’s a lot more that starts showing up when you begin to dig. Another thing to note is that the Renaissance, Romantic Era, Victorian Era, Edwardian Era, and the Celtic Revival Movement had a massive influence on how people saw fairies. They would mix folklore from different areas of Europe, attempted to prove the existence of fairies through scientific means, created artistic depictions of fairies, and much more. Often they sanitized and shrunk the fairies until they were mostly harmless or relegated to the outskirts of human life as a curiosity. Which brings me to the next point. In a lot of older folklore, from all over Europe, fairy beings are often depicted as being incredibly dangerous. Kidnapping humans or human babies, causing crops to wither, water to dry up, food to rot. They could lure people in with magic into a fairy ring of mushrooms and make them dance forever or make them forget their life. Sometimes they even played with time itself. A person could dance with the fairies only to find that they’ve been gone a hundred years when they try to go home. And many beliefs have depictions of some kind of Otherworld, a world apart from our own, or layered over it like an extra dimension we are unable to perceive or directly interact with. Sometimes its a land of the dead or a hidden underground kingdom, other times is a strange and fantastical country with its own laws and ways of doing things. As these stories meshed together we got what is known as Fairyland. The land which the fairies dwell in. Though some believe they simply live on Earth, hidden in the wild, or among us. Some reoccurring ideas are often connected with fairies, though not all have stayed the same as the original lore they were born from. The idea that Faeries, for whatever reason, are unable to or will not lie. This is a very important idea because the Folk are also simultaneously depicted as deceptive. Like particularly vicious lawyers they will play with words, never quite lying, but purposefully leading you astray or tricking you into a bad deal. They will often obey an oath, promise, or deal exactly to the letter, but ignore the intent behind it in order to twist it to their own benefit or amusement. Whether or not fairies are immortal depends entirely on where you draw your folklore from. Sometimes they are immortal; deathless, not mortal. Unable to die in spite of starvation, terrible wounds, age, or anything else. They are bound to life for all time. But some stories depict the stranger Fae Folk as being Eternal. Beyond time, always having existed and always existing, sometimes cycling, sometimes directionless and boundless and everything. Some tough concepts to get your head around, but nobody really agrees which one fairies are. In some folklore they’re even depicted as mortal, same as you and I, but a lot longer lived and harder to kill. A reoccurring motif in older Folklore is the need of humans to try and ward off fairies with charms and totems. When they were not depicted as outright malicious and dangerous, sometimes being thought to cause illness and death or bring about disastrous misfortune or steal a person’s name and voice, fairies were still mischievous and valiantly unhelpful. So people had all kinds of lucky charms to protect from them: like four leaf clovers, various plants, or actions like wearing your clothes inside out to confuse them. Iron is said in many beliefs to burn them, and certain herbs they view as sacred and will refrain from touching the bearer. A few more things. Christianity plays an important part in this discussion, though many people don’t like that. In many places myths and legends were wiped out by Christianity, either intentionally or simply by the very fact that it was trying to convert people in Europe and old pagan beliefs were seen as nonsensical. But still stories persisted despite this. Many old Myths and Folkloric beliefs were recorded for posterity by Christians, and some stories were altered and we are unable to see exactly how much (Beowulf). A lot of fairy stories remained too, only Christianity painted them as fallen angels or even demons of a kind, who could be kept away from Holy Ground, or were forced to kidnap humans to pay a tithe to Hell (or be taken themselves if they couldn’t pay). So folk beliefs, though generally discouraged by the church as superstition, remained quite strong all over Europe for a very long time. The last three things you need to know. One, there are many people who still believe in Fairies, though their beliefs often vary, sometimes wildly. Witches who claim to work with them. People who believe in them through their religions (usually pagans and other non christian groups). People who claim to have encountered or been abducted by them. And many others. While I personally do not believe in Fairies (though I like to keep an open mind, just in case), I do believe that the beliefs, cultures, and and rights of these people ought to be respected. Which leads me to other mythical beings that are similar to Fairies but hail from cultures and peoples outside of Europe. It might be tempting to label some of the spirits from various Native North American Tribes or from Chinese Folklore (or many others) as fairies. Don’t do that. If Fairies are real, you have to consider that there might be other mythical beings who fall under different categories and groups. And even if they are not real, it is extremely disrespectful to the people of those cultures to take their stories, myths, beliefs, and folklore and try to mesh it in with European Folklore. (this is exactly what the Victorian and Edwardian Era were guilty of.) And finally... Some people might tell you that they know everything there is to know about Fairies. Don’t believe them. Even I, who have spent years and years studying European Faerie Folklore, find new things about them every day. I have sources I’ve found and haven’t yet had the time to look into, areas of study I’ve had to neglect. There is so much about Fairies to explore that it’s quite literally impossible for any one person to know all of it. Personally I’m doubtful that a single person can even know an eighth of it all, you can hardly imagine how much there is. And while there is a great deal of it buried on the internet, there is even more offline. Books which are out of print or have never had their contents uploaded, cultural stories passed down in various European groups which are saved from oblivion only by the oratory tradition, and the remains of all kinds of long dead or vastly changed civilizations who believed in the Fairies and tried to work with or avoid or appease them. All the misinformation and personal gnoses out there also make it a lot harder to find accurate information about traditional folklore. And that’s not even counting the multitude of inventions and ideas spawned by fictional literature surrounding fairies. There is simply too much. But of course... Since when has something being impossible ever stopped a human from trying anyway? If you’re still interested, then who am I to discourage you? Go, jump right in. There’s so much to learn about the Faerie Folk.

[nicknellie]

Honestly when Tumblr crashed I just thought it was my Internet being wonky but that stinks that it got rid of everything you said, I completely agree it’s really fun to bounce ideas off of each other.

Agreed, although the show kind of says that Luke wrote the songs that Julie mentioned I feel like the band probably did help out with those songs but those exact ones may have been a bit personal to Luke hence the extreme reaction ‘My Name is LUKe’. However an idea that I have is that Alex write songs as well (also just because I want his version of unsaid Emily in my life) (and the show mentions that Reggie wrings county music) also it would make more sense for the band to bounce ideas off of each other (as we see Luke do with Julie) then just Luke writing every single part of those songs by himself.  also the show never really confirms when he wrote the songs so easily could be that he wrote them while he was still grieving because he was thinking that was the best way to honour them and then later down the road he realized that wasn’t the best. And the show doesn’t mention if he gave money to charities in their name or what he did just that he didn’t give them credit.

I agree I feel like part of it may have been that he didn’t want their deaths following him because reporters would definitely be like oh how are you recovering and etc. also as you said he was going through a lot of trauma from losing his family and although that may not have been a lot of people’s gut reaction it is understandable. I just think that’s how the boys saw it just because unexpectedly they hear that someone stole their songs and then all the sudden it’s not someone who’s not close to them but someone who it feels like they stabbed them in the back kind of.

Honestly the fact that he meditates is kind of what made me think of the idea just because he would be able to calm himself and think rationally which I don’t feel like Luke and Reggie could do if they thought someone who they cared about was hurt. Maybe back then it was Bobby and Alex who shared the single brain cell that was Sunset Curve (but only Bobby when Alex was upset any other time he was just as chaotic as Luke and Reggie)

Crossword: that is totally what Reggie would do and he would totally just blurred out the words before Alex even had a chance to think about them just because he loves Alex so much and he was so excited. (Also I feel like Reggie would be the sentimental one who would make a scrapbook and just give Alex a photo album to show that no matter what they will always be here for them)

Reggie owns so many flannels, yes!! (also double yes, because I definitely feel like those piece meant something to them especially if that’s what they had before they died, also it would just be so adorable if the band members just gave each other items to show support and unconditional love)

Awe, now I’m thinking about Bobby sobbing after they passed just because he loved them so much and that for the longest time he couldn’t get back into knitting or  jewelry making because it reminded him of the boys (similar to how Julie couldn’t play music after her mom passed)

Necklace: But he definitely would, he probably put so much research into it as well and chose colours that held meaning and stuff, also the necklace helped Reggie so much when his parents were arguing because just like with Alex’s bracelet they were made with love and it remindes him that he always has a place to go.

Yes, when Luke ran away they were all sobbing however that’s exactly what they did. You described it perfectly, also because I feel like it’s canon that Alex gives the best hugs so he was giving Luke huge hugs while Reggie was trying to distract Luke and Bobby was trying to figure out arrangements. (also I feel like Alex would help Bobby would as soon as he can, I feel like Reggie would try to get movie night as a way to distract Luke).

With the jigsaw I could definitely see Luke trying to pretend like he isn’t interested well just focusing on Bobby putting the jigsaw away. (The point with Reggie is perfect and reminds me of that meme with the guy who is looking at a butterfly and it’s just Reggie being like is this a reason to get distracted and then dropping the jigsaw)

Yeah I totally agree that the mentioned ones were more personal. I reckon all of their songs came from some sort of struggle and to have that kind of erased when they weren’t mentioned must have been another thing that really hurt them when they found out what had happened. So yeah, I think they would all bounce ideas off each other (when they would all talk again after one of their quiet jigsaw/knitting/crossword/Rubik’s Cube sessions) and Luke would sort of put the pieces together to make the song. When Julie says ‘none of his latest stuff is as good’ I think that maybe Bobby had been trying to emulate their old song-writing sessions, trying to recreate the way they had given each other ideas and stuck them all together, but it just wasn’t quite working with just him because he couldn’t make it alone. Which maybe is when he realised even further that it had been the wrong thing to do, not credit them for their music. He would definitely write out of grief and pain and then later realise that he hadn’t really done them justice or kept their memories alive in the way he had tried to because he had unwittingly done everything he could to erase them. I’ve thought in the past that Mitch Patterson would have set up some sort of charity or foundation in Luke’s name that set to bring help and music to kids in need and now that you’ve mentioned charities I have decided that Trevor/Bobby makes hefty donations to that whenever he can.

An Unsaid Emily-style Alex song would kill me. His would be more focused on how his parents view of him changed. I headcanon that Alex’s parents were very kind and loving and they doted on Alex. They loved him with all their hearts and none of them ever thought that would change, so he was confident when he came out to them. But obviously they weren’t cool with it and we get very little detail about what happened next. I think Alex would have written about his memories and how lonely it felt and how shattered he was that he hadn’t been accepted. There’d be undertones about him missing them and missing the old days and part of him wishing he’d never told them (although he is really glad that he did).

Yeah, you’re totally right about the fact that he didn’t want their deaths following him. For a teenager to be thrown into stardom is one thing, to be constantly bombarded about his trauma would have been another. It wasn’t that he wanted to escape the boys or forget them, he wanted his memories of them to remain untainted by flashing cameras and cruel interviews. And YES, that brings us back to the fact that they’ve grown at different rates and the last two and a half decades were nothing for the boys but likely hell on Earth for Bobby. The guy they used to know is suddenly someone seeming cold and distant and because they didn’t experience losing each other they can’t understand how it must have been for him to lose them. They never really give themselves a chance to see it from Bobby’s perspective - even when they begin to move on in episode 6 Luke says Bobby ‘has to live with that guilt’, he immediately discards it as a bad thing and none of them begin to rationalise his actions. They don’t make any effort to see the situation from Bobby’s point of view (although admittedly I can’t imagine that would be an easy thing to do).

Totally - Bobby and Alex shared the brain cell but Bobby was the only be who could really use it to it’s full potential. He was so ready to be there for all of them when they needed it. Luke and Reggie would want to fight the problem head on while Bobby knew it was best to take their time and figure it out like one of Alex’s beloved jigsaw puzzles.

Kind of off-topic but I think he’s very spiritual too (I kind of get it from the meditating in a way I can’t quite explain) and if he wasn’t so certain that he was finally losing it after all those years of guilt then he would have believed and been happy that the boys were back as ghosts when they haunted him. Like he thinks rationally until it comes to supernatural stuff and then he’s all over the idea of ghosts and monsters.

Omg ok the scrapbooking!!!!! I am so here for this!!!!! Reggie had tons of scrapbooks and photo albums - he writes silly little captions underneath the photos, gets Bobby to make things that can be stuck in as decorations, and will take a camera with him wherever he goes. I think cameras were very different in the nineties and I wasn’t born then so idk how it all works but didn’t you have to go somewhere to get them developed?? Well, Reggie loved doing that and he’d always get one of the boys to come with him so when he saw the photos for the first time he would have someone to look through them with. He made special scrapbooks for special occasions: Alex’s coming out, Christmases, birthdays, holidays they all went on together. He would collect things and add in little envelopes to the scrapbook if it wasn’t flat enough to be stuck in. He kept everything from tickets to candy wrappers because he wanted to remember everything they all did together.

I definitely think the boys’ signature clothing is important to them. Reggie loved his flannels and his favourite was from the boys; Alex loved his hoodie which the boys got him (and his fanny pack may have been a gift from them too so he wouldn’t have to carry whatever’s in there all the time); our theory that Bobby was the one who knitted Luke’s beanies. It makes me wonder if Bobby had anything from them he still wears. He probably would have grown out of clothes, but maybe his sunglasses were a gift? Or they made his necklaces? Or he has a jacket that used to be one of theirs and still fits him?

Oh my god no that hurts 😭 Bobby trying to make himself a necklace or bracelet out of colours that reminded him of them (pink for Alex, blue for Luke, red for Reggie) but his hands shaking so much that he can’t thread the beads and had to stop. Him trying over and over again but not being able to do it because he gets bombarded with memories about Luke knocking over all his beads that one time, or Reggie accidentally breaking the clasp on his necklace so Bobby had to replace it, or the tears in Alex’s eyes when he was given that rainbow bracelet. Oh my GOD.

Alex definitely gives the best hugs. I would kill for an Alex hug. For a while, Luke just needed to be held so Alex did that, Reggie started talking about something completely unrelated, and Bobby started making phone calls and looking things up to find out what the best way forward was. Alex of course helped, like you said, as soon as Luke was fine to be left with just Reggie. I feel like it was kind of similar within the band - Bobby was the one who booked gigs and made deals, he did all the managerial stuff while the others focused more on the performances and the music. He missed rehearsals because of meetings with record execs or whatever sometimes but he could pick things up very quickly so it didn’t really matter.

And because I couldn’t not do this:

(Also is it cool with you if I make a mini masterlist of all these things we’ve said? I’m definitely going to want to find these again but at some point they’ll be buried deep within my blog so I want easy access lol)

[aneekapaneeka]

SOULMATE AU ‘SUBCATEGORIES’ LIST

So I and @queen-of-elves​ had an idea to write down a big list of AU’s. I chose to write down the subcategories for the very popular soulmate au. I hope that you’ll like our lists, we’ve spent quite some time on them. 

I don’t really have a system, I just wrote down the ones I had on my mind or found them on the internet, in the alphabetical order, with a short description of what they’re about. And, the moodboard was made by me! It’s my first one.

After Death Memories You get your soulmate’s favourite memories after they pass away as a parting gift.

Age Once you turn 18/21, you stop ageing until you meet your destined half. 

a/n: I like that the point of it is that you get to spend your entire adulthood with your soulmate and the cool fact, that you can be basically immortal if you don’t find them. It’s a neat concept, sadly, none of the fics I’ve read with this theme (there were like two) didn’t get me like some other themes.

Age + Personality The age difference between the soulmates determines their maturity level. If you’re older than your soulmate, you get a piece of their childishness and they get a piece of your maturity. ** a/n: It definitely was a bummer to try to write it down so it’s easier to understand. I like the complexity. It’s something different and definitely interesting. 

Black and White You see only in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You gain colours at once when you meet your soulmate. ** a/n: It’s nothing new - this prompt is often used but I like it. I like to imagine the wonder soulmates must feel once they get to finally see in colour. If you want a more complex one, check out Colour Gaining.

Body Switch

From time to time, you switch your body with your soulmate but every time you try to get a glimpse of their face, it all gets blurry. ** a/n: It’s a Boy Girl Thing Anyone???

Book Character

It says, that the reason why we feel so attached to some book characters is that they were supposed to be our soulmates but they are in a different parallel universe.

Bruises You have bruises in the same place as your soulmate but they don’t hurt. They are just visible on your skin.

Colour Gaining After meeting your soulmate, you slowly start gaining colours with each emotion you explore with your soulmate. 

Colour + Handprints on Places Your SM Touches  You have colour on the place your soulmate touches you for the first time. ** a/n: Imagine having a footprint on your butt.

Compass You have a compass on your skin (or you can get one once you get born) which shows which way and how far from you is your soulmate.

Conscience Your conscience is your soulmate and you can hear their voice constantly in their head.

Dreams

You can see your soulmate in your dreams and communicate with them but you can’t see their face or ask them for their name.

Emotion Sharing You share emotions with your soulmate. When they’re sad, you can feel their sadness and so on.

Enemy & Soulmate You have names on both of your wrists. One is the name of your enemy, the second one is the name of your soulmate. 

First Impression You have your soulmate’s first impression of you written on your wrist.

First Words The first words your soulmate tells you are written somewhere on your body,

Flowers Everyone has a flower bud in the centre of their palm - it blooms once you meet your soulmate

Footprints You can see your soulmate’s footprints as a clue to where they are.

Hair colour changing Your hair colour changes when your soulmate dyes it.

Hair colour stripe You have a stripe on your wrist it is the same colour as your soulmate’s hair. It changes if they dye their hair.

Half of a Quote  You have half of a quote written on your wrist. Your soulmate has the second part.

Hanahaki Hanahaki disease is a sickness caused by one-sided love. The one in love coughs up flower petals. It stops once the one who is sick gets over them or if the other one falls in love with them. 

Heartbeat Your heart skips a beat when you make eye contact with your soulmate.

Heterochromia You have heterochromia. One eye colour is your soulmate’s, the other one is yours. Your eye colour turns to normal once you meet your soulmate.

Hints Every year on your birthday, you get one hint of who your soulmate is.

Injuries + Flowers If your soulmate hurts themselves, flowers will bloom on your body in the same place they got hurt.

Invisible Your soulmate is invisible to you. You can see them once you reach 18.

Last Words You have your soulmate’s last words to you written on your skin.

Masks Ever since you’re born, you’re wearing a mask. Your soulmate has an identical one and you can take it down once you meet them.

Matching Jewellery Everyone gets a matching piece of jewellery when they’re born. Your soulmate has the same one as you.

Matching Tattoos You have a matching tattoo somewhere on your body. Your soulmate has the same one in the same place.

Names on the wrist Your soulmate’s name is written on your wrist.

Other Half Greek mythology says, that humans were once born in pairs of two, similar to conjoined twins. Everyone had 4 eyes, 4 legs, 4 hands and 2 noses. They were separated by the gods in fear of their power and must wander the earth until they find their other half. ** a/n: I’m a sucker for this one!

Pain You can feel the pain of your soulmate but you don't have bruises or any other evidence of being hurt.

Red String of Fate The gods tied an invisible red thread around the finger of those that are destined to meet each other in a certain situation as they are their soulmate.

Same Handwriting You share the same handwriting with your soulmate. ** a/n: My handwriting changes all the time lmao

Searching or Death If you don’t find your soulmate by your #th birthday, you die.

Shades You see the world in the shades of your soulmate’s feelings - red could stand for anger, blue for sadness..

Singing You can hear the songs your soulmate sings You start to sing every time your soulmate does.

Sleeping and Waking Up You sleep and wake up at the same time as your soulmate. ** a/n: imagine having a soulmate in a different time zone (for example, you’re from Poland and they’re from Venezuela - that means that there is a 6 hour time difference)

Sparks Sparks erupt from you once your soulmate touches you.

Super Powers -Soulmates share the same superpowers -You have a superpower but once you meet your soulmate, it fades away. -You have a weak superpower but it amps up once you meet your soulmate.

Thoughts You can hear your soulmate’s thoughts only when they’re related to you.

Timelines Everyone has a soulmate but they aren’t always in the same timeline as each other. That means, that someone living in 1889 could have a soulmate in 2005. Your soulmate can either be a ghost or be reincarnated or they would meet up in the afterlife.

Timer - Death You have a timer on your wrist which shows when is your soulmate going to die.

Timer - Meeting The timer on your wrist shows you when you’re going to meet your soulmate.

Timezone A watch on your wrist shows you in which timezone lives your soulmate.

Under a Curse You’re under a curse until you find your soulmate.

Writing on Skin If you write on your skin, your soulmate can see it too and respond to you.

[flydotnet]

Tears of Venus

VRAINS Rarepair Weeks 2018-2019 - Day 10: Soulmate AU/Hanahaki

Summary: The first time she heard about the disease of unrequited love was when she was browsing the Internet for some stories to read while waiting for a pirated movie to download on her laptop. It seemed to just be a legend, a trope used by fanfiction writers and mangakas to have some tension, death stakes and angst for their characters’ relations. It was a way to add weight to a situation that, otherwise, may not have had it. This trope, because of its widespread character, was referred to “Hanahaki”. It was merely something to make people’s imaginations work and to break hearts in anticipation and suspense. It was all fiction even if, would she pay attention to probably false witness accounts, some said it was an actual thing, albeit very rare, and whose only cure really was reciprocated love. Ah, as if.

(Or: Ema doesn't believe in urban legends, and it bites her back)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS Ships: Hireshipping (Ema/Akira), background platonic Ema & Aoi

Wordcount: 4.5K words

Notes: Realizing I'm writing these characters borderline OOC hurt more than it should have. (but hey at least it'll still be more accurate than most DSS-centric depictions of Yusaku and Ryoken amirite)

Y'all saw it coming, I saw it coming, everyone saw it coming, and I'm really proud of bring 4.5K words of Hire Hanahaki angst-H/C-whatever onto the table. This story is a weird mix but it was a blast to write, holy shit, I love angst and I love Hanahaki. But like I'm probably the one who proposed it in the first place for the event's prompt list so... Yeah. That has to be the longest oneshot I've ever written in one sitting.

Also, you'll quickly find out why this fic has a name that has nothing to do with flowers... at first glance.

Event hosted by @vrainsrarepairweeks

AO3 version available here.

The first time she heard about the disease of unrequited love was when she was browsing the Internet for some stories to read while waiting for a pirated movie to download on her laptop. It seemed to just be a legend, a trope used by fanfiction writers and mangakas to have some tension, death stakes and angst for their characters’ relations. It was a way to add weight to a situation that, otherwise, may not have had it.

This trope, because of its widespread character, was referred to “Hanahaki”. It was merely something to make people’s imaginations work and to break hearts in anticipation and suspense. It was all fiction even if, would she pay attention to probably false witness accounts, some said it was an actual thing, albeit very rare, and whose only cure really was reciprocated love.

Ah, as if.

 It’s when scrolling through the Internet again that Ema remembers about Hanahaki. She has heard rumours about someone in Den City being afflicted by the curse of flowers growing in their lungs because their beloved doesn’t love them back. It has this sensationalist character to it that makes people instantly intrigued: of course that’d reach her ears and that only sceptical and boring people would ignore it.

Thinking of overly-rational people who tend to see things the boring, practical and down-to-Earth way, she wonders what Akira would think about that. Aoi would be at least intrigued, considering her favourite Monsters are partially based on flowers (Lilybell, Holly Angel, Narkissus, Bella Madonna, Nightshade…), but her brother would most certainly dismiss it as yet another irrational legend. Oh well, it’s funnier to imagine his dismissive reactions to it rather than Aoi’s developing teenage curiosity.

 As such, she can’t help herself but mention these in a meeting they have for a new mission he’s giving her for, admittedly, a generous sum of money. If they were near her birthday, she’d see it as a gift: as it stands, it’s probably to be sure she doesn’t go to see if she can extort even more money from businessmen with little hacking knowledge (as it stands, Akira does have some and used to be better than her at it: his knowledge just caught all the dust around the place as soon as he could stop hacking to survive, or so she thinks at least). To be honest, when it comes to their personal relationship, she’s better off getting a bit less money but ensure she can tease her hirer about his awkward side.

“Have you heard about the person in the city who has flowers in their lungs?” she asks him as she thinks back to that story going across Link VRAINS and other social media outlets.

He doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does, it’s just as she expected him to do: “Hanahaki isn’t real, Ema. It’s just rumours going around.”

“I figured you’d respond that. You’re predictable, you know?”

He reddens at the insult before they part ways to go on their merry day and tasks.

 Still, it’s quite the heavy tip for what’s that job is worth. It’s simply making sure an AI chip doesn’t go rogue again in his boss’s back. It’s not risky, it’s not the worst he’s asked her to do, and yet he’s paying her extensively. Did he get a rise in his salary or something? Or is it Aoi’s way to thank her yet again for all her services? In both cases, it’s unnecessary and, for once, she doesn’t feel like accepting this big sum. Well, why does she find it so weird? Maybe Akira just overestimated what the job was worth because of all the “doing that in the back of the big boss of a gigantic company” gig.

When she gets paid for it, merely twenty-four hours later, the payment has even more of a tip joined to it, along with what seems to be a virtual present. Okay, that’s it, Akira is really overestimating his missions’ worth and wanting her to stay here. Fine. He better not make such a fuss about it anymore: that’s embarrassing to see him dig his grave even deeper all by himself. She accepts the tip anyway, thinks of what perfume or makeup set she could by herself with it because the ones she has already start to grow old, and settles on something glittery for once.

 The rumours precise themselves in the following days. The city now knows who the poor, poor sickie is: a man, presumably old enough to feel love but still young enough to worry himself over romance of all things. That’s all there is to it, but at least people have a precise noun or pronoun to use on that guy. Ema stays alert of it: it’s amusing to see all that speculation for something that has so many chances to turn out to be yet another urban legend spread through the streets and posts on social media. She never expected manga to have such an important cultural impact.

She starts to talk about it with Aoi over the net, the teenage girl being interested in what this is all about. Ema runs her through all she knows about it, from the little things she once read online to what is currently the consensus on today’s legends. A question then comes from Aoi who hesitates between believing in it for its Romanesque nature and doubting it because her brother taught her to be doubtful of everything she hears (even his opinions, but she has forgotten to do that for the most part), an interrogation that should have never interested Ema as much as it did: “Do we know what type of flowers it is? I’ve heard depending on the species that it can be a hint with flower symbolism”.

 Frankly, Ema doesn’t know anything about flower language or symbolism because she simply never buys flowers for anyone. The only times she does are when visiting her late father’s grave: she simply does like her mother does every time and put there a bouquet of forget-me-nots. Kengo has a slightly other idea of what to put on there, but she hasn’t taken the time to research it either. They have never discussed it yet: she gives him the time to recover from the idea that they are, indeed, brother and sister and should probably stick together even if he always wants to work alone.

The rumours come to her again when Aoi brings these up herself in their little conversation. According to a few, differing versions, this affected person has yellow carnation, anemones or daffodils growing inside their lungs. Quick searches on the Internet confirm Ema in her idea that this is all an urban legend spread among teenagers and people in need of sensationalism: really, flowers symbolizing unreciprocated love, deadly illness or rejection? Come on, this is too cliché to be real, too much like a poorly-written shojo manga to be happening in her plane of reality. She tells Aoi about that, how artificial it all sounds, how everything is way too much of a coincidence, but the girl still believes this may be happening near her while not giving much details aside from that.

 She takes another mission offer from Akira in a green-grassed parc in the city where cherry blossoms punctuate the floor and sky. He seems to not do so hot: if she isn’t mistaken, he’s usually not this pale and doesn’t have such dark rings under his eyes. Considering the recent crises at SOL Technologies which are, undeniably, partially caused by her doings, it wouldn’t be surprising for him to work overtime. He always manages to find a way to run himself to the ground anyway as if he was a fatigue addict. God, she’s glad she didn’t turn out to become a workaholic like him.

He coughs here and there, and that’s when he can’t keep it inside anymore, as he explains to her what it consists in this time. It’s eerily similar to last time, with too much money at the key again, and yet another element that shouldn’t be here: the way he slips in compliments on her capacity and resourcefulness, on how he’s grateful for her to always accept his mission offers. (That last part is wrong: she explicitly remembers turning down one or two offers in the past, and once of them recently on top of it). A sudden excess of gratitude coming from a man who never speaks about himself and his feelings simply gives off a wrong vibe on her? Does he want to seduce her or something? Because that won’t work. As it stands, Ghost Girl doesn’t do romance.

 The noise of the ever-going, omnipresent rumours soon inform her of even more details she isn’t asking for. The sick man is in his twenties, working for a company and, as they say, never revealed being infected with the disease to anyone. There is no clear evidence to support these claims, albeit she slowly starts to think about how this description fits Akira more and more. On the other hand, there are a ton of other men in their twenties working for big companies in this city who wouldn’t want anyone to know they’re coughing up flowers of everything a human being could cough out. That’s just unbelievable because of how ridiculous and impossible it sounds.  

There is still one picture that doesn’t live her mind. When she was leaving their meeting spot, she swore she could see him bent in half with a hand against a tree, coughing she guessed loudly. While this doesn’t exactly correlate to the rumour in its very details, the coincidence of this urban legend going around and a sudden striking coughing fit like that is still numbing at her mind from time to time during the day. Maybe she should wait for more information about the rumour’s sick man to confirm if this has any chance to be the case.

Well, she’s starting to believe it herself, and she finally understands for the first time was Aoi was willing to consider the possibility of the “Hanahaki Case of Den City” as it’s called to be real. The irony never stops.

 Soon enough, before she ever expected it to in fact, she learns of a new aspect of the rumour: the man affected by the case of Hanahaki works for SOL Technologies. Is linked to it a witness account by a secretary of the man who swore she had seen him cough more and more often, along with finding a tissue filled with wet and sometimes bloodied flower petals in his paper bin. That is one coincidence too much: that description would match Akira’s to the point she is certain he’s the basis for it. Maybe that secretary is the original source of the rumour’s more precise details. She has to be for such tiny precisions and descriptions anyway.

It starts to somewhat link inside her mind. He did look ill when they last saw each other, with how pale his skin was and how bad his coughing sounded at times. The more logical explanation – the one he’d take, in fact – is that he simply caught a bad chest infection somewhere, and it has around ninety percent chances to be the case. But then… He wouldn’t be afraid to not being able to thank her enough would it just be an infection like that, wouldn’t it? He sounded like he was going to go soon and never see her again. With how big her latest pay checks from him have been, she doubts it’s because he wants them to part ways.

 She gets a text message from “SOL Zaizen” on her phone right as she is about to ask Aoi if she has witnessed anything wrong with her brother. As soon as she opens it, she notices something has to be seriously wrong.

No matter what the offer is this time, she is going in-person to meet him and “discuss” the “matters”.

 When she arrives there, Ema gets her breathing stolen. Her footsteps are slow despite how much her mind is racing: he looks even worse than the last time, with a mask on the lower part of his face and deeper dark rings, a sickly red barely visible under the white of the mask, and her heart starts racing because he just seems to be doing terribly. She, however, cannot bring herself to run. How did he even get out of his house in that condition? The world may never know, after all.

“What the hell happened to you?!” is what manages to exit her throat as she walks up to him back against the wall.

“It’s complicated, really… I’ve also got a confession to make: I didn’t want to see you for an offer,” he replies with coughs interrupting his words every ten seconds or so, she isn’t sure, but it’s intense and almost frightening to see.

 Ema crosses her arms and waits in anxious anticipation for whatever he has to tell her.

“I’m… not sure of how I should go off about it,” he tells her in full honesty, hand in front of his mouth and the other arm around his chest, “so please excuse my abruptness.”

“You haven’t responded to my question, but go on, I guess.”

“I… I’m not sure how long I’ll last for, so… can you promise me to keep an eye on Aoi and Hayami for me?”

“Hayami is your secretary, right…? Wait, what the fuck are you going on about?!”

Akira gives her an excuse of a smile in return. There really is something wrong with this man.

“A… terminal illness of sorts, let’s put it that way… Which brings to something else I wanted to tell you…”

She cannot tell if his face actually is redder by the minute or if it’s just her noticing how ill he truly is.

“I… I may very well be in love with you, Ema…”

 Her world stops and shatters before her eyes. There isn’t a lot of people who truly matter to her in this little sphere of hers: her mother, her late father, her half-brother Kengo, Aoi, perhaps Playmaker for saving her life… and Akira. They have grown closer with the years and it’s only now that she realizes how much he does matter to her and how terribly she is receiving this. A terminal illness, so suddenly, for a man who isn’t even thirty yet? This is… this is awful.

And he’s revealing right here and now why he was being generous these past few days. He knew he was going to die and, perhaps, wanted to please her one last time. She can barely handle the first part of the news: the second is finishing her off. She wants to cry, to deny this as lies, but she knows better than this from Akira: he has never been as dramatic as her, down-to-Earth. For him to tell her all of this, it has to be true and urgent.

Her breathing gets caught in her throat and she cannot find the strength to answer.

 Ema externally freezes despite the storm taking place in her skull. Time has stopped and everyone else has disappeared from her consciousness as she helplessly stares, unable to move even a finger, at the man whose breathing suddenly gets worse and whose chest seems to squeeze before her widened eyes.

“I…” She attempts to respond. “I don’t know what to say…” She admits to him and herself all the same.

“It’s fine… I expected this to be sudden and shocking…”

Before he can finish speaking, another coughing fit takes a hold of him to the point of forcing him to uncover the bottom part of his face as to spit something.

 Everything shatters when Ema gets to see what’s coming out of his mouth or, to be exact, his lungs.

Flower petals.

Hanahaki is real.

An entire flower tainted in dark reds and smelling like spring and iron.

The Hanahaki Case of Den City isn’t just a legend, and he is the one they were speaking about.

 And it’s all because of her.

 She swallows a sob back as he puts back his mask and looks at her, eyes glassy and almost unfocused, tempted to look away in shame. This is tragically real, tragically close to home. Fuck this! Fuck this so much, from Hell and back!

“I… I’m sorry for this, very much so, Ema,” he tells her as he goes from supporting himself with an arm against the wall to doing so with his back leaning against it instead.

She timidly picks up the entire flower and tries to identify it.

“It’s an anemone,” he attempts to state very calmly, as if to ease her back into what she’s used to, but it’s all a failed façade.

Ema then remembers what she read online and what Aoi told her before: anemones are a symbol of death, illness and forsaken love depending on cultures. She can distinguish a faint blue hue to the one she has in her hand.

“I have to go,” he suddenly tells her in a faint and groggy voice, starting to lose his capacity to speak, “please take care, Ema…”

“I promise I’ll watch over Aoi for you, then,” she tries to look stoic when she just wants to cry. “Please… take care too, Akira,” she continues and ends her sentence as her legs finally move and take her away from the scene.

Another timid, sad smile.

 Her mind blanks during her trip back home on her bike, but as soon as she reaches her flat, all her tears fall from her eyes and trail on her cheeks. She pathetically lets her helmet go, takes off her shoes and lets herself fall onto her bed. She is causing another person’s death without ever meaning to, and one she cares about on top of it. Fuck. Akira deserved better than that kind of cruel and unusual death.

But there is nothing she can do about it, isn’t there? It’s uncurable and terminal unless feelings are returned, and there’s where it stings. She doesn’t love him the way he loves her: she has prevented herself from falling in love with anyone as to protect herself from heartbreak and ex-partner drama. She cannot respond back and that’s what is killing him.

This is all her fault, all her goddamn fault!

 She’s surprisingly dramatic and heartbroken about it, for someone who has already lost her father to an illness. She remembers being torn and extremely saddened for a few days following his demise, crying after him even, but she cannot for the life of her figure out why this is also such a tragedy with Akira. They’re friends, at best. Shady friends making unwritten contracts behind everyone’s backs, but friends and that’s it.

That’s surprisingly hurtful to hear herself think.

 She needs to calm down and think the situation through. Panicking and choking on her sobs isn’t going to make anything better. She gets up and paces in her flat, trying to piece together every fragment of her feelings she can decipher as to paint a global picture of her part of the situation. It’s a giant mess she’s facing with all the disdain she can have towards herself for never cleaning it up before today. Clean your room, they said.

There is no denial that she does care for Akira enough not to want to seem him go so early. Wait, early? That means she wants to spend more time with him, just like friends do. So, they’re friends, that’s for sure. Comparing to her other friends, she finds herself thinking more of what she felt towards now ex-partners… In a way, when she was surprised to hear him confess his love to her, a part of herself seemed to have rejoiced, or rather, to have been relived. That doesn’t make sense with all the sorrow she feels! Why would she be happy to be the reason why he’s dying young after spending so long trying to survive in the streets with a six-year-old under his wing?!

…Oh.

 Ema smashes her fist into a wall she finally, finally understands everything. Of course, of course that had to turn out to be denial all along! If she was so broken, so glitched out when learning of his upcoming death and how she was its cause, it was because she had, all along, wanted to be the cause of this. Well, not that way, but she was hiding her feelings to herself to avoid heartbreak again. If nobody could love her because she was shady and prone to backstabbing, when why should she allow herself to fall in love with others?

And then came in Akira, and everything fell apart because that illness, eventually, means nothing. It has no place to be because she has just learnt how things truly were: he’s in love with her, and she’s in love with him, and it’s all going to go down the sewer if she doesn’t do something soon. She has the power to change the tide, to prevent his early death. She needs to act, quickly.

She gets out her phone and gives him a last meeting time.

 The meeting happens the day right after, and she can guess by how he didn’t have any issue to respond “yes” to her pleas that he has been given an illness break by SOL Technologies (hah, surprising). To be fair, if Ema had made sure her motorcycle was all charged up, it was to ensure she could make it quickly to the hospital or the Zaizen flat in case everything would fall apart. As it turns out, she sees a familiar room and an even more familiar face come out of it.

Instead of waiting next to the tree where he asked her for the first time to do a mission for him and where he told her he loved her, she runs up to him in a worried hurry. Despite his bittersweet smile and his ever-so polite “Hello, Ema”, she feels how fragile he is in her arms, how she feels like she’s handling a crystal statue who matters so much to her, a statue she has fragilized by her own hands without meaning to. She has, after all, never truly wanted to destroy people, merely play with them and maybe be a bit mischievous. She wanted to be Aphrodite, to play with men and their desires and their capacity to spend money on her, not Death and her scythe reminding people of how feelings can suck.

But she’s no goddess.

Won over by the one naïve about love guy she’s met, that’s what she is.

 They sit down on a bench, his head on her shoulder because she’s afraid he won’t stand on his own in his spot of the bench if he doesn’t have some support, his unnatural body heat piercing through her clothes. That’s ironic to say the least. Despite how simplistic it seems to say three words to someone, she’s still hesitant and doesn’t know how Akira, the always-stiff man with zero skill in romance, has managed to pull this off. Her pride vanished the moment she knew she was killing him from the inside: she has nothing keeping her away from it, except maybe her guilt that doesn’t waver.

“How many days do you have left?” she asks instead, out of concern and morbid curiosity as to tell herself that, maybe, later, she’ll be able to be cocky about how narrow she saved someone from his death.

“They told me a week at most, probably less” he replies with his voice even weaker than yesterday’s, a petal exiting his lips. “I didn’t expect you to call me again so soon… My doctor will be mad to learn that I’ve come outside to meet up with you… Haha…”

Why does he everything he say or do break her heart, these days?

 Ema looks down, her sins facing her directly in the face.

“Akira, I’m not sure how I should tell you this knowing what’s going on with you,” she continues as earnest she could be. Her pride really ran away on her.

“It’s fine… I’m glad I didn’t scare you away yesterday… You seemed so shaken…”

“You’re not allowed to worry for me when you’re about to die, you… fool.”

Insulting the dying isn’t very cool either, Ema, you should know that.

“What I mean is that I have to tell you something too personal for it to be said on the network. It’d break its meaning.”

He sighs. She can just feel how weak his breathing has become over the past weeks through this single exhale and how barely audible it is. Declaring her love to a shadow hurts.

“It’s fine if you can’t do it anything about it… Just protect Aoi for me…”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

 Despite his heavily weakened condition, she can still see how surprised he is to hear her say that. He should know better than anyone else that Ghost Girl can do anything. She excuses it for today, forever even, and holds her hand in his.

“I wish I could have been more dramatic than this, like I usually am, but this is an urgent matter and I won’t let you slip away from me so easily when it’d be easy to win against the illness,” she starts rambling almost as a way to shield herself from her own words.

Funny enough how curing his Hanahaki case seems so easy all of a sudden. She glances at him to see his eyes desperately trying to focus on her.

“I love you too, Akira.”

 There is a single, then a couple tears exiting his eyes as she finishes to tell that, and he somehow finds the strength to grip her hand as he coughs out what she guesses to be the last anemone to ever reside in his lungs without rotting away. She doesn’t know how the flowers in his lungs are going to fade away, but that’s not what matters for now.

She enlaces him from his side and pulls her against her own body, feeling the fever disappear in moments, breathing starting to sound normal again. He looks exhausted from fighting the illness, she is herself tired from crying and panicking, the smothering anxiety and fear of death soon to come taking their toll on them both.

“Could you… stay over for the night?” He asks her as he’s falling asleep. “The driver must still be here…”

“My pleasure,” she answers. “Let’s get there before I have to carry you like my bride to bed.”

 As she carries him on her shoulder again, they leave behind a trail of pale blue petals smelling like copper and iron. The last one people will ever see, she hopes. The last ones she’ll see for sure.

End Notes

Writing about Akira almost dying is my new specialty.

[weaselle]

I want to share something hidden about myself.

I’m sort of a girl? so I started this tumblr as just, like, a catch-all and curation: anything I miss on other social media usually makes it’s way to my dash here, and it’s also full of cute animals and cool art - win. And I have almost no cross followers and irl friends here, like close to zero people from my facebook friends know me here, so it’s… almost like an alone place with imaginary friends. Anyway, I’ve slowly been filling with this desire to say something about myself for years, I want it out in the universe but I don’t necessarily want a bunch of people in my life to know it, so this seems the right platform, maybe. I’m going to be talking about being… some kind of non-binary. And I would like to start with a kind of disclaimer: I don’t want to move into spaces that I feel are best left for others, people who need those spaces more than I do. I’m not trying to join any communities or participate in other people’s identity situations. This disclaimer will make more sense as I go on. I’m 40 years old (still pretty tho ;) ) and I’ve always presented myself as, and mostly conceived of myself as: cis white male. But I’ve also always been … other than that. On the inside; like, both things. I feel, idk, like… I read about two-spirit shamans, and I think about how that kind of identity must have always been a reality for some people since the dawn of humans, and I feel something on that spectrum, maybe. And there’s a whole other dimension to it, which is that my mother died when I was young - I was very lucky to be adopted right away by her sister, but, since I was 6 years old, I have actively tried to let her spirit live on this earth through me. This is part of the reason for my disclaimer- I don’t necessarily think my experience is very representative of many people who are non-binary. Or maybe it mostly is, I’m more of an accepting-my-friends-as-being-who-they-present-as and less a delving-into-the-deep-personal-exploration-of-WHY-they-are-who-they-are kind of friend, but at least, I don’t think housing the ghost of a dead parent inside your own soul is a component for most people. Anyway, that’s certainly not the whole story with me, either, but I definitely started from a place of trying to live life how a woman would live it. Like, especially when I was in 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th grade, I was intensely curious about what it would be like to be a woman. In 7th grade I carried around books like Are You There God It’s Me Margaret  - which fact didn’t create a lot of social capital for me (but I feel ultimately that was a far better investment in socialization than I knew at the time). Along with LOTR and everything else a person who loves books reads, I read romance novels and stuff like Clan of the Cave Bear. Books by women that dealt with sexuality and women’s points of view - like The Mists of Avalon, which I devoured over the summer before freshman year. And the whole time I was exploring my sexual awakening, this curiosity of what it would be like to be a woman was present, and sometimes the focus. Women’s underwear, for example, feels super sexy and exciting to wear, if only it didn’t look ridiculous to me on my male anatomy. The thing is, I am DEFINITELY attracted to women. Like, I find some men attractive in a non-sexual way, the way a leopard in peak condition is beautiful, if that makes sense.. and I’ve known three or four men that I’ve thought “if only I wanted to fuck you, I would totally date you” - but, I’ve sucked a couple dicks over the years, and I’m just not that into it. I remember standing naked in the mirror trying to imagine what it would be like to just BE a girl, thinking about how as a late-blooming 14 year old physical body there seemed very little difference anyway, but I wanted so much to experience the entire reality… and trying to reconcile that desire with the fact that no matter how I tried to get into that fantasy, boys just weren’t sexy to me. In 1992 in a small town, with no internet access, I was definitely unknowingly trapped in binary preconceptions of gender and sexuality, while I tried to understand the possibility that I was a lesbian inside. But I never let that thought develop much. I mean the thought has been pretty omnipresent on the back burner of my being, but I’ve always kind of overlooked it with a “not really though”. The reasons are difficult to pin down, but … I had friends who were guys, and I heard their take on things, and I sort of felt that me getting off on pretending to be a lesbian would be participating in something similar to things I found kind of gross about the ways some of these boys were about women. I still wrestle with that. And, while I was lucky enough to have friends and family that I knew were sufficiently supportive that I could tell them I felt like a girl inside, I felt like that understanding would instantly shift to skepticism if I added “and I’m sexually attracted to women”. Like, that felt, and still feels, like one solid step too far to be taken seriously by most of my friends and family, hell, I barely comprehend it myself. Like, if I want to be a girl, but the girl I want to be would be described as a tomboy and I’m attracted to girls… what even am I doing? (It was weird, when I was young and imagined myself as a girl, I wanted to be a girl doing “boy” things like skateboarding and climbing trees and playing video games and fighting and playing in the mud - but when I imagined myself as a boy, I wanted to be a boy doing “girl” things, dressing up and singing and cooking and dancing and being the hub of a spy-network gossip circle. Now, as an adult in this the year 2018, with the exception of social-progression issues, it is utterly unimportant to me what things are “man” things and what things are “woman” things so this isn’t the same; like, I know men are often super gossipy and I’m no longer stuck thinking of ballet as a “girl” thing, so that part of my situation has resolved.) So I went on with my life, as a boy. I mean, sometimes people wondered if I was gay, and my theater-kid ass didn’t get into the overt parts of male culture by any means, but I was definitely a boy. And, as much as I fantasized about being a woman, I fantasized about growing into a man, too. A tall, lithe, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, ninja-werewolf man in a killer business suit with a harem of super talented funny smart women who were all lovers and let me be their beloved bodyguard and sex parter. Or whatever, I’ve never been good at having realistic goals. And I definitely grew into a man. Like, I still have to consciously check myself to make sure I’m not interrupting women or talking over them, because I didn’t learn how inherent a quality that was in me until I was an adult, because I grew up in modern America AS a MAN, in ways that are undeniable and very real. And while I still STRONGLY wish I could experience life in a woman’s body (y’know, for three weeks out of the month) I’m very comfortable with my male body. Despite my lifelong social and mental issues (or maybe because of addressing them my whole life?) I’m pretty well-adjusted. I like myself, physically, spiritually (liking myself mentally is a 50/50 proposition, but whatever). I’ve come a long way. From a clumsy, socially inept, tantrum throwing, ugly duckling with a scalp condition and a bunch of warts on my hands, I’ve grown into a physically and socially skilled, wart-free healthy-scalped adult man, with slim hips and decently broad shoulders (still no luck on the werewolf thing) and a good handle on my anger management; fit and kind and thoughtful and only a little crazy… I’m pretty damn happy and comfortable with who I have become. I have even wound up in a couple romantic relationships with women who almost exclusively prefer dating other women, and that has been a wonderful low-key way to sort of be this other thing I feel I am. I just ALSO feel this desire to be a woman on the outside, sometimes, because I still feel like a woman on the inside, in many ways. And that leads me right back around to my starting point. I have a huge amount of privilege, and I don’t want to give it up. I feel like it’s my duty to use that privilege on behalf of those who don’t have it, but I do have it, and I take full advantage of it, so, I don’t think it’s fair of me to “come out” as any kind of trans or non-binary person. I feel like I would be taking space away from people who need it more than I do. I am, for all intents and purposes, a cis white male, and I have enjoyed every advantage that comes with that: I get to talk about being attracted to the people I’m attracted to, and it is the “cultural norm” for them to be attracted people who look like me… I don’t even really have any body dysphoria or anything. I’m just mostly comfortable with who I am while wishing I could be more, and isn’t that the human experience anyway? And part of that privilege is getting to not have this, whatever this gender sexuality non-binary thing I experience in my soul, not be society’s defining characteristic of me - I get to have it NOT be the main thing that everyone insists on bringing up with/about me. I’m grateful that it doesn’t have to be what takes all my time and energy, because I have a lot of other things I want to focus on. I have a very real socio-economic revolution I’ve spent almost 25 years putting together that I’m finally starting to get off the ground, in fact- I can’t really afford to get derailed over this. I just… I don’t want it to be THE part of my reality, but the older I get, the more I feel like I need to acknowledge that it is A part of my reality, a real part of me. Somewhere, on the inside, and to whatever extent regrettably not on the outside, I am a lesbian woman… in as much as a person can be who has grown up being treated by society as a cis man. As much as it makes me furious and sad that I cannot avoid adding such an addendum, that I cannot simply say “I feel in my soul that I am a lesbian woman” the plain fact is I have spent 40 years enjoying the privileges of a cis man, and that experience does not a lesbian make. But just here. Just this once. I want to say it anyway. To just accept this part of myself without all those qualifiers and conditions. I am a woman who loves other women. It has literally made me cry now, to have typed that simple sentence alone. So thank you, Tumblr, for being the void I can say this into.

[contemporarycritique]

Ryan Gander ‘Me, Myself and Selfie’

Throughout this documentary I didn’t particularly get a sense of what type of artwork he actually created as it wasn’t necessarily about his practice but it was more on a topic which is very relevant to the alterations within the art world and the progression and change within artists practice. Technology has developed rapidly over the past 10 years and therefore the perception of art itself has being altered and so has its value. Having the ability to take photographs in the most efficient way and still receive the quality of a digital camera  has changed the way art is viewed as it can be shared faster and to all corners of the earth and can be viewed as many times as you please.

Gander focuses on understanding the ‘selfie’, the modern self portrait, he explores how people’s appearance online can differ massively from the person themselves. As Gander looks further into the ways in which technology and social media play a significant part in our lives he also experiences the opposite way of life, where a woman lives on her own in Wales with no access to internet or phone signal. He then follows to look at technology which may be a part of our futures and how this may affect the way we see the world again.

In the documentary Gander visits the Freud museum where he then begins to discuss Freud’s writings on the ‘ego’, comparing different social media sites to the ‘id’ and the ‘super ego’, I found this very fascinating as my career goal is to be an art therapist so anything which involves psychological understand I find instantly more interesting. As an artist interested in understanding and reading into the foundations of our society and learning about the psychology supporting it I found that I really connected with Gander and his views on exploration of modern day society as he questions our everyday through his practice. In the documentary features Gander visiting ALCOR (company working with frozen bodies hoping to revive them in the future) a very disturbing setting and showed a side of futuristic technology which I don’t believe is a step in the right direction. Gander expresses his views on ALCOR’s principles and goals and explains that this development of technology is no longer about science but about the ego and society’s inability to let go of the concept of death. On the topic of understanding our own mortality brings me to understand similarities between Gander’s research and Damien Hirst’s ‘Bodies’, where both artists are questioning society’s understanding of mortality and approaching a taboo subject enabling us to understand it.

I researched into Gander’s work after seeing the documentary and discovered his solo exhibition at the Lisson Gallery where he presented ‘The Fallout of Living’. The sculptures; ‘I Is...(I)’ 2012 and ‘Tell my mother not to worry (ii)’ 2012 replicated his child playing under sheets, making dens, pretending to be a ghost by creating marble sculptures which capture these moments. In a blank walled room with plain white sculptures there felt to be so much vibrancy and energy knowing that these sculptures encapsulated a child’s creative imagination and also the development of a child and the importance of play. I felt myself beginning to reminisce over times where myself as a child made dens with bed sheets and the feeling of being care free and being completely oblivious to the world which I now live in and also understanding how valuable playing as a child and being creatively involved can be. Creativity is valuable and essential for child development and as someone who aspires to be an art therapist can understand the psychological values of artistic practices not only to children but for the population.

[ariabauer]

Carmilla Movie Theory

You’ve asked me to tell you a story, to weave you a theory. My inbox sings with your requests to try and jumble everything together. You ask. I’ll deliver. 

I’ll give it my best shot because there’s nothing I like more than a challenge. We’re sticking to the usual plan of trying to make the most ridiculous but still kinda plausible theory possible. To start us off, here’s what canon information I have to work with.

The Existing Carmilla Mythos - So we naturally have everything from the 3 seasons to work with. You’ve seen the web series. You know.

The Original Trailer - This is the one on the beach that announced the movie. Frankly, I’m curious as to how much of this will actually apply because from my understanding it was put together before they had a script. As a scene, it’s probably cut.  I’m treating the information as canon because I don’t have enough material to be cutting ANY of it.

The New Cast Information - Literally yesterday, we received the names of three new cast members. Seeing as I’m going to make the case that these are all literary references (stay tuned) just their names alone give me info. They are:

Emily Bronte

Charlotte Bronte

The Woman In Black

Now we do our magical conjecture and fun fact building to try and whip it all together into a coherent story. Basically, I’m going to write you a movie because I’m a novelist at heart and a story structure buff. We’re going to try and figure out what we can expect when the movie releases in the fall (?). Buckle up, creampuffs.

 This is going to get 7k words worth of messy from parents to exes to fish gods to old school novellas. 

 We Need Some Vampires

So Carmilla’s not a vampire any more. Let’s just get that one out of the way. This leaves us with a question: how on this green earth can you make a Carmilla Movie, a Carmilla the iconic lesbian vampire movie, with NO VAMPIRES.

Answer: You can’t. It’s a betrayal of the premise.

So Carmilla may not be the vampire but I’m going to propose that they have to add in a vampire or two somewhere, just to stick to theme. I mean, if I didn’t know the webseries and just picked this thing up, I’d be expecting vampires.

Since I’ve heard nothing about retconning Carmilla to keep her a vampire, I’m going to assume she’s human.

So where to find some vampires?

Well the biggest baddest vampire of the series is the infamous Matska Belmonde. Problem is, she’s dead. Like deader than vampire-dead dead. Literally a ghost. That said, if the picture of Sophia and Jordan means anything we may be seeing Mattie lurking around but we’ll talk about that later. Regardless, Mattie is dead and a ghost and not a vampire.

There’s Danny. Our tallest redhead was turned into a vampire at the very end of s2 and maintained her vampirism as she strode out the library door in s3. Theoretically, she’s still very much undead. However, Sharon is the one person that didn’t show up in the day 1 behind the scenes shots plus Swerve is shooting at the exact same time and we KNOW she’s part of that.

So while Danny may pop up, I’m not counting on it. If she does, it’s most likely going to be a smaller role.

There’s JP but he also seems very dead if the sacrifice at the gate during s3 is any indication.

All the webseries vampires seem to be dead, ghost-dead, vanished, or human. 

We need new ones. Lucky we have 3 new cast members who could take on the role! Let’s see if any of them could be our new vampire extraordinaire. We’ve got 2 options the Bronte sisters or the Woman in Black.

If you all thought we were going to start with The Woman In Black then you’ve got another think coming because I have a hunch that her identity is going to be the question of the movie. So naturally, I’m saving her for the end.

Plus, we know like nothing about her so we’ve got to build everything else up first then see where she fits in. You know the drill. Facts first. Conjecture second.

So we start with the Bronte sisters.

What’s Up with The Bronte’s?

I’m sure all my literary nerds got very excited when they saw the name Bronte pop up on the cast sheet. Just as Carmilla started as a novella by Sheridan Le Fanu, the name Bronte pops up in the same way. It’s a direct reference to authors from the 1800s. Specifically, Bronte is the last name of several famous writers.

The Carmilla Movie has cast two of these authors: Charlotte Bronte and Emily Bronte. Sisters. You may recognize their work.  Charlotte Bronte wrote Jane Erye (plus lots of other things actually) and Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights. I’m happy to see them show up.

Except. It’s kind of weird no?

Carmilla Karnstein is a fictional character. Jane Erye is a fictional character; I’d expect Jane to show up. Instead, we’re getting real live actual people. That’s like Sheridan Le Fanu walking into the middle of season 3. We’re getting writers; not characters. How are they even suppose to integrate into this 2017 story?

Ask a question and the internet already has two theories for you:

FlashBacks or Time Travel?

When your canon is a supernatural webseries full of literal gods and alternate universes, it does nothing to close doors on literally anything happening. Which is fun for fanfic and a nightmare for predictive theories. Still, the internet has used its collective power to offer two options:

Flashbacks: Carmilla is 300+ years old. She’s got a lot of history and the idea is that we’re going to get literal flashbacks of her past. In these flashbacks, she’s going to have met the Bronte sisters and interacted with their lives. Honestly, I find this perfectly plausible as it’s like a high production value s1 puppet show. The only downside is it means we get scenes with no Laura who definitely wasn’t alive in 1848. Also I just personally don’t like flashbacks but that’s a whole other story.

Time Travel: Considering the library literally popped Laura into an alternate universe, it’s not too much of a stretch that it could pop Carmilla and Laura round in time. Basically, our 21st century girls end up in 19th century England. From the BTS pictures this is looking like more and more of a possibility. Frankly, I’d love to see Laura hurled back in time to see some of Carmilla’s past. That said, I can come up with half a dozen reasons why we’ve seen her in somewhat old timey clothes that don’t include time travel either.

Now flashbacks or Laura timetraveling to the past would allow us to see some of Carmilla vampire in this movie which is something that you’d expect to see from a Carmilla movie.

If forced to choose, I’d probably go with flashback even if I’d prefer time travel just because I don’t have any proof that there is time travel involved. That said, plain old flashbacks are MUCH too boring for our pledge to ridiculous theories and we’re going to spice it up. Personally, I think we’re going to be getting some flashbacks regardless but I don’t think flashbacks are going to be the only place we see the Bronte sisters.

May I Offer You A Different Bronte Theory?

I’d make them our vampires. Or ghosts. But vampires seem more on theme and I’ve already got an idea about the ghosts. Stay tuned.

For now, vampires. If we make the Bronte’s supernatural creatures then they can easily still be kicking around in the 21st century to interact with our cast - no time travel or flashbacks needed (although you could totally still do both).

Plus, if they’re supernatural, long-lived beings it fixes our whole writer vs character problem.

Think about it, it’s already kind of weird that we’ve got authors and real life people stepping in beside our fictional characters. The only way it’s not weird… is if they’re fictional too. So here’s what I’m proposing, Emily and Charlotte Bronte are a mix of themselves and their characters. Their books, like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, are semi-autobiographical. Emily actually went to Rochester mansion and then wrote a book about it. Rationale?

Every single one of the Bronte books are written under a pseudonym. You know who likes pseudonyms? The vampire Carmilla Mircalla Macrilla Arcmilla Von Karnstein.

All the Brontes were actually governesses like their characters

It would explain why all of their protagonists are so similar. It’s just them over and over.

Moms are always dead in real life and the books

All their stories take place in creepy old mansions. You know who likes creepy old mansions? Supernatural beings

Sidebar - the creepy house in the BTS photos is probably either the Bronte House or Eel Marsh House which Hollstein + Crew are investigating

You don’t think after 300 years, Carmilla couldn’t write a kickbutt novel about her life? I do. I could probably write it for her if you gave me enough time. Imagine it. The Bronte Sisters are these immortal vampires who kill time being governess for kids and happen to run into supernatural stuff. Jane Eyre is probably a tamed down version of the time Charlotte was teaching some kids and discovered some weird lovecraftian demon in the attic.

Carmilla is known for mixing up it’s ‘canon’ material. They’re the ones who put gods into a gothic novella, not me!

Plus this lets me kill two birds with one stone. I get vampires and I get to explain why a 19th century author is suddenly in my fictional story. Occam’s Razor. This is the one we’re going with. Also, it’s waaaay more fun to think of this awesome literary ladies as undead fiends.

Now this means that we don’t technically need flashbacks OR time travel to have the 19th century Brontes interact with our modern day characters. They’ve just kept right on living through history and now Hollstein can waltz over and chat with them. Honestly, looking at Day 1 set photos and Grace in that lacey dress while everyone is wearing leather jackets, it seems plausible.

Again, the Brontes could definitely be ghosts instead of vampires as ghost stories are a HUGE thing in our source material but, quite frankly, I like the vampire idea better. Regardless, it doesn’t change the idea that the Brontes are still around as some kind of supernatural being in the 21st century.

Simply because Carmilla is a vampire story, I’m going with the vampires over ghosts.

Now, of course, this just creates more questions. If they’re vampires, how are they vampires?

How To Make A Vampire

The easiest answer is that the Bronte’s are just Mattie 2.0 and more girls that Inanna turned into vampires for her evil plotting needs. Basically, they’re Carmilla’s vampiric sisters that she’s just never mentioned ever. They were just made the normal way.

Well… Carmilla’s normal way.

So as a reminder, Carmilla likes to play with what canon is in big ways. In this instance, it’s that vampires aren’t made in even slightly the conventional way. Rather than the usual biting/poison bit that we see in pop culture, Carmilla vampires are the results of the Goddess Inanna using her magical powers to bring a dead person back to life. Vampires can’t make other vampires. Only Inanna can do it cause she’s the god.

(this is your reminder that carmilla turning laura into a vamp in s3 was always literally impossible. Inanna would have had to do it.)

So for the Bronte sisters, Inanna could have turned them back in the day and they’re estranged from the family or something which is why we never see them kidnapping girls. Fine. It’s not like Carmilla is particularly forthcoming with the family info and we don’t have any other options so.... Oh wait.

We totally do.

Remember s3 when they first find out about Inanna being a god and Laura’s all “That’s like your nemesis is Zeus or Odin. And Zeus and Odin aren’t real. Wait- are Zeus and Odin real? Shouldn’t we have known if gods are real?” The implication then goes on that if Inanna is real then yes Zeus and Odin are probably real in the Carmilla universe.

Which on one hand I have questions but on the other hand OH LOOK MORE BEINGS WITH THE POWER LEVEL NEEDED TO MAKE VAMPIRES.

To which I hear your cries of “that’s pure conjecture, Aria.” First all, this is all pure conjecture. But second of all NOPE. Because Zeus and Bronte are a thing and I’m such a mythology nerd for knowing this.

Now most of you probably know what cyclops are and some of you may know that one of the eldest cyclops is named Brontes. So technically I supposed Charlotte and Emily could be cyclops. That would definitely be a twist.

However, I’m going to go with ANOTHER mythological Bronte. Charlotte and Emily are sisters. Zeus has two shieldmaidens who are sisters (twins but semantics) who are named Asprate and BRONTE. Yes, That’s right. Bronte. 

Coincidence? I think possibly.

But another part of me thinks that Zeus decided to make his own immortal peons when he saw Inanna do it and this included the two women we know as Charlotte and Emily Bronte. Their job is basically translates to thunder and lightning so these are not sisters you want to mess with.

Plus, I think it’s very on brand for Carmilla to throw some more mythology in here.

So we have the boring (Inanna) and the ridiculous (Zeus) ways that the Bronte sisters could have feasibly become vampires. Since I’ve got nothing that can prove this wrong, we’re rolling with it!

Now I’ve been ignoring the slight screams from some of the literary fans in the background reminding me that “THERE WERE MORE THAN 2 BRONTE SISTERS ARIA. EXPLAIN THAT.” (i promised @kaitlynsgonnakait​ that i’d address this somehow)

Fine. I will.

The Third Bronte Sister

So technically there were 6 Bronte siblings. The two oldest girls died of disease when they were still kids. Then Charlotte Bronte who is in the movie. Then their brother Patrick Branwell who tried to be a writer, mostly failed, and became an alcoholic instead. Then Emily Bronte of Jane Eyre fame who is also in the movie.

And finally Anne Bronte whose works Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall are considered classics just like her sisters. You can often buy the works of all three Bronte sisters together. It’s like a package deal.

So where is she? Carmilla only cast two sisters.

Easy answer is that they DID cast her and she’s ‘The Woman in Black’ who has been lurking around this document all mysteriously. Boom Bam. Problem solved.

Except, sorry. I don’t think so. My first reason was simply I had a more ridiculous/better theory for The Woman in Black (who we will now refer to as TWIB because I’m lazy).

So where’s Anne Bronte?

My problem is that when you’re taking characters from the 1800s and putting them into a story where you have a canon character who was ALIVE in the 1800s, it seems silly to not have their paths have overlapped before. Certainly, Carmilla could go to these ‘people she’s heard about from Mattie yet never met’ but that’s a missed excuse for conflict. Stories live and die on conflict. How much more interesting would it be if Carmilla had history with the Bronte sisters?

And considering the thing our cast is missing is villains, I’m guessing it’s not a good one.

I’m proposing that it’s Carmilla’s fault that Anne Bronte is dead.

Linkage to Carmilla’s backstory

So let’s be realistic here. Carmilla was not a nice vampire. Even in canon, she spends the second half of season 2 literally killing people off camera and appears drenched in blood more than once. So it’s totally feasible that there’s a hundred different ways she could have killed Anne Bronte.

Probably with Mattie only because I want a flashback with Mattie and Carmilla together.

Actually, with some slight creativity with dates (and let’s face it, Carmilla has always been bad on matching their dates (jp/ell date debacle)), you could 100% make Anne Bronte part of the sacrificing ritual to Lophiiformes. In real life, she dies at 29 in 1849 which isn’t far off from the canon ritual year of 1852/1854.

After all, the Bronte story does sound like one that Carmilla’s mother would want to throw her glittering girl into. Picture it, a carriage wreck outside a lonely Thornton estate. A home with 3 girls whose mother passed away only years before in 1842 to leave their father to try and best manage their education. The historically kindly man takes in the young Mircalla after her carriage wreck and entrusts her to his slightly older daughters. Anne, the youngest and closest in age to Carmilla, becomes fast friends with her but becomes ill. The doctors diagnose her with tuberculosis (which is what real life brontes died of) but she’s then trundled off to the ritual and dies.

ALternative options: Carmilla gets in a carriage wreck outside some place where Anne is being a governess. The same thing happens except Carmilla seduces a governess because of course she does. Who’s really going to notice if the governess goes missing on the moors?

Here’s the kicker guys. The real life Brontes LITERALLY TOOK IN A GIRL WHO WAS IN A CARRIAGE CRASH. In ‘The Letters (1829-1847)’ which is a collection of letters by Charlotte Bronte she notes in a footnote that “a carriage accident occurred on EN’s return from Haworth”.

Okay. Look. That’s neat okay and even if I’m wrong about all of this (which i probably am) IT’S STILL VERY NEAT.

This scenario is literally exactly what happens in the Carmilla novella… except Carmilla gets her head chopped off too. Semantics.

After all, this is our pre-Ell Carmilla who is still pretty big on the killing thing. Let’s say that Emily and Charlotte Bronte get their Laura Hollis on and try to save their sister Anne but fail.

Either this is where the Dean changes them in vampires OR this is where they make a deal with Zeus to give them immortality OR where they die like normal people but the vengeance/sadness/feelings in their souls allows them to hang around as ghosts.

(Somewhere in there has to be a Bronte Sisters: Vampire Hunters story. Consider that option D, very Vordenberg. Hey. We have like no information on this movie. You can’t prove it wrong!)

Regardless, I’m proposing that Carmilla’s got history with the Bronte’s and it’s not a good one. That also fits with why she looks terrified enough to climb up a pole in that BTS picture. Whatever’s lurking in that house is probably got some kind of beef with Carmilla. Our now very human and somewhat defenceless Carmilla.

I just think that if you have a character with 300 years of backstory then you USE IT.

Now of course, there’s so much of Carmilla’s backstory that I have no way of knowing and who knows what the writers decided to use. However, there is one more piece of our little puzzle here that I can pop into place in Carmilla’s backstory.

Let’s talk about the Woman in Black.

It All Comes Back to Carriages

Not who she is! No no. Still too early for that but we can talk about what this is a reference too. The Woman In Black is a 1983 horror novella written as an imitation of the traditional Gothic novella that Carmilla is. Basically one precludes the other. So they already have a link right off the top. You may seen the Daniel Radcliffe movie. It’s also one of the longest running plays which makes sense when you consider that Carmilla writer Jordan is a playwright.

So we’ve got a play/novella to tackle.

While Carmilla was concerned with vampires, The Woman in Black is a story about ghosts. A basic plot summary is that this lawyer goes to this creepy old house (Eel Marsh House) belonging to an old lady who just died so that he can handle her estate. No-one in the village will go near this place but no-one will tell him why. He attends the old lady’s funeral and there’s basically no-one else there except this woman who slips in about halfway through. She’s wearing all black but it’s sort of old fashioned and when he gets a look at her face he describes it as pale and horrid. Even creepier, like 20 children follow her around and just stare at her.

At first, he thinks nothing of it but she keeps appearing and disappearing. When he stays in the old lady’s house there’s all kinds of creepy noises and a one point he hears a child screaming and the sound of a carriage crash.

A CARRIAGE. WHAT OTHER STORY DO WE KNOW THAT USES CARRIAGE CRASHES?

Eventually he figures it out. So the ghost is the sister of the old lady who owned the house. Her name was Jennet. Back in the day, she had a son but it was super scandalous to have a kid when you were unmarried so Jennet had to give the boy to her married sister to raise on her behalf. However, they couldn’t bear to be separated so Jennet lived in this shack on the edge of the marsh and her sister would send her son to her so that they could see each other sometimes.

Pro tip: do not build houses in marshes.

One day, when the boy is travelling to see her, the carriage sink into the marsh and boy dies while Jennet is forced to watch. Unable to help him. Jennet herself dies and returns as a ghost.

The Woman In Black.

She appears to people right before a child dies. The screams that the lawyer heard while he in the house are those of her son, trapped and eternally dying. The lawyer peaces out of there but years later he sees TWIB and then his son dies.

The end.

What fun!

Now we talked about how TWIB is imitating gothic style stories like Carmilla however, it’s strongest predecessor according to the author is a 1898 novella called Turn of The Screw which is a contemporary to the Carmilla novella (1872) but is a ghost story. Turn of The Screw is a ghost story about this governess whose charges are haunted by the ghost of their old governess and her lover. At the end of the story, the boy dies.

Governesses. That sounds familiar… because Turn of The Screw is basically the ghost story version of the Bronte novels published 50 years earlier. For example, Jane Eyre makes it seem like something supernatural is going on but it’s just a lady in the attic. Turn of The Screw makes something really supernatural actually happen inside the same premise.

Basically if you mashed the Bronte works, the Carmilla novella, and Turn of the Screw together and waited 100 years, you get The Woman In Black. Neat.

Could Turn of The Screw just be another novel written by the immortal Bronte sisters as they travel through immortality? You tell me.

Most of them involve governesses, most involve children, most involve bad things happening to children, and most of them have carriage crashes. These stories have a lot of links and we’re developing some pieces that our Carmilla movie writers might have pulled on to bring these characters all together.

With the inclusion of TWIB in the movie, we can assume that she’s going to be lurking around creepily and foreboding death. She could be a vampire but I like her as a ghost.

Why? We’ll get there. You wouldn’t buy it yet. Still, with her carriage crash history it’s likely that this is another lady with some kind of grudge against Carmilla Karnstein because that’s a place the writers could link both stoires.

Now this is all well and good but we still have absolutely no reason for Hollstein to up and go investigate anything. All we’ve got is that Carmilla probably has some tragic backstory with some vampires/ghosts and there’s a specter that appears sometimes before kids die. The Bronte’s and TWIB have been holding status quo for hundreds of years while Carmilla killed people and got buried and met Laura.

What changed?

Enter the Carmilla web series with it’s god killing, apocalypse preventing shenanigans.

Let’s Crack Some Eggs

We haven’t talked about the teaser trailer yet and as this is the part where we start getting out of backstory and into modernity again.

So the motorcycle bit is completely useless to me but we do get a tiny bit of dialogue that I can use. Laura pulls a multiple choice card out of the box of creampuffs and says, “Dear Professor Hollis, you’re going to come and help us because a) you’re a nice helpful lady and it’s what you do b) you’re probably pretty curious about this whole mysterious message thing c) oh god oh god it laid eggs d) if you don’t a lot of people are going to die, starting with your friends. Talk soon.”

Pushing aside the question of how in the world Laura went from a first year undergrad to a professor in like 6 years… it’s c I’m most interested in because it sounds like plot.

It laid eggs.

Okay… so we need something to lay eggs. What animals are available in Carmilla? I mean, no-one had a parrot or lizard or ohhhhhh.... Well then. I can only think of one thing with a prominent role in Carmilla that can lay eggs.

Lophiiformes. The giant god anglerfish that Vordie apparently killed in s2.

Except you can’t really kill a god, can you? That’s the whole reason they had to lock Inanna up (fyi hastur/dumuzi is a whole separate thing). So even if they killed Lophii, she’s going to find a way to come back and preserve her godly power.

It’s actually fairly in line with mythology to think that she lays eggs which stay dormant until her death when her godly powers transfer to them and start activating. It’s very Phoenix (dies and comes back as a baby). So let’s say that when Vordie killed Lophii in s2, he started her eggs going. Anglerfish lay their eggs in this gelatinous material in deep holes in the ground (a pit perhaps?). Then the eggs hatch into larvae and start wiggling around, growing on the surface until they return to the deep as mature anglerfish. The circle of life.

This isn’t the first time we’ve heard about little anglerfish worms either. Remember, in s1 it wasn’t the vampires who retook the girls. The little Lophii worms in their brains brought them back to Lophii automatically. So what happens when you have tiny Lophii babies swimming around?

Bad things.

Please recall, that Lophii keeps her power by feeding on the girls every 20 years. If she didn’t get the girls, then she’d leave the pit and go find them herself which is why the Dean kept feeding her. If she gets food then she doesn’t have to look for it and just eat people herself.

But no-one is feeding the baby Lophii’s girls on a platter. They’ve got to go find lunch. Which brings us to the first half of option D on Laura’s card - a lot of people are going to die when the little Lophii’s creep out of their eggs.

If Laura doesn’t get a move on and stop it, someone’s going to start killing her friends first.

So that seems like a pretty good reason for Carmilla and Laura to return to Silas  or wherever Laf/Perry and other “the friends” seem to be. Now, it’s hard to say who would have written this note to Laura. It’s probably not any of Laura’s friends because I find it hard to swallow that one of them would have turned villain and someone being possessed is too Dean Perry.

Could be the Bronte sisters. Could be someone we don’t know.

Could be The Woman In Black.

Hard to say though when we don’t know who TWIB is?

Who Is The Woman In Black?

This will likely be one of the big questions of the movie just as it’s the big question in the original novel. Who is she and what is she doing? I like this because it earmarks back to s1 of Carmilla and it gives me something concrete to try and figure out.

Let’s look at our options:

Mattie - If you just gave me the name “the woman in black”, Mattie would be my answer every time. Just look at her in s3. She’d literally dressed in all black. Problem is that we already know that Dominique was cast in the role and she’s definitely not Sophia so we know it’s not Sophia under the veil.

Literally anyone else we’ve already met - It simply can’t be Danny or Laf or Perry or Mel or Kirsch or anyone whose face we’ve seen because, and i repeat, WE KNOW IT’S DOMINIQUE’S ROLE. That means it has to be a character whose face we’ve never seen before.

Ereshkigal - Look, if you can’t have Mattie then the goddess of the underworld who Mattie spoke also seems like a good candidate. She’s literally the original TWIB. That said, it feels like the web series did a good job of neatly packaging away the god stuff and to pull her in would require new viewers to catch up real quick. Plus, I can’t see why she’d bother. Possible but doesn’t seem plausible.

Anne Bronte - as previously discussed, the missing Bronte sister is the easiest candidate for our TWIB. I’ve heard a few comments that the three new cast members don’t look like sisters, which is valid, but also Mattie and Carmilla looked nothing alike either. My biggest problem with this idea is that I just don’t think it’s interesting

If you’re going to create the question of “who is the woman in black” and likely build it up for 25-50% of the movie then the reveal has to mean something. We don’t know the Bronte’s. Maybe the movie could build them up enough so that we have the emotional punch at the reveal but it seems unlikely with such a large cast. Better if it’s some we (and the characters) already know under there and can react to. The more connected to Hollstein specifically, the more we’re going to get those feels.

Laura’s Mother - I know. Weren’t expecting that one now were you! (Except @ukulelekatie literally 1hr before i posted this!) However, if we’re looking for mysterious characters then Laura’s mother/other parent and her complete lack of mention seems like one of the biggest holes.

Laura, even in the novella canon, has some weird traits that haven’t really been explained. In the novella, she has a dream about Carmilla 12 years before Carmilla even shows up which is literally a predictive/foreboding dream and TWIB is a predictive/foreboding figure. In the social media at the very beginning of s1, Laura mentions that the student roommate assignment services (aka the library aka Enki the literal god) found her aura ‘weird’. Which… I mean if you had one supernatural parent that might make your aura a little odd. Laura’s also the only one to have anglerfish dreams after she’s no longer been chosen. Finally, even though I’ve explained the whole living without a heart thing before via the Death Power Drain Theory, it could explain her resiliency there. Again, possible. But unlikely.

I’m not going to say that Elise and Dominique kind of look the same but THEY KIND OF LOOK THE SAME especially with Elise’s dark hair.

So hypothetically Laura’s Mom died and came back as a ghost or was turned into a vampire. While I think it would be fascinating my problems are that it doesn’t really link into Carmilla’s backstory OR into the whole Lophii eggs thing…

UNLESS you figure that Laura’s mom was ALREADY a vampire when she had Laura (ive given up trying to figure out undead biology) and she had to leave because people would have noticed she wasn’t aging. If Papa Hollis knew that may explain his raging paranoia. This is Laura reconnecting with her mother. Which frankly… so cool. But again… I don’t know why she’d be involved with anything to do with Lophii or why she’d be dressed in all black instead of just being like “hey. What’s up. Need some help with the fish?”

Also you could TOTALLY COMBINE THEM. If you make Laura’s mom a vampire before she has Laura then she can be as old as you want. You could totally make Laura’s mother the missing Anne Bronte who is parading as the TWIB. Sure, that creates the above challenges again but it’s a neat idea.

So this didn’t help narrow it at all. Maybe if we do a little more digging

What other loose ends do we have lying around? The anglerfish babies are rising and out to kill. The Brontes are probably mad at Carmilla for some reason. We’ve got a creepy old house.

What do we know about TWIB? She’s a warning figure of death She doesn’t actually kill anyone. She’s related to a bunch of children and her whole journey is started by a carriage crash. She’s a ghost and her clothing is a key trait about her. Her reveal has to matter because it’s a plot question but she can’t be anyone whose face we’ve seen before. At the same time, she has to be connected to our main cast so that we get the emotional punch.

So I need a ghostly girl related to Lophi who has angsty history with a carriage and our cast while acting as a warning of death and is someone we viewers have emotional connects to even though we’ve never seen her face and-

Oh.

Oh no. Creampuffs. We just mentioned this and I blew past it because I was looking at the wrong end.

Carmilla - “The charm should have chased the dreams away.”

Laura - “I don’t think it’s the vampires. It’s the girl. The girl in the nightdress…. She said maybe not to go into the light ‘cause the light is hungry.”

Creampuffs, I think The Woman in Black is going to be Ell.

Carmilla’s long lost love whose face we’ve never seen but we’ve heard her tragic tale of woe straight from Carmilla’s mouth so we have emotional investment. It would take about 5 seconds of movie time to remind us of that and educate new viewers. Ell was swallowed up by the anglerfish but she’s always been different from all the other girls. She’s always been the one who has been reaching out and trying to warn new targets to flee away.

What if she never stopped?

We never learn what happens to the souls after Lophii dies. We know Carmilla sees Ell at the pit but we never heard anything more of her. Carmilla spent years trying to drive girls away.

So did Ell.

What if, upon the anglerfish’s death, Ell stays either to save others or for typical “unfinished business ghost reasons” or because she’s tied to the gods power and has to. She gets enough of the power lying around to take on a ghostly form and when the anglerfish babies start growing and getting free, she tries to warn people by appearing before them. TWIB in black has never killed people, she’s always been a warning.

A warning for children. So that what happened to Ell will not happen to them.

Her white nightdress transformed into black robes after everything she’s seen.

Can you imagine that story? A story where Carmilla and Laura are living happily together until they’re summoned back to Silas to save the day once again by a mysterious letter threatening to start killing their friends. Where they arrive to find news of a stranger woman in black appearing right before people start dying and Laura wants to stay to try and reason with the specter. Get to the bottom of it.

After all, “we’ve already been through the apocalypse, Carm? What more could happen?”

A story where Carmilla just shakes her head with a sigh and a smile while she fiddles with the engagement ring in her pocket where only the camera can see. Their search brings them to a creepy old mansion and they rent it out because “creepy mansions are like obviously supernatural, carm!” and assemble the team to help them. Laf and Perry and Kirsch and Mel and even though Laura has tried to find Danny, the vampire does not want to be found.

Something about this house rings familiar in Carmilla’s mind and raises the hair on the back of her neck but she chalks it up to being human and carries on. More interested in the way, after 5 years, Laura still listens to her heartbeat when they sleep.

Until, as they sleep, the supernatural begins to take hold. Smoke and fog. Shrieks and silence. A bronte sister is the first to appear, bringing words of history and telling them to leave. For although they have tried to be peaceful, she will kill Carmilla for past grievances if they stay too long. Perhaps the vampire Bronte’s are still playing the game. Bringing back the fish and letting it feed it’s fill. After all, that’s what the Dean made them for.

The Woman In Black will come and go but never to Carmilla. It is only Laura who gets to see her face. It pings familiar, like something from a dream, but she doesn’t know where. She tries to speak but the woman says nothing back but warnings.

People keep dying. TWIB always appearing as a warning before. They will assume TWIB is the one killing them. Hollstein has made these assumptions before. This time Laura knows better. 

Laura resolves to capture her. She’s got the truth that way before and she can do it again. Yet the plan goes awry and when Laura reaches out to grab, TWIB whisks her away. She whisks her away to 1872 where Laura ends up in a period dress and sees a familiar face who she knows but does not know her. The vampire Karnstein is too enamored with Ell to see anyone else and Laura realizes who TWIB actually is.

Ell is as lost to time as Laura is. 

Somewhere, Laura will realize Carmilla has a type when it comes to the girls she loves and even though she knows it’s irrational. Her heart will throb a little as she watches Carmilla dance with Ell even as Laura is there in flesh and blood.

Carmilla meanwhile has known Laura’s disappearances before and while she may be a vampire no longer, she is still a moth to a flame. She barges into the Bronte’s home and demands their help. Demands explanations.

Laura returns and the reunion is tinged with a hundred different feelings. Laura who has seen her Carmilla and alt Carmilla but has never known a Carmilla who didn’t love her. She knows now. Carmilla will consider proposing but ultimately will hold off because Laura deserves only the best moment.

The Bronte sisters will show them the anglerfish eggs but the revelation will pale in the light of Laura’s admission that TWIB is Ell. The scenes between Laura, Carmilla, and Ell will break all our hearts. Together they’ll save the day and fight back the Bronte sisters looking to finish the Dean’s work, unaware of her change of heart.

Ell will finally see all the girls sent to freedom and, as she fades away for what is truly the final time, she will pick up the ring where it fell out of Carmilla’s pocket and press it into Laura’s hand with a sad smile.

And Laura will propose to Carmilla in the dust and ash of their victory.

And we will all break in the best way.

You asked me to write you a theory. You asked me to tell you a story. There are a hundred different versions and a hundred different possibilities because we have so little information. So this is the one I choose to tell today. Tomorrow I may rewrite this tale where the woman is Laura’s mother, where Ell is a descendant of the Bronte’s, where Elle is a Bronte and laura’s mother, where Laura turns evil, where twib is evil, where gods come back, where the world burns again, where brontes are ghosts, and TWIB is a vampire.

But today I choose to weave a theory that makes a love story. Where Carmilla gets the closure with Ell that she’s been waiting for and where Laura gets to understand a carmilla she never thought she’d see and love her all the more. This was always a love story. Our story written in Hollstein’s veins and the larger story around it written in Inanna and Hastur.

Love will have it’s sacrifices but love still always wins.

I’m @ariabauer and that’s The End.

[violetsystems]

#personal

It can be a nightmare after all these years to be too transparent for public record.  I imagine it would be something like a poltergeist; always bumping into things and being misinterpreted or read into.  The age old posit of “Shit Happens” doesn’t leave much room for argument or even proof of life  Nobody ever seems to hear my side of things other than when I write about it here.  Nobody registers the endless frustration because I hide it all so well.  I changed a lot of my routines in the last two weeks specifically.  A year ago I started getting harassed at the gym so I changed my schedule there to an early one.  Eventually I quit the gym altogether.  These days I don’t even own a gym membership.  The Nike Training App core routines and some barbells have delivered far more than the stress I had leaving the house.  I think I’ve learned over time that Yoga and Pilates in the back bedroom teaches you more about form and control.  I use a mirror to monitor my posture.  I don’t feel any prying eyes on me behind closed doors.  For years everybody knows I’ve been my own coach and source of motivation.  The source of inspiration is a given and that’s always been fiercely personal to me.  The fact that it should be so obvious is something I’ve learned to enjoy because it is to me.  But nobody particularly knows or cares what goes on in my personal life other than here where I write.  They forget about the weeks and the work therein.  So I probably resemble a ghost clanking with chains in the hallways.  There’s no causality because nobody pays enough attention to accept I exist.  I’m stuck in a limbo between the known and unknown.  There’s some attention I avoid.  I avoid heavy doses of it every day because I know better.  It’s sticks out like a sore thumb socially and I’ve had to practice a sort of poker face.  People often have a habit of expressing their distaste that I think for myself.  I changed my train route to work.  I still bump into awkward invisible walls.  People trying to hijack my narrative in public.  People afraid of ghosts I guess.  Some cultures leave offerings for the dead.  Others try to exorcise and eradicate them.  Some people throw dust to the wind and some people keep their loved ones in a jar above the fireplace.  I’m still alive clawing at the fabric of society and not so much reality.  Society is fake this we all know.  More obsessed with post truth and fake news than statistical based science.  I used to have more dread towards my situation.  That I would be completely forgotten and misunderstood for the rest of my life.  Obviously people following me around on my commute regardless of my route disproves that fate.  People treat me like Frankenstein sometimes.  Pitchforks, torches and all.  Every other week I’m on trial for a different section of my being.  I’m a patchwork of things I’ve picked up from art school year after year.  And year after year there’s something else that claims it’s cooler, fresher, and more alive.  A good excuse to keep me buried.  To keep the heresy out of plain sight.  And then there’s me banging away at the keyboard early in the morning on the internet like a spirit in the tv static.  People free to read into the message however they please.  Most people just surf right through me.  The noise is still out there every Saturday pulsing like a brain in a petri dish.  The horror.

I read this article about how they were growing brain tissue in a lab.  There was this rhythmic pulse of electricity that they couldn’t explain.  The ethics of testing on conscious living material are dicey at best.  So are half the relational aesthetics driven social experiments done in the name of justice and revolution.  What is right and normal is a lengthy discussion.  But it requires dialog. Sometimes I feel like that brain in a dish trying to give a signal but nobody wants to acknowledge.  No one wants the inconvenience of reading how I really feel.  My routine the last year has been fairly measured and predictable.  Yet people still feel the need to watch and make sure.  It’s been a bit of an insult to come full circle a year later and know full well I told you so.  And some of that sting from my own pride is softened by the fact that I broke free from the petri dish a long time ago.  Patch worked my own identity in the face of valid harsh criticism.  I am who I am and I accept pretty much everyone at face value.  I have saved so much face this year that I’ve become more weary of public and how much it takes to put on the act and show.  For all the revolutionary movements I’ve supported and all the calls to action I’ve heeded nothing much has changed for me.  In America there is this endless cycle of outrage.  Right versus left.  Good versus evil.  Black versus white.  And it spirals into a fractal of endless opinions and vitriol.  Nothing gets defined.  Compromise is completely nonexistent.  Closure is a luxury most cannot afford.  You can’t have closure without getting yourself wrapped up in a bigger drama which limits and belittles the argument in favor of populism or worse.  The tribe of public opinion has spoken.  You have been voted off the Deleuzian Island you were shipwrecked on.  A reality exposition in front of camera phones and a conscripted army of influencers.  America has moved from clique to tribe.  Everything is a little more Mad Max than it used to be.  On the weekends I still stare out my kitchen window early in the morning.  People have so many hidden expectations for me now it exhausts me just thinking about it.  It is pure mental anguish to read into all the projections and there’s no real payoff.  What statement shirt will I see today.  What hidden message or Easter Egg do I have to squint my eyes at to prove I’m fully woke.  It’s what is expected of me to be left alone I guess.  Yes I’m ok.  Yes I have a job.  Yes I keep myself busy.  Yes I keep myself out of trouble.  Yes everything outside of my apartment these days seems to be causing me more trouble than it’s worth.  Yes I’m very sad on the inside.  And yes none of that really matters because when I shut the door and think about the people I care about it’s all worth it.  Because I’m not some experiment in a dish that demands some qualitative proof of my usefulness to science, life and America.  I’m my own science project.  A mixture of phantom, shade and shambling mound.  I figured out a way to hide the scar tissue in broad daylight and let the sun fill the hollows in my face.  I’m the most handsome Frankenstein to walk the Earth.  Maybe more of the Hulk for good measure.  Aren’t they pretty much the same thing anyway?

Universal Studios actually owns the film rights to Frankenstein down to the makeup.  The only Frankenstein movie to ever make it to Japan was because of a guy from Chicago selling the rights to Toho.  He’s also the guy that could have boosted Lenny Bruce’s career.  He instead launched Woody Allen’s rise to stardom.  A parable lies within all of this.  Maybe why we’ll never see a decent standalone Hulk movie inside the MCU.  Maybe I’ll just read the comics instead and let it play out in my own head.  There’s a lot of bullshit that I don’t ever want to be part of.  A lot of soul sucking corporate tactics that don’t honor the actual art form.  And there’s the reality that money, jobs, and careers make the world go round.  I work at a non profit.  I make a non profit salary.  I’ve lived being made to feel like I’m inferior to money.  I’ve learned how to budget myself a return to New York every two months.  Someone at work asked if I had any gigs there.  I said I quit music because it was threatening my safety.  In truth the last year was really about setting up a perimeter in my life.  A place that was safe enough and anonymous to share some intimacy with another person.  Music didn’t serve that for me anymore.  It hindered my goals.  How I’ve gone about building fences around my garden has been akin to that scene in Frankenstein negotiating with the villagers.  Except in a no holds barred me alone against the court of public opinion sort of way.  Modern day Hulk has evolved into a sort of cultured retaliation against the mobs.  He’s still too similar to the mad scientist story to make poetic cinema out of it all.  Me I live this shit every day.  Hulk in Hell.  Abused in some ways and blessed in others.  People don’t like it when I’m angry.  I guess as they say that’s the trick.  I’m angry all the time.  It’s how I act upon it.  How I sacrifice my incomprehensible rage and tortured feelings out of love.  For me I spent the whole last year doing something about it.  Challenging the infrastructure of all this bullshit and leading by example.  Too much force and you break things.  Too little and they walk all over you.  Lenny Bruce had the entire police department after him for saying what he felt.  Woody Allen succeeded in Hollywood.  How you view the hypocrisy of all that is all in what you accept and what you resist.  Resistance isn’t fun.  And it looks different for everyone.  The most political battle to fight is the personal one.  The right to be and the right to think.  What is the real different between Frankenstein and the Human Ken Doll anyway?  Who owns the rights to me being me?  What gives me the right to have an opinion?  Who I can talk to and who I can love?  What I need to become to be treated as an equal in the public eye?  What people have done to stop me from becoming who I really am?  Why do I even care about having a popularly accepted opinion when no one listens?  Who has room for drama in their life when I only make space for all the love I have for you?  Of all the pieces of my life that I stitched together you are the most important one to me.  Because you are the piece that makes me whole just by being you.  It’s not a missing link it’s been an important foundation to my struggle.  If I keep bumping into you in the dark just remember it’s a love tap.  I don’t mind if you tap back.  Only you though.  Fuck all this other shit. <3 Tim

[petrifyingpoint]

My favorite aunt, Auntie Len, when she was in her eighties, told me that she had not had too much difficulty adjusting to all the things that were new in her lifetime—jet planes, space travel, plastics, and so on—but that she could not accustom herself to the disappearance of the old. “Where have all the horses gone?” she would sometimes say. Born in 1892, she had grown up in a London full of carriages and horses.

I have similar feelings myself. A few years ago, I was walking with my niece Liz down Mill Lane, a road near the house in London where I grew up. I stopped at a railway bridge where I had loved leaning over the railings as a child. I watched various electric and diesel trains go by, and after a few minutes Liz, growing impatient, asked, “What are you waiting for?” I said that I was waiting for a steam train. Liz looked at me as if I were crazy.

“Uncle Oliver,” she said. “There haven’t been steam trains for more than forty years.”

I have not adjusted as well as my aunt did to some aspects of the new—perhaps because the rate of social change associated with technological advances has been so rapid and so profound. I cannot get used to seeing myriads of people in the street peering into little boxes or holding them in front of their faces, walking blithely in the path of moving traffic, totally out of touch with their surroundings. I am most alarmed by such distraction and inattention when I see young parents staring at their cell phones and ignoring their own babies as they walk or wheel them along. Such children, unable to attract their parents’ attention, must feel neglected, and they will surely show the effects of this in the years to come.

In his novel “Exit Ghost,” from 2007, Philip Roth speaks of how radically changed New York City appears to a reclusive writer who has been away from it for a decade. He is forced to overhear cell-phone conversations all around him, and he wonders, “What had happened in these ten years for there suddenly to be so much to say—so much so pressing that it couldn’t wait to be said? . . . I did not see how anyone could believe he was continuing to live a human existence by walking about talking into a phone for half his waking life.”

These gadgets, already ominous in 2007, have now immersed us in a virtual reality far denser, more absorbing, and even more dehumanizing. I am confronted every day with the complete disappearance of the old civilities. Social life, street life, and attention to people and things around one have largely disappeared, at least in big cities, where a majority of the population is now glued almost without pause to phones or other devices—jabbering, texting, playing games, turning more and more to virtual reality of every sort.

Everything is public now, potentially: one’s thoughts, one’s photos, one’s movements, one’s purchases. There is no privacy and apparently little desire for it in a world devoted to non-stop use of social media. Every minute, every second, has to be spent with one’s device clutched in one’s hand. Those trapped in this virtual world are never alone, never able to concentrate and appreciate in their own way, silently. They have given up, to a great extent, the amenities and achievements of civilization: solitude and leisure, the sanction to be oneself, truly absorbed, whether in contemplating a work of art, a scientific theory, a sunset, or the face of one’s beloved.

MORE FROM THIS ISSUE

February 11, 2019

A few years ago, I was invited to join a panel discussion about information and communication in the twenty-first century. One of the panelists, an Internet pioneer, said proudly that his young daughter surfed the Web twelve hours a day and had access to a breadth and range of information that no one from a previous generation could have imagined. I asked whether she had read any of Jane Austen’s novels, or any classic novel. When he said that she hadn’t, I wondered aloud whether she would then have a solid understanding of human nature or of society, and suggested that while she might be stocked with wide-ranging information, that was different from knowledge. Half the audience cheered; the other half booed.

Much of this, remarkably, was envisaged by E. M. Forster in his 1909 story “The Machine Stops,” in which he imagined a future where people live underground in isolated cells, never seeing one another and communicating only by audio and visual devices. In this world, original thought and direct observation are discouraged—“Beware of first-hand ideas!” people are told. Humanity has been overtaken by “the Machine,” which provides all comforts and meets all needs—except the need for human contact. One young man, Kuno, pleads with his mother via a Skype-like technology, “I want to see you not through the Machine. . . . I want to speak to you not through the wearisome Machine.”

He says to his mother, who is absorbed in her hectic, meaningless life, “We have lost the sense of space. . . . We have lost a part of ourselves. . . . Cannot you see . . . that it is we that are dying, and that down here the only thing that really lives is the Machine?”

This is how I feel increasingly often about our bewitched, besotted society, too.

As one’s death draws near, one may take comfort in the feeling that life will go on—if not for oneself then for one’s children, or for what one has created. Here, at least, one can invest hope, though there may be no hope for oneself physically and (for those of us who are not believers) no sense of any “spiritual” survival after bodily death.

But it may not be enough to create, to contribute, to have influenced others if one feels, as I do now, that the very culture in which one was nourished, and to which one has given one’s best in return, is itself threatened. Though I am supported and stimulated by my friends, by readers around the world, by memories of my life, and by the joy that writing gives me, I have, as many of us must have, deep fears about the well-being and even survival of our world.

Such fears have been expressed at the highest intellectual and moral levels. Martin Rees, the Astronomer Royal and a former president of the Royal Society, is not a man given to apocalyptic thinking, but in 2003 he published a book called “Our Final Hour,” subtitled “A Scientist’s Warning: How Terror, Error, and Environmental Disaster Threaten Humankind’s Future in This Century—on Earth and Beyond.” More recently, Pope Francis published his remarkable encyclical “Laudato Si’, ” a deep consideration not only of human-induced climate change and widespread ecological disaster but of the desperate state of the poor and the growing threats of consumerism and misuse of technology. Traditional wars have now been joined by extremism, terrorism, genocide, and, in some cases, the deliberate destruction of our human heritage, of history and culture itself.

These threats, of course, concern me, but at a distance—I worry more about the subtle, pervasive draining out of meaning, of intimate contact, from our society and our culture. When I was eighteen, I read Hume for the first time, and I was horrified by the vision he expressed in his eighteenth-century work “A Treatise of Human Nature,” in which he wrote that mankind is “nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement.” As a neurologist, I have seen many patients rendered amnesic by destruction of the memory systems in their brains, and I cannot help feeling that these people, having lost any sense of a past or a future and being caught in a flutter of ephemeral, ever-changing sensations, have in some way been reduced from human beings to Humean ones.

I have only to venture into the streets of my own neighborhood, the West Village, to see such Humean casualties by the thousand: younger people, for the most part, who have grown up in our social-media era, have no personal memory of how things were before, and no immunity to the seductions of digital life. What we are seeing—and bringing on ourselves—resembles a neurological catastrophe on a gigantic scale.

Nonetheless, I dare to hope that, despite everything, human life and its richness of cultures will survive, even on a ravaged earth. While some see art as a bulwark of our collective memory, I see science, with its depth of thought, its palpable achievements and potentials, as equally important; and science, good science, is flourishing as never before, though it moves cautiously and slowly, its insights checked by continual self-testing and experimentation. I revere good writing and art and music, but it seems to me that only science, aided by human decency, common sense, farsightedness, and concern for the unfortunate and the poor, offers the world any hope in its present morass. This idea is explicit in Pope Francis’s encyclical and may be practiced not only with vast, centralized technologies but by workers, artisans, and farmers in the villages of the world. Between us, we can surely pull the world through its present crises and lead the way to a happier time ahead. As I face my own impending departure from the world, I have to believe in this—that mankind and our planet will survive, that life will continue, and that this will not be our final hour. ♦

[tedlandscapers43]

Running Into The Sunrise

[Author's Note: Canyon de Chelly is pronounced as “canyon de SHAY.”]

“The Indian, he says maybe the white man makes the woman go through the door first because he doesn't know what's on the other side.”

So said Allen Martin, Navajo elder, mid-way through a pre-race prayer in the sand at the mouth of Canyon de Chelly, Arizona on October 14. In the final moments before the morning sun crested the horizon of the Chuska mountains–thereby beginning the race the Canyon de Chelly Ultra– all runners, spectators, and volunteers clustered around a bonfire built in a small depression in the sand. We left a gap in the circle facing east, as a way of welcoming the sun and saying thank you to the coming of a new day. Allen went through a litany of motions, words, and songs, largely in Navajo but masterfully peppered with English to keep us attentive, all of it meant to say thank you to the various life-giving forces and to ask for strength in the day ahead.

The duality of “male” and “female” is a central component in the Navajo belief system. To this end, Allen recruited two volunteers, one male and one female, from the group of runners to represent all of us. Using a fan made of eagle feathers (“my grandpa gave me this when I was given tribal responsibility,” he said. “It is very important to me”), he waved it in the smoke rising from the fire and wafted it over himself. The smoke drifted clearly in the cold morning air, making distinctive swirls. He then did the same with his volunteers, beginning somewhat randomly–per the joke above–with the woman. He asked them to repeat after him a brief prayer in the Navajo language, which, given the vast linguistic distance between English and Navajo, elicited further laughs from the crowd. Allen laughed too. Despite the formality and gravity of the proceedings, he was clearly enjoying himself.

Just as the sun crested the horizon, Allen's son Shaun Martin rallied all the runners to the start line and sent them off yelling. Shaun is the race director of the Canyon de Chelly Ultra and has become somewhat of a celebrity among native runners. Expertise and accomplishment attract attention anywhere, and his work with various running groups on the Navajo reservation has been rewarded with success that seems massive in a place not known for big achievements in the American sense of the term. In a land riddled with poverty, obesity, alcoholism, and depression, Shaun has guided young native runners to impressive victories on the national and world levels. He does this, he says, because he fosters relationships with his runners. “Anyone can look up a 10k training plan on the internet,” he told me when I asked about his coaching. “The training is no secret. The trick to coaching is connecting with your runners.”

In 2013 he started the Canyon de Chelly Ultra as a way to simultaneously celebrate his Navajo running heritage and to raise money for young runners on the reservation. The race sold out in two days the first year, and the pace has only quickened since, to the point that UltraSignup is now hounding him to create a lottery so that people don't crash the website trying to sign up for the race. Shaun reserves 10 spots for locals from Chinle, Arizona (the town at the mouth of Canyon de Chelly), and there were native runners from other parts of the reservation as well. But the overwhelming majority of runners were white people from around the country (and, in several cases, the world.) This, I think, reflects the general demographics of our sport. But beyond ethnicity, the race seems to represent the deeper values that set trail running apart from other strictly competitive sports.

The Navajo are a “Dené,” or Athabaskan, people who migrated to the American Southwest over many generations from northern Canada. The Navajo language is mutually intelligible with several First Nations and Native Alaskan languages from tribes who live thousands of miles to the north. But for almost as long as anyone can remember, their homeland has been the rocky, labyrinthine canyon country of what is now the Four Corners region. And among this landscape, their heartland is Canyon de Chelly.

Canyon de Chelly is a conglomerate of three main canyons and countless smaller ones that begins as minor depressions high in the Chuska Mountains and quickly grows into snaking canyons of vertical rock walls hundreds of feet high that wind down to the valley bottom at Chinle (which is a Navajo word meaning something like “where the water comes out.”) The canyons are checkered with the detritus of past civilizations who left ruins and drawings that inspire a nervous awe in both Navajos and visitors. When explaining the need to respect archaeological sites to the assembled runners at the pre-race meeting, Shaun's father-in-law William Yazzie told us of the Ancestral Puebloans (whom he called “Anasazi”): “They left a long time ago, maybe for a good reason, maybe for a bad reason. But we don't touch any of that stuff. We don't want that on us.” His next comment was only half-joking: “If you touch that stuff, you might have a ghost following you around, and you can only get that off with a ceremony with a Navajo medicine man. It's a pain. So just don't touch it.”

These stories and the perspective from which they are told lend a historical significance to the canyon that is further amplified by the farms and hogans (tradition Navajo homes) that exist within its red walls. Histories of Native American/White relations all over the U.S. follow similar lines: after a (sometimes prolonged) period of resistance, most natives were forced to live on reservations, at which point white opportunists arrived and exploited loopholes and ignorance to take away huge portions of what was often the best land on the reservations.

The Navajo fought fiercely against Western intrusion–first Spanish, then Mexican, and later American–into their land until finally being subdued by the mountain man Kit Carson. His troops spent several months between 1863 and 1864 traveling through Navajo country burning crops, killing animals, and fouling water sources. The scorched-earth tactics had the desired effect, and in 1864 nearly all Navajos were forced to walk hundreds of miles to the southeast, to a place called Bosque Redondo. There, Navajo families withered away for five long years in dense concentration, watching their crops fail, their elders die, and their dignity evaporate.

They were finally allowed to return to what is now the Navajo Reservation in 1868. With this in mind, I asked Shaun what the Navajos thought of Canyon de Chelly being designated a national monument in 1931, which put it at least partly under federal jurisdiction. He didn't seem fussed about it. “You know,” he said. “When the Navajo came back from the Bosque in 1868, the white man kept drawing lines in the sand and telling them not to cross. This was just another line in the sand.”

But this line was different, because as far as the Navajos were concerned, nothing changed. Canyon de Chelly is a “living monument,” which means that people still live within its boundaries. So this was–and remains–the other way around: no non-Navajo is allowed to enter Canyon de Chelly without a guide and a permit. The only exception came in 2013, when Shaun started the Canyon de Chelly Ultra in close cooperation with the Navajo Nation and the National Park Service. That race is the one day a year when 150 people of all nationalities are allowed to run through the canyon twice–once from bottom to top, and again from top to bottom. The only discerning factor is how fast can you sign up. The total distance is 34 miles, which means that runners get to see 17 miles of sand, rock, orchard, petroglyph, and cottonwood, twice. When this is combined with Navajo histories and songs at the pre-race meeting, group prayers at the beginning and end of the race, and local art and jewelry as the prizes, you can't help but feel a certain gravity of place as you run through the canyon. The race and its attendant ceremonies provide a context to Canyon de Chelly that relegates the competitive part of the race to a subordinate position, below values like respect, family, and history. When you go into the canyon, you imagine–or maybe not–that you can hear voices from the past just out of earshot.

For as long as I have been trail running, I have been drawn to its community. This sentiment has been repeated to me by countless other runners, all of whom extol the sense of inclusiveness and approachability of the people in our sport who just want to spend a lot of time running in beautiful places with good friends. Competition is fun, but it has always felt secondary to the experience and the challenge. At Canyon de Chelly, this sentiment was both supported and given a new element. The Navajo culture provided a context and therefore a reason to think outside ourselves even while practicing an individual sport. Shaun and his family use the race as a way to suggest to us a way to use personal achievement as a means to create good for other people. We can raise money for good causes, but there's more to it. We can run into the sunrise yelling as a way to be grateful for a new day, and to celebrate the essential tension between positive and negative, and to appreciate the many life-giving forces all around us. This way of thinking gave us a sense of purpose that was characterized by the clear directions of the race markers. Rarely has the way forward felt so clear, and it was this way because we were asked to look for a way forward for many, not just for one. If for only one day, they gave us a reason to run and a place in the fabric of human cultures that meant something. This is an end that can be accomplished with the rituals of many cultures, and in this respect the Navajo way of life is but one way forward of many. But it's a pretty good one.

Allen Martin performed the post-race prayer as well. The sun had set behind behind the pale canyons to the west, and the wind picked up. The 20 or so people left at the finish line stood shivering in running clothes while Allen spoke in Navajo and wafted more smoke around with another eagle-feather fan and passed around a cup of water blessed by the ceremonies for everyone to drink from. He told us that in this way we all honored each other as people, and as members of our community. It was an important thing to do, he said, with the implication that this was better than nothing. “Normally, this ceremony lasts all night long,” he said, laughing again. “You get sore butts.”

Call for Comments (from Meghan)

Have you run the Canyon de Chelly Ultra? Can you share a few thoughts about your experience with it?

Have you participated in another race or group event that possessed such a strong cultural significance?

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