#But eventually Arti ran away to start her own family

[mushroominaforest]

More stuff from the colony au!

In this au Artificer and Hunter are siblings, twins to be more specific.

I can dump more lore about them later if anyone is interested (because there’s a lot), but for now enjoy a picture of baby Hunter and Arti!

[ghostofthefourforest]

You’ve all known the story of Harry Potter. A magical child who lost his parents way too soon, then stay with his aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon and cousin Dursley. Its a pretty dark and sad story. It wasn’t until Harry was 11 and receive a letter from Hogwarts School of Witch and Wizardry that this story began to have spots of lightness and joy, even though there’ll be much tragedy along the way before it finally does have a happy ending.

Some people find that story too light. Others find it too dark. And so, stories of Harry Potter grew faster than fungus. In some, he will find happiness sooner. In others, he never really did. Some had him placed with different people, some had him met and angel (and a demon), and some had him transported to a different time or different worlds.

 In another story, he simply got transported to a different place, and in turn, found happiness a whole lot sooner

  Another Harry Potter What If

 What if, once, at the age of 5, after one awful first day at kindergarten where Dudley yelled at Harry, and Harry yelled back, and yelling turned to brawls and the teacher called Petunia to school, a day that end up with Petunia hit Harry with a pan and Vernon practically threw him into the cupboard under the stairs, Harry did not end the day with crying himself to sleep. Instead, what he did was crying so hard, crying and begged to every Powers That Be so he would be taken away from this awful, wretched family and got a new, kinder, happier family.

What if the Powers That Be heard, and granted that wish, that in the morning Harry woke up, still in his ratty previous day’s clothes, at a bench in a park, 300 miles away from Surrey.

What if the first person he ran to was a kind milkman, a married-man, father-of-two who had just finished his delivery. And this milkman was both outraged and concerned that a young child in inadequate clothes was alone in the park with split lip and half his face bruised.

What if the milkman is friends with the closest pediatrics and in good relationship with half of the policemen on town (partially because he’d been delivering their milk for years), and so when he came to them with a wounded, half-emaciated boy, they believed his story without question.

What if, partly due to the concussion and part by having his relatives calling him derogatory names for years instead of his real name, when asked for his name, Harry immediately answered with ‘freak’. An answer that at first confuse but then with further explanation enraged everyone who heard, milkman, doctor, nurses and policemen alike.

What if, when gently persuaded to give the names of his relatives (in good intention, mind you, the policemen did meant to investigate these individuals and have them charged with child abuse) Harry panicked and burst into tears and tell them “I don’t want to go back please don’t make me” that they eventually give up on questioning.

What if said milkman was so worried about this poor, poor thin child who was only a smidge larger than his eldest 4 years old kid a that he discussed with his wife whether they could foster said child for a while than letting him stay in an orphanage.

What if said wife agreed, and the milkman brought the boy home, and the sight of this kind red-haired lady offering him warm soup, bath and pyjamas nearly made him cry.

What if said milkman was a John Creevey who lived in Allendale Town, UK with his wife Bethany and two sons, Colin and Dennis.

What if Bethany had an Evans somewhere on her family tree although the family had fallen out of contact with the Evans side sometimes after the second world war.

What if, in the morning, Colin Creevey enthusiastically welcome the kid his father brought home. After all, his mom was busy with Dennis and cooking and cleaning most of the time, therefore, someone to play with *in the house* is very welcome. Chores were easier with four hands, he’ll gladly found.

What if, after nearly three months living with the Creeveys, Harry found himself *never* wanted another family. Authorities had placed him oficially with the Creeveys, he’d started to attend year one at local school (and Colin *finally* want to go to pre-school now that Harry has to go).

What if, after months of evading questions of Harry’s whereabouts, Vernon and Petunia Dursley finally told their neighbours that they’d sent Harry away to stay with Vernon’s sister in order to ‘fix his abhorrent attitude.’

What if, finally, after wondering and then hearing from the Dursleys, Arabella Figg finally report Harry’s whereabouts to Albus Dumbledore.

What if magic, while in most part, constant, it can also be fickle; and blood magic is no exception. While Albus Dumbledore had altered Lily Evan’s protection over her son and tied it to her sister Petunia, the magic had transferred to Bethany Creevey; slowly, gradually as love grew between Harry and the Creeveys. It had completed its transfer so thoroughly in quite short amount of time for such a complicated nature of magic that when Dumbledore checked on Harry magically, the protection was in such perfect condition he refrained from visiting to see Harry’s condition with his own eyes. Something he will come to regret in later years.

What if, five years past and not a single word heard about Harry’s relatives. No one had came forward with information either. He’d forgotten his name Harry and had gotten used to being called Arthur (Artie) for five years. Compared with his previous life with the Dursleys (whose names he still has not mention to anyone) recent years had been a walk in the park, minor improbabilities aside, ones that John and Bethany (and sometimes Colin) disregard as ‘minor miracles’ while looking fondly at an oblivious Dennis. Artie privately think that it wasn’t all Dennis but he kept quiet.

What if, finally, John and Bethany finally got approval to adopt Artie and they talked to him about it. Artie cried and hugged them and agreed wholeheartedly. Not long afterwards, Arthur Smith officially became Arthur Creevey.

What if, at July the next year, a letter came to the Creevey’s residence, delivered by a brown owl, addressed to

Harry James Arthur Potter-Creevey

2nd bedroom,

11th Ratcliffe Road, Haydon Bridge

Northumberland

[cupsinmyears]

Hello! This is the story of my oc, Lucía Lara

She’s meant to belong in the story Cards by @arty-e

Trigger Warnings: Self-Harm, Child abuse

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Mauricio Lara and Michaela Parra were two commoners of the kingdom of Spades. Their marriage, like many others, was arranged by their families. They hated each other; their personalities couldn’t be anymore different and there were constant screams coming out of the Lara house.

Things got worse when Michaela became pregnant (many, including Mauricio himself, claimed that the baby wasn’t his). She never planned to be a mother and because of that she started to hate her baby even before it was born. Her husband was also mad. He did plan to have a family at some point, but expected it to be with someone he actually loved and cared about. This along with the rumors that the baby wasn’t his made him feel resentment for the child.

Finally, Michaela gave birth to a carbon-copy of herself. As expected, they didn’t care for the baby (named Lucía) at all. They would often leave her completely alone on her room, and no matter how much she screamed and cried from hunger, they ignored and sometimes even pretended she didn’t exist.

The Lara family owned a bookshop that Mauricio inherited when his father died. When Lucía was five years old, her parents started to make her walk all alone with a cart full of books from their house to the shop. This was because Mauricio was incredibly greedy and stingy, so instead of paying someone to do this job, he preferred to force his daughter to do it. The cart was very heavy for a five year old who barely ate and on top of that, there were 3 kilometers between their house and the store. Still, Lucía did as she was told to avoid her mother’s screams. Besides this, she was often yelled at for anything she did that her parents considered wrong, which was everything she made.

Lucía was neglected by her parents. They didn’t care about her hygiene or health and barely fed her even if they had enough to do so. On her first 9 years of life, her hair wasn’t cut once and her nails where constantly long and sharp plus, her clothes were always dirty. The time where she wasn’t out to transport the books to the store she spent locked up on her room.

Because of this neglect, she developed a very self destructive behavior. Since her parents yelled at her constantly, every loud noise made her panic and cover up her ears. She would yell and hit the walls of her room whenever her parents fought and would constantly scratch herself until she bled with her long nails.

When her parents sent her to transport the books, they always did it at dawn so that no one could see Lucia. She got up at three am and got back at five am. This was normal, until one day she found two women walking on the opposite direction of her path. After seeing a child on such state, the women (named Marcy and Winter) tried to talk to her, but Lucía ran as fast as she could to the store, leaving the cart full of book (her father yelled a lot that day).

Marcy and Winter really wanted to help this child full of scratches and bags under her eyes. They waited for her to come back for the cart, but went back to their house hours later (taking the cart with them) when the child didn’t appear again. The next morning they went back to the same place at the same time along with the cart, the books and some fresh bread to wait for the little girl. She eventually came, and after staring at the two tall humans, Lucía attempted to grab the heavy cart and run away, hurting her arm on the process. The two women kept her from running away by giving her the bread and telling her that they would heal her arm. She felt so much pain and was so hungry that Lucía only sat while this women healed her and ate the bread quietly but rapidly. Winter tried to ask her what her name was and other questions, but she didn’t answer anything besides telling them her name. After her arm was healed, she grabbed the other loaf of bread they had and escaped to her house. Winter and Marcy were very worried after noticing her arms full of scars and decided to wait for her the next day. Lucía didn’t come back the next day or the next or the next. The women waited for her an entire week until she came back, to the horror of the women, covered in bruises. The girl sat down saying her body hurt. Marcy held back tears and along with her wife started healing Lucía’s bruises. They tried to talk to he, asking what had happened. She only answered later and said “Mommy was mad” before starting to cry uncontrollably while telling them how her parents had beat her up before locking her in her room with just a glass of water and stale bread. She was in there for a week until she found a way to get out and decided to run and try to find the ladies that healed her. The women immediately took her and went to the authorities to tell them what happen. Marcy was trying her best to comfort Lucía, who cried and yelled, scared of what would happen.

Lucía’s parents were arrested and she spent some days on an orphanage before the ladies who healed her came and said that they were all going home. She was scared of going back to the Lara’s house, but was surprised when they took her to a small but cozy house. Winter and Marcy then told the little girl “You’re staying on our house for some days, my sweetheart; we’ll take care of you and if everything goes well, you can stay forever”. Lucía was scared, but wanted to trust on the ladies (she didn’t want to go back to the orphanage, some kids mocked her for speaking slowly) so she nodded. That same day, the ladies gave her a bath and clean clothes, cut her hair and trimmed her nails. Then, after eating a huge plate of soup, she fell asleep (waking up 10 minutes later to throw up) (the soup wasn’t bad, she just ate too much too fast). Lucía struggled to connect with the women on the beginning, but they gave her time, space and unconditional love. Eventually, she started to come out of her shell and showed her true self; a kid who loved to play and learn. She specially loved to spend time with the women. When Winter taught her to read and write, they spent hours together reading poems and short tales.

And she would spend time with Marcy while she made pastries and hummed old songs

After a year, the women realized that their foster care had failed and they adopted Lucía exactly one year from the day they met.

~•~•~•~•

To be continued

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Artemisia “Artie” Evans Species: Human? Weremoose? Occupation: Botany Professor Age: 30 Years Old Played By: Ishie Face Claim: Mila Kunis

“Okay first off, you can’t keep using the ‘supernatural plants are real’ incidents against me that was years ago. Secondly, they are real so you can go tickle your own toadstools away from me.”

The street lamps turning on and mothers standing on porches yelling for their children to come back inside was never enough to turn Artie home. The call of nature was always too strong. It sang in her bones, dragging her deeper and deeper into the woods behind her childhood home. At first, her parents worried that their child would get lost or hurt out there. They tried to restrict her by saying she could only go so many feet in or have a parent with her at all times. It never worked, and as her family got bigger her parents just stopped fighting it. Their daughter always found her way home and their other, more demanding children, were in front of them screaming for attention. So Artie ran wild, twigs in her hair leaves plastered on her clothing. Always late and always smelling of fresh dirt and crushed grass.

In those formative years, Artie discovered plants that no adults had ever heard of. Of course, they assumed it was her childish imagination at play. She discovered tiny fungal gnomes, beautiful flowers that sang softly to lull prey to them, a tree that bled human blood and her favorite of all sunflowers that faced the happiest thing near them. How was she ever supposed to live peacefully in a mundane concrete world when the world of trees and grass was more interesting. In those younger years, before reaching double digits, Artie tried to tell everyone about the magic of nature. She quickly learned that no one believed her. At first, she assumed it was her age, but as she got older she assumed it was lack of proof. That was when she obtained a new life goal. She would collect all the necessary data to prove the existence of supernatural plants.      

The plan started quietly. When she announced to her parents that she was going to school to become a botanist they weren't surprised. They asked her to reconsider, after all, they said there was no money in exploratory science and Artie would be better off with an engineering degree. Artie respectfully disagreed and they all ended up on the same page. Botany or nothing. Artie worked diligently but quietly through undergrad and then her masters. It wasn't until she reached doctorate level that she started sharing her years of saved data on supernatural plants. And to her dismay, she was laughed at and shunned. It became very clear that she would not get her doctorate if she kept up her thesis, but oh god did she try. Artemisia was laughed out of her dissertation interview. Her advisor told her that's what she got for wasting their time.  

Artie returned to her childhood home without a doctorate, without any prospects and ready to waste her life on her parent's couch eating ice cream for the rest of her life. Her parents only had enough patience to deal with her mopping for two weeks. They locked her out of the house with one tent, a bag of supplies and told her she wasn't allowed back until she decided what she wanted to do with her life. 

Artie was out there for exactly three weeks, four days, 17 hours, 42 minutes and 23 seconds before she returned. It is not an exaggeration to say that she had the most eye-opening experience of her life. At first, it was a lot of walking around. Locating some water, foraging some food and deciding that if she had to live like this it wasn't that bad. Then it was adventure, falling back in love with nature and realizing that she didn't need people's approval to discover everything there was to know about supernatural botany. 

It was while doing her own adventure that she found moose eating a fungus that she'd never seen before. Whenever they would eat the fungi, their hide would disappear and they would turn into a skeletal creature. However, for the moose, it went away within the hour. It seemed to be an especially fun treat for them because she watched the same herd of moose eat the fungal every night for a week. Now, Artie was no fungus beginner. She knew truly and well that people are not supposed to eat fungus without identifying that it wasn't harmful to humans first. She also decided that she was more interested in discovery than caring about that rule. She ate one, and to her absolute delight, she turned into a skeletal moose for the full night. She decided to keep some of the fungi and grow it for further experimentation. Later that week when the full moon hit, she discovered that without eating the mushroom she still turned into that skeletal moose. It appeared she was learning the consequences to her actions. Those consequences, she learned very early on, were pretty dire.

Artie returned back to civilization. She found her love for supernatural plants, but she was still planless for life. While mumbling drunk about supernatural plants in a bar, Artie met Red. Red said they believed in the supernatural and that Artie wasn’t crazy. That was exactly how Artie’s pants came off that night. A few months later they were married and Artie was putting her life together. By pulling every favor she'd ever accumulated she was given a second chance at a dissertation. She picked one of the supernatural plants she'd been studying, one that was part of the mugwort family. She wrote about how this previously undiscovered plant caused hallucinations and how she had been suffering from those hallucinations when she tried to convince everyone that supernatural plants were real. This time around she was begrudgingly given her doctorate. Life didn't get easier. She was still the laughing stock of the scientific community. Getting university work was about the only thing she could do. As the old adage says, “If you can’t do, teach.” 

A year and some months after Red and Artie got married they decided to have a child. Artie was nervous that her weremality would pass on, since her fungal problem was completely unstudied. Red said that they would deal with that when it came. So they did it. They have a beautiful baby girl named Violet Wardevans. 

Artie became very vocal about supernatural plants in online forums. It was on those forums she started getting tips about a small town named White Crest. After a few visits there Artie knew she had to live there. She managed to get a job at the local college,  although she's positive the same anonymous benefactor who'd been leaving her tips had a hand in that as well. She was ready to start her new life in her new town discovering new supernatural plants, despite the fact that every full moon she was still turning into a skeletal moose. Which, by the way, is really starting to cramp her style.

Character Facts:

Personality: Observant, energetic, carefree, unreliable, absent, obsessive

Every full moon Artie turns into a skeletal weremoose. She retains all memory of that night but always remembers having no control. During the night she acts like a regular moose just living its life. 

Artie cultivates a mini fungus garden of the fungus that turned her into a weremoose. She hasn’t eaten any more of them but she hopes to use them to find the cure eventually. 

Artie is always late. If you want her to get somewhere on time, you need to tell her a start time that’s at least thirty minutes earlier. 

Since moving to White Crest Artie has started a greenhouse full of supernatural plants she’s found and collected. She keeps it under lock and key and never talks about it for fear people will hold it against her again. 

Artie is currently married to Red Ward. They don’t have the same last name but their daughter has a mashup of their last names. Violet Wardevans.

[gritsandbrits]

Shrek OC Bio

General Info

Name: Rhodanthe

Age: 20

DOB: Unknown

Fairytale/Legend: Swan Lake

Occupation: caretaker and forager, heroine, Queen of Far Far Away (future)

Ethnicity: Romani

Physical description

- Black hair

- Light brown eyes

- Light brown skin

- Faded gray and pink dress with a brown outer corset (commoner)

- Royal Blue dress (special gown)

- Black feather gown (Princess Dress)

- Shoes (assorted)

Voice Actress: TBD (originally Jessica Biel but I might change it to an actress with Romani ancestry to make the role more authentic as well as rep)

Relationships

Family

- Parents (whereabouts unknown)

- Merlin (adopted father and guardian)

- Shrek and Fiona (parental figures and cousin in laws in the future)

- Artie (future husband)

- Mordred (future brother in law)

- Charming (future brother in law)

- Uther Pendragon (future father in law)

- King Harold (uncle in law, deceased)

- The Queen Mother Lillian (aunt in law)

Friends

- Shrek and Fiona

- Donkey

- Puss

- Merlin

- Artie

- The Princesses

- Lady Nimue (OC)

- The Green Knight (OC)

- The Black Knight (OC)

- Knights of the Round

- Other fairytale creatures (The pigs, blind mice, Wolf, Gingy, Pinocchio)

Enemies

- Uther Pendragon (major threat, finally defeated in Shrek 5)

- Charming (formerly, redeemed himself by realizing Uther's true plans and refusing to take part of them)

- Fairytale Villains (formerly)

- Rumplestiltskin (caused alternate timeline through a deal made with Uther, defeated in Shrek 4Ever After)

- Rothbart (responsible for her curse and parents's disappearance, defeated in Shrek 6)

- Mordred (intended to use her to get at Artie, defeated in Shrek 6)

Love Interest(s)

-King Arthur/Artie

- Charming (part of a ploy to trick Rothbart and Mordred, other than that there's no romance at all)

- Mordred (Artie's romantic rival, part obsessed with her and part using her as leverage against the King)

Powers and Abilities

Cursed Form: Transforming into a swan by night

Swan Maiden: After her curse was broken she gained the ability to turn into a swan at will, regardless of time. She's also granted immunity to dark magic

Personality

- Clever

- Passionate

- Sarcastic

- Empathetic

- Bit of a prankster

- Mix of tomboy and girly girl

- Even after breaking her curse she still has a taste for "swan's meal"

- Enjoys dancing, magic spells, and flying

- Dislikes strict rules, being rushed into doing things, and canines (foxes tried to eat her during her nights as a swan)

Background

When Rhodanthe was only six years old she was cursed by a jealous wizard named Rothbart reasons remaining vague to this day. Several years later she was left in Merlin's care to hide her from Lord Ffarquad (I think that's how you spell his name). For a time she struggled to adapt to being forced into a swan form every night, using developing senses to forage for food, improve her swimming skills, and communicating with other swans.

Shrek the Third

Rho js shocked she she sees Shrek showing up at her cottage with Artie asking for Merlin's help. Rho offer to help Artie learn how to be a real hero if they help her break her curseby searching for the Lady of the Lake, the one person that could help her break her curse. Together the quintet travel to three locations: barren wasteland, a giant date tree in the middle of the desert, and a mountainous region. Throughout their journey they are pursued by fairytale villains who try to attack them at every turn. The first attack happens in the barren wasteland where they are saved by the Black Knight.

Who then proceeds to chase them off.

The next location sees them trudging through the desert. That's when they see the giant date tree and climb it, eventually showing up at the giant's house and discover that the Holy Grail is hidden among his many goblets. The giant warns them that drinking water out of the wrong Grail will poison them. Artie manages to pick the right one by chosing the plainest looking cup and drinking out of it, coming away unharmed.

The third trial occurs in an abandoned mine that they discover are filled with crystal geodes. While walking around inside, they are greeted by illusions of their deepest desires: Shrek for his swamp, Donkey for his horse form, Puss for his treasures, Artie for his father's respect, and Rho for her human form. After much internal conflict all five reject the illusions, this passing this test.

Walking deeper into the mine, they find Nimue's place at the end of the cave. Nimue was Merlin's ex lover who left him before he and Rho met, and they present her with the Grail. Suddenly the Black and Green Knights show up before Nimure reveals them to be her brother and sister-in-law, who had been staying with her to avoid Lord Ffarquad's laws, something Rho knows all too well.

Nimue expresses her gratitude but tells them that Artie needs to pass one more test in order to prove himself worthy of being king. She sends them back to Far Far Away and that's where they find out what to st Charming had been doing. In an added twist Charming reveals that he had met his father for the first time and that he had been helping him take over the kingdom.

Shrek gives himself up to save the human teenagers and they escape. Donkey and Puss gets thrown in jail with Fiona and the other princesses and Rho hides out while Artie decides to just leave, feeling that he is still unworthy of taking arms against his rival.

The night of the play (Shrek's execution) the heroes plan on barging in to free him. Donkey and Puss persuade Artie to come back to help them. He and Rho makes up and decide to do a little research on how to beat the villains. By then Rho is back into a swan and she is assigned aerial patrol in case something goes wrong.

The play starts, Charming gloats about his killing of Shrek, until he gets ambushed by the freed heroes. Before long chaos erupts and though the heroes put up a good fight they are overwhelmed by the amount of villains and monsters. Just then Artie arrives and manages to talk the villains down. Charming tries to discredit him only for the younger man to ask if his father was so concerned for him, how come he was never there in his life before, or even when Charming's mother died.

Everyone is shocked by his question and Charming asks his father what was Artie talking about. Realizing that he couldn't hdie behind his lies anymore, Charming's dad reveals himself to be is none other than Uther Pendragon (Artie's real dad). He confesses that he was using Charming to get the throne having been seething in hate for years that he was passed over for a frog (Harold). He also admits to have been the one responsible for Fiona's, seeing her as an obstacle in his crusade to take the throne. Uther made up a cover story about a witch and ran off, eventually meeting Artie's mother and staying with her a few years before dumping her too. Godmother was not in on the plan as Uther had stolen one of her potions to get back at her; she had wanted for Charming and Fiona to marry naturally but Uther's actions put a wrench in her plans that she ended up spending years trying to remedy. By then Rho arrives and hides herself among the large wooden boards on the ceiling watching the confrontation with worry and interest.

Charming denies this by saying that Uther cared about him enough to support his acting career, only for him to laugh and say that he only stuck around to see if Charming inherited his mother's powers. Seeing that he didn't he tells him that he was nothing but a weak fool, easy to manipulate ans that he will be doomed to be just that: a weak-minded baby. Disheartened by his father's true intentions and words, Charming decides to finally act his age for once and tries to hand the crown back to Artie - the rightful ruler - but suddenly Uther snatches it out his hands and places it over his head. He then tries to persuade his younger to join him.

Artie rejects his father, pointing out that Shrek had been more of a father to him in a week than Uther had his whole life. Furious at the sheer audacity Uther grabs Charming's sword and tries to kill Artie. Afraid of seeing him get hurt, Rho swoops in and defends Artie from his own dad, but in the scuffle she is stabbed. Angered at such a sight, Shrek takes the sword away from Uther and corners him near the wooden tower on stage. Dragon knocks it down with her tail hoping to crush the evil former heir apparent but luckily the window goes over him and he lives, albeit shaken up and he is taken into custody.

Desperate to save his friend, Artie rushes to to the royal fountain (the same place where Harold and Lillian first met) and places her in the water. Because of her sacrifice, as well as Artie's heroic actions during the journey and the play, she is revived and reunited with her new friends.

Artie decides to stay and be king. Rho goes to Camelot to complete her classes as a mage like Merlin. After the Camelot seniors graduate, Artie inductd the Hero's Journey as a special course to see who will be a part of his new initiative: The Round Table

After his brief stint in jail Charming is pardoned and he takes over his mother's company and turns it into a beauty emporium. He used his mom's final spell to cure Rapunzel's baldness. Uther is sent to jail but while he awaits his trial he meets Rumple and they make a deal. This leads to the fourth movie, which happens differently

Shrek Forever After

Three years pass and Artie has settled into his new role as king. It is now time for the triplets' third birthday and Shrek is all but stressed between being a parent and people who just wouldn't leave him alone about his past.

Artie is pressured to get married and Rho is his first choice. But his advisors don't want him marrying a commoner, partly out of fear of having a repeat of the Harold & Uther feud. Rho meanwhile is uncomfortable with the idea of marriage and royalty, and confides in Fiona that while she does love Artie, she doesn't want to rush into a union just yet.

At the party the Roar incident happens and Shrek storms off. Rho goes to comfort him and they encounter Rumple, who try to sucker them into making a deal but they firmly say no. Undeterred by their response Rumple grins and says that it doesn't matter if they say no because somebody else already made the choice for them. Before neither of them could react Rumple casts the spell, sending the entire world upside down.

Waking up to find the timelines completely altered, Rho and Shrek found out that Uther had taken over the kingdom. They have to find their lost friends and family to stop Rumple and restore the timeline. But first they have to evade King Uther's top enforcer Black Knight (who is far more deadlier than the Black Knight from rhe main universe)

Notes

I probably wrote too much about Rho, so I'm going to leave it at that. I'll be making separate pictures for what she looks like in the fourth and fifth Shrek movies. The events of the movies occur differently because they were mediocre and needed a lot more spice to flavor them up . I added tbe three trialz to give Artie stronger characterization as well as giving Shrek, Donkey and Puss some development.

Rho is his love interest but they aren't going to get together that quickly, which makes them different than Shrek and Fiona as they got married at the end of rhe first movie. Charming survives in this AU because looking back on it, there really was no need for him to be a villain, and I was sad that he died. Considering how his father was never mentioned and how Artie's father was often brought up, you'd think they pull a twist like they're half siblings or something (which would have been an awesome if obvious twist given that they look alike). There's also won't be a love triangle, because Rho is aware that the Artie/Guinevere thing is poppycock, and that her eventual ploy with Charming is just to get the obsessive Mordred off her back.

Future

In Shrek 5 Rho and Artie are openly dating with talks of a royal wedding. Uther escapes and meets up with Rothbart (the guy who cursed Rho as a kid) and they try to ruin the young couple's future. Meanwhile there's this weird prophecy about Guinevere and Artie being soulmates but it's clear neither of them like each other in that way and Lancelot is the guy Guinevere truly loves. Lancelot gets development going from an arrogant man to someone more humble and wise.

Shrek 6 would be when Rho and Artie tie the knot, which will be the end of the "King Arthur" trilogy. I haven't yet decided on a villain, but it would probably be Mordred. Mordred has eyes for Rho but she only sees him as a friend, so yeah, Mordred will be the Hal Stewart/Titan/Tighten of the film that Rho hopes her magic will be enough to stop him! Charming being her "love interest" is just a later ploy to trick Mordred into thinking she's marrying Charming, but in reality she's with Artie and Charming, being an actor, would be playing along. She did this to get the obsessive Mordred off her back and to low key protect the kingdom while Artie is away on his adventure. I picked Mordred as the final villain because in Arthurian Legend King Arthur's story usually ends with him and Mordred fighting to the death (don't worry Artie doesn't die).

I really want to see more serious Shrek fanart and OCs beyond parody Sues and memes, which was why I spent hours and days working on Rho's backstory.

[marriageofconveniencerp]

Name: Artie Abrams || Age: 28 || Looks like: Kevin McHale || Job: App Developer || Status: Taken

Artie has not yet been selected in the lottery. 

Family Bullet Points:

The Abrams’, Smythe’s, Anderson’s and Jones’ are very close. Their families come from old money and go back 4 decades.

Alyona (Julianne Moore) and John Abrams (Liam Neeson) are still married and going strong. 

Alyona is the CEO of “Pink Code” a Company that develops mobile apps. Before her, the company was named “BCode”. Her father was the previous CEO and believed firmly that the IT environment was not for a girl. Unfortunately for him, he only had daughters. Alyona, being the oldest and smartest of them all inherited it and re-branded it, making sure girls would never be neglected in her company ever again. John, on the other hand, is the CEO of an architectural firm that was founded by his family 4 generations ago. They developed (and own) most of the movie theaters in and around town. 

Why are they/did they, arrange your character’s Marriage?: For them it is a no brainer. They married for convenience and eventually warmed up to each other,  so they see it as normal. 

How does your character feel about being put into the lottery and having an arranged marriage?: He doesn’t feel comfortable with it, since he hasn’t had a proper relationship since College and his last relationship ended terribly and has intimacy issues. But he doesn’t have the heart to stand up to his parents. 

Bio:

Alyona Schwab and John Abrams could remember each other since childhood, always annoying their parents with their manners and choice of clothing in social events. They knew they were privileged, and that privilege was something they should never take for granted but they also knew they couldn’t let it go to their heads.

They were both brilliant. Always with a book on their noses or a computer on their lap. Were rivals at school and studied their asses off to beat each other at lectures. It was all in good fun of course and their eternal teasing served them well, earning them spots in Ivy League schools. Glorious days of stimulating studying …but also wild partying and fast living. Years of loving, yearning and experiencing new things.

After graduating they got back home, where their parents’ companies were waiting for them- even if Alyona’s father  (Victor)  had to give her a spot kicking and screaming due to a lack of a male heir.

They were also given a  subtle but firm notice. They would marry. Soon. As soon as possible since Victor’s health was deteriorating and he was not willing to leave the company in hands of an unmarried woman.

That was the start of the happy family.

Funnily enough, the attitude John had after the wedding was what really won Alyona over. He trusted her. Her opinion, her intelligence, her leadership. He never tried to set a foot in Pink Code -her company- and never tried to see a dollar from it. He was just passionate, focussed and full of ideas for his architectural developments.

All the work, all the banter made them the power couple they are to this day. Everyone in town admires - and even envies - their dynamic and would be shocked to learn they were never really sure they loved each other until two years into their marriage - when their first born, Aubrey,  was born.

Aubrey and Artie were always really close growing up and had a happy childhood- even when their parents were crazy strict with studying and were obligated to attend a crazy amount of social events every year. They enjoyed them in a way, and found great friends in the Jones, Smythes, and Andersons.

From a young age, Artie loved dancing but tried to water it down in front of their parents to avoid their disappointment. He knew that dancing was his calling in life since he was eight years old and mastered tango dancing with Brittany S. Pierce without even trying. he started taking lessons in every spare moment he was( a rare event since he was in advanced classes in school ) during his entire life until the moment came and he had to go to College.

Artie’s parents informed him he had to be an architect. Just like his father. After all, Pink Code was Aubrey's inheritance and Abrams’s Developments was his. And Artie, being the stubborn guy he was, ran away.

The Abrams, poised and elegant as always managed to hide their son’s little adventure for a year. They hired a handful of private investigators, and kept going to every gala with a big smile -who no one could tell was fake- plastered on their faces.

And then they found him. In a hospital. In a coma and a life-altering prognosis over his head.

Artie had been living in New York for about a year, training as a dancer. He had been in a terrible car wreck and sustained a spinal cord injury. He would never dance again.

It took a year for Artie to take interest in pretty much anything. He never cried or made a scene in front of everyone but appeared to be completely out of it, all the time. And suddenly…he got into coding. No explanation, no great heartwarming speech. He simply did it.

And he got insanely good at it.

After getting his degree, masters and more courses than we can count, Artie became the stellar coder on  Pink Code. But the tension between Aubrey and Artie seems more and more palpable since Pink Code is supposed to end up in her hands, not his.

He got back in touch with his old friends - above all the Jones, Smythe and Anderson families - and he’s pretty much gotten back to his old self - even if there are topics he’s not willing to touch with pretty much anyone.

[fvrksaga]

For the last week Serena's head had been completely screaming at her. She thought it could be the stress she had been under since arriving home, could that be it? The Quileute woman could feel something stirring in her bones -- in her 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 , but what was it? That question ran through her mind throughout the night as she attended a college party with Lily. The oldest Swan girl that she needed to let loose and for a while it worked. Serena was having fun among the woman's classmates but it all came to an end when she felt a sudden turn in her stomach and felt all the hairs stand up on the back of her neck -- and a chill, oh that chill sent a shiver up her spine. Completely scared by this feeling the woman stopped dancing in the sea of people and set out to find Lily. Of course she found the woman over by the drinks and clearly was completely intoxicated and eventually she gotten the woman back to her jeep. “Oh c -- come on Ser,” Lily hiccups, leaning onto Serena for support. “the ‘arty just getting started.” Rolling her eyes at the drunk Sheriff’s daughter, she buckles the woman inside the vehicle before driving away from the party. They had a small drive ahead of them since they were about fifteen miles outside of Forks, out towards Seattle. 

Seeing the sign ‘WELCOME TO FORKS’ brought comfort to the driver, a sense of warmth as she knew they were almost to the Swan residence. Her chocolate eyes looked at the scenery around them and that is when she felt a nasty turn in her stomach and could feel the fever from a week prior come back to her as sweat began to bead down her forehead. "I -- I don't feel so good, L." Serena spoke loudly over the roaring of the wind around them as she drove down the highway. She knew she had to keep it together to drive them home, Lily was in no state to drive and was leaned somewhat back in her seat. "I -- " A foul stench filled the air as the Quileute breathed in and at that very moment she became tempted to throw up the liquid she consumed earlier. She didn't have time to fully register the smell when the shiver came back up her spine with the hair on her neck standing up with goosebumps appearing on her skin. Becoming unfocused on the road as pain erupted throughout her body it felt like something was tearing her apart. The scream she let out awoken Lily from her deep sleep and before the Swan could offer aid is when the jeep became off road. The next thing happened so quick -- a wolf appeared where Serena once sat and Lily? She was covered in her own blood and was as silent as a corpse. 

The Quileute felt like she was reliving a dream she had since a child, one of her running through the woods of her home but this time? She wasn't on two feet, but all four paws. Everything around her felt different, appeared in a different light to her. Her thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute over at what was happening and worried about the girl she left lying in the jeep. Serena found herself on a cliff, the very same cliff she jumped off with Paul when first arriving back home. 'Paul...'. She wondered what he would think her of, what her family would think of her now that she was a beast -- the very beast of her family's legends. ‘I’m a monster.’ Serena sobbed in her head. Hearing a twig snap behind her, the wolf quickly turned to face where the sound came from and growled, the hair on her back standing straight up as she crouched to the ground. While the wolf appeared ready to attack in a split second, the mind within it was freaking out on exactly what to do. 

[wisdo101]

Whispers and Lies-Ch.1

Yashil was the epitome of a happy country – with its rich farm land, vast forests, and massive mountains. It lived up to the name “Country of Dreams” because it provided everything for anyone who wanted a good life. In the center of the country, was the kingdom of Shesten, where everything and everyone resided. Trades, markets, guests, celebrations – Shesten was the place that had it all with many people leaving with a good story to tell. What kept this place looking grand was magic; for nearly 250 years, mages banded together to keep Shesten a shiny beacon for everyone who stayed there. Why did so many agree to this? It was because before they arrived, Yashil’s creatures would terrorize farmers or the causal traveler. King Vasil at the time was at lost until a few mages came to him, offering their help to ward off many of these creatures. The king took the offer and within a month, Shesten was safe with its new magic guards.

For 3 generations, anyone from a mages family were able to join the royal mage academy that was built to train them. Everyone lived happily until one day, Vasil’s great grandson, Allister, the current king at this time, wanted change. He believed that the mages and magicians of his time weren’t doing enough to protect his kingdom and country. He wanted to find ways to use magic as a weapon, something many of his people didn’t want. Repeatedly he would ask the mage elders for this, with the same refusal – the more they refused, the more Allister began to hate anything magical. The king finally decided on one rule that would change Shesten; no magic was to be used anywhere in his kingdom! Once the ruling was out, there was a sweep of guards going and finding everyone suspected of magic. They were to be cast out and anyone who tried to fight back, were either arrested or killed.  Families were separated, people who lived there all their lives were forced to leave and biggest thing that happened was the burning of the academy. Allister refused to have anything that reminded him of magic in his kingdom.

It was a dark turn Shesten with many people unsure if their home would remain as beautiful as it was before.  After Allister died, his son Allister the 2nd, took over and people had some hope when he denounced his father’s rule, allowing mages to return but under strict rule that they would register under the royal guard. This meant anyone who lived in Shesten who had magic, were ‘on hold’ guards in case of attacks from enemies or creatures. Many mages refused this, but some returned and agreed to it just to be with their families once again. Allister the 2nd turned out to be worse than his father at such a young age. Being just 24, he already made restrictions for his people; he wanted to go back to how Shesten worked before any magic. With changes to his home, Shesten and Yasil flourished without the need of constant magic. This made many people decide that magic wasn’t needed and grow a distaste for it. What was once something to be admired, was now something that was disgusted. By the time he was 30, Allister the 2nd made his kingdom safe without the use of mages. By the time of Allister’s death, the people long forgot about any magic use and carried on without it. When his son Allister the 3rd came to the throne, he enforced the laws his father and grandfather placed. Mages were still around but the magic once used to shape Shesten was a distant memory.

Even now, there are mages living in Yasil, but in the kingdom, only the king’s few magic guards can stay in Shesten with their own restrictions. Each of them vowing to be at the king’s call whenever they are ne-

“Mama, what happened to the mages though?” A young boy of 8, who was sitting on the floor looking up at the woman who stopped reading her book. The woman blinked then sighed with a small smile, “Oliver, sweetie, why do you ask such a question?”  The little boy looked at his fingers and fiddled with a button his shirt, “Umm…well, it sounds kind of mean to the magic people…”

A scoff came from another boy who sat in a nearby seat, his emerald eyes full of annoyance as he glanced at his brother. “Don’t be stupid, it wasn’t mean! Didn’t you hear the part where they refused a king’s order? Great grandpa was right to kick them out for doing that!” Oliver snapped at his brother, “I’m not stupid! It was mean to the magic people who were living here!” The green-eyed boy stood up and walked over to the younger boy, folding his arms as he spoke, “Only stupid people believe that! So that makes you stupid as well!” Oliver stood up and glared up at his brother, “I’m not stupid! You’re stupid!” The two boys began to argue until their mother stood up and snapped at them both, “Arthur! Oliver! Stop this ridiculous fighting!” The two of them stopped with both turning away from each other but glancing at each other and sticking their tongue’s out. Their mother sighed and lowered her voice, “Now, I want you to apologize to each other. As princes, you need to set a good example for everyone and it starts right here with you two.”

Arthur groaned and pouted, “Fine…sorry for calling Oliver stupid.”

Oliver refused to say anything until his mom gave him a look, “…sorry…”

“Good now shake hands and be done with it.” Their mother asked, watching as the two boys shook hands, perking up when the door opened. Allister the 3rd came walking in, chuckling at the site of them shaking hands, “What have you two been up to now? Are you giving you mother trouble again?” The boys ran other to him, hugging their father and asking 101 questions at once; Allister just smile and ruffled Arthur’s blond hair while picking up Oliver, “Now, now, you two. You know you shouldn’t give you mother worries like this.”

“Papa, mama was reading the history of Shesten again. Is magic really that bad?” The blue-eyed boy asked, looking as innocent as ever. The king sighed and put his son down and knelt down to look at them both, “Oliver, magic isn’t bad, but it’s not needed in Shesten. We’ve grown and flourished without it and mostly people are afraid of it now. Why are you asking such a thing?” The little boy fiddle with the bottom of his shirt then pointed to hos brother, “Artie and his friends said I can’t play with them because I’m a mage and might put a curse them!” Their mother sighed and shook her head – her efforts to have them make up were lost. Allister perked up and looked at his eldest son, “Arthur, is this true?”

The blond 11-year-old folded his arms and refused to look his father in the eye, “Maybe…I didn’t start it. It was Francis! He said Oliver was a made because of his pink hair and the other started saying the other things!” The king gave a stern look, “Yet you let it happen and at fault here as well. There is no history of any mages in our family, thus, no one here is a mage. I’ll have a talk with your friends’ parents and if I catch you instigating such a thing again I will not hesitate to give your punishment. Do I make myself clear?” Arthur lowered his head, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now run along and stay out of trouble.” He watched as the boys nodded and ran out of the room. His wife just shook her head, “What am I going to do with those two? Arthur is starting remind me of you at that age and Oliver has yet to come out of his shell.” Allister just chuckled and pulled her in close for a kiss, “Marianne, my love, their boys. Their going to be a bit difficult until their older. I know I was and gave my mother headaches!” He couldn’t help but laugh as the queen rolled her eyes at her husband, “From the stories I heard, I think you were worse and your sisters can prove it!” Marianne pulled away to sit back down with the king moving to sit on the couch, “I’m a bit worried, darling. The boys have their interests but lately Oliver is asking more about magic and mages more than anything. Even his teacher has told me he rather asks about magic then about other studies.”

Allister hummed and rubbed his chin as he thought about it, “The boy will learn that we don’t approve such questions. You’re too lenient with him, Marianne. If he asks, then tell him the truth that we don’t want it around and dislike it. Eventually he’ll learn and stop asking meaningless questions then move onto more important things.”

Fiddling with a dark blond curl, Marianne sighed once, “I suppose you’re right, darling. He won’t like it, but Oliver is young and will eventually learn.”

As the two boys grew, Oliver’s curiosity about magic and mages became even more prominent. Whenever he had the chance the little boy would ask: “who were mages”, “what did they do?”, “how did they get their magic?” or “are they associated with the creatures in Yasil?” Most would find their 9-year-old to be quite smart asking such sophisticated questions, but in the palace, it was something they wanted to avoid. By his 10th birthday, Oliver found one of the royal mages – a man named Roy, who only stuck close to the palace because his daughter was a maid. At first, he was hesitant saying anything but eventually, the middle-aged man couldn’t ignore the bright-eyed kid who patiently sat at his table with a hopeful look. “Okay kiddo, you got me. I’ll talk but you have to promise not to say a word outside of this house, understood?” Oliver nodded, “Yes! I want to know how mages get their magic?”

The man pulled up a chair and hummed, “Easy. It runs through our family’s blood and the source depends on what element you work best with.  Some mages work better with water, so their magic source is from the water; others get their magic through the earth. It all depends on the person and how they’re taught.” The young prince hummed, “Where is the magic?” Roy chuckled, “Yasil is full of magic, your highness. It was here long before any humans arrived and will remain here until we’re gone.”  Oliver found this fascinating, only remembering how his teacher said it was something mages came up with. “Roy…why does everyone hate magic so much? I know great grandpa was angry about them refusing his orders but when I ask, papa refuses to say anything.” The older man sighed, knowing the real reason, “Kid, I don’t think I’m the best person to tell you…” With that little information, the kid excused himself and left back home, going straight to his father’s study. Allister wasn’t there, so he waited until dinner to approach the king with his one question.

Dinner started out as usual – the queen and king spoke of upcoming events, boring the two boys, then Arthur began talking about his training. Traditional for any boy of 13, he began to learn sword fighting and horseback riding to become a strong fighter as an adult.  Allister praised his eldest son and Marianne glanced at Oliver, “Oliver, sweetie, your quiet tonight. Is everything okay?” The young boy picked at his half-eaten meal, hesitating before speaking up to his father, “Papa? Can I ask you a question?”

Allister glanced at him, “Of course, Oliver. What is it?” He replied, cutting into his food, “Why do you and everyone else hate mages so much?” That made everyone stop eating, with his older brother rolling his eyes and his mother chewing on her bottom lip. The king was finally done with hearing about all of this – he set his fork down and pointed to his youngest son. “Oliver Kirkland I’ve had enough! I’ve told you before and I’m telling you now, I don’t want any more of this magic and mage crap!” This time, instead of backing down, the 10-year-old argued back, “But I want to know! Everyone keeps dodging the question and says I’m too young to know! I want to know!”

“Oliver! If you really want to know why then fine! Your great grandfather hated magic and everyone of those mages because they wanted to run things on their own! One of them specifically tried to murder him and his family, causing destruction half of Shesten! That’s why none of them are to be trusted and why no one wants them here! Now, if you want to continue speaking about those gods forsaken people then I’ll send you to your aunt’s home until you straighten up! I do not want to ear anything more and if you speak another word about that you’ll be in a carriage the next day!” It was dead silent in the room as Oliver stared wide eyed at his father, who rarely got this angry with his sons. He lowered his eyes and tried his hardest not to cry but he felt the tears come. Allister sighed and got up to comfort his son, softening his voice once more, “Oliver, please understand. I know it’s annoying but we’re trying to keep our people safe and bringing up such a dark and sad past isn’t healthy. So please no more of this magic curiosity…” The little boy sniffled and rubbed his eyes, “Yes, papa…sorry…” Allister hugged him and patted his back to soothe him, “It’s okay, kiddo. The Kirkland family is strong without any dumb magic to get in the way. We’ve proved it then and we’re going to prove it now.”

Things changed after that day. Oliver’s questions about magic changed to questions about his studies. By the time he hit 13, the 2nd prince was focused on sword fighting and training, having the same views as everyone now: magic was dangerous and not needed in the kingdom. But now, at almost 14, Oliver’s focus was away from swords but on books. He spent most days in the library now, not really wanting to pick up a sword again. On one spring morning, he was outside in the garden with his mother and little sister Amelia, reading while she watched Arthur hang out with his friends. All the boys were 16-17 years old now, almost adults with Arthur now being groomed to eventually take the throne. Oliver was still quiet and often ignore his older brother’s teasing – he found him to be even more of a jerk now. “Oi! Ollie! Put the book down and come join us! We’re going to explore the back woods!” Arthur called out, watching as the younger teen his hid face in the book, “I’ll pass.”

Marianne lowered the book, “Go and join them, Oliver. The book won’t disappear while you’re gone, I promise. “The pink haired teen groaned, “But mother, they’re going to leave me like they did last time!” His mother pulled the book away, “If he does, you father will be after him. Besides, I think you need the fresh air, love.”

Oliver mumbled, “I can get fresh air right here…” then stood up walking over to the older boys who all were heading towards the stables. Once they got their horses ready, the group headed out down the path towards the gates that led to the south side of the city, heading towards the thick green trees. For the most part, the older boys were nice as they trotted into the forest, with Francis speaking to him. “I’m surprised you still remember how to ride a horse, Ollie! You spend so much time inside, you’re getting paler!” The group laughed, and the prince just pouted, “I do get out! Just not when stupid jerks like you are around!” They taunted him, and Arthur had to wave them off, “Hey now, be nice you guys. I rather not have my dad on my ass again.” As the teenagers trotted their horses along, something growled and spooked the horses, making them refuse to go any further. Antonio, the only curly browned haired boy there, looked around, “I heard it, but I don’t see it…maybe we should have taken another way?”

“That’s a dumb idea. We’ve always taken this way!” The oldest Kirkland spoke up as his brother glanced around. Oliver glanced around, holding onto the reigns of his dappled mare, who was jittery now. He then froze a saw what looked like a mixture of a bear and a cougar with piercing yellow eyes. It came charging after the group and all he could yelp out was “WATCH OUT!” before the force of the creature knocked down two of the horses and made the rest of them separate from the huddled group. The creature swerved around to glance at Oliver, running after him while the other teens are trying to get their horses to calm down. The prince kicked at his horse’s side and took off from the path, panicking as he looked back every now and then to see the creature coming after him. His horse took a sharp turn, sending her rider tumbling down the small hill until he hit a large boulder. “Oww!” Oliver winced in pain, hoping nothing was broken as he slowly sat up, seeing the creature looking down at him.

“B-Bloody hell…!” The young teen froze as the creature came closer, baring its sharp teeth at him. But in a flash, Oliver saw two balls of flames hit the creature, making it run off from the prince. Who did that…? he thought looking up to see a man with long, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Alongside him were two boys, who looked around Arthur’s age; one with red eyes and the other violet both quietly looking down at him. The man spoke with a soft toned voice, “You’re safe for now, young prince, but it will come back if you remain here. I suggest you don’t stick around long, otherwise we’ll be in a bigger mess.” And with that they disappeared and within minutes, Arthur arrived with the others. “Oliver! Fuck! Mom is going to bloody kill me!” The younger prince was in a bit of a daze as his brother picked him up and settled him onto his horse, holding Oliver as he got up himself. “One of your guys go grab Oliver’s horse and let’s get out of here!”  With one of the teens doing just that, the group rode back in silence to the safety of the palace grounds.

Oliver was quiet the way back home, thinking of the beast that chased him and that man with the two boys. He knew people lived outside of the city but didn’t think they would help him of all people. His head hurt from this and as they arrived, his mother was confused as to why they were back so early. Everything happened so fast – from his mother calling for a doctor, to his brother rushing him inside to his room.  The younger boy just closed his eyes, wanting the dizziness and pain to go away. A check with the doctor showed no broken bones, just some bad bruising and a few scratches that will heal. He was told relax for the rest of the day and Oliver nearly passed out as he laid for a nap.  His mind was on the man with the two sons, wondering why they would help him from such an awful beast. Even at dinner time, the teen wasn’t paying much attention to his parents, who were asking about what happened. “Arthur? You didn’t see the creature that was charging after us?”

The older Kirkland shook his head, “There wasn’t anything there, Oliver. It must have been a nearby bear that spooked the horses.” He said, pretty much dismissing what his little brother said – it wasn’t just a bear…it was something bigger, I saw it. I know I saw it because 3 other people saw it…, Oliver thought, picking at is food. Ignoring the replies of ‘he hit his head and must have something’ his parents said, the boy continued to eat in silence. After dinner, he took a small walk before it got dark, stopping one of the maids he knew roamed around in the market. “Oh! What can I do for you, your highness?”

“Nothing…I was wondering, does anyone live outside in the southern side of the forest?” Oliver asked, watching the maid hum and think, “There might be…I think I remember hearing stories about a man and his two sons living out there. But you shouldn’t concern yourself with them! They’re mages and so secluded that some people believe they’re not really human!” With those odd eyes, I would believe, he thought, smiling. “Thank you. Sorry to bother you.” It still bothered him, but the prince decided to drop it for now, heading back to his room to sleep. The next day, he was back in the library once more, searching around for something new until he spotted an old leather-bound book on the very top shelf that was just barely out of his reach. The teen grabbed a chair and reach up to get it, nearly on his tippy toes to grab the book. He managed to grab it but fell, causing the bookcase to fall as well. Gasping, Oliver flinched, “No!” Closing his eyes and preparing for a bookcase to hit him. But when it didn’t, he opened his eyes to see his hands have a soft blue glow and the bookcase stopped half way with the same glow. “What the…?” Confused and shocked, he slowly moved his up, watching as the large bookcase was put back in place, alongside all the books. Oliver then looked at his hand and shook it, making the glow disappear, “Magic…? But how?? That’s impossible!” Internally freaking out, the prince decided to not tell anyone, unsure of how they were going to react to this.

Glancing at the book, titled “Creatures of Yashil”, the prince pretends the whole glowing hand didn’t happen and opened the book. But he felt off and decided to keep it for later – the thought of him with magic scared Oliver. What if his parents found out? The news would spread like wildfire and cause problems for everyone. He couldn’t do that to his family; so, hiding and ignoring was the decision made that day.

But that proved to be difficult – with each passing day, week and month, there was magic flop where Oliver had to come up with an excuse for. He didn’t like lying, but Oliver feared what will happen if anyone knew the truth.  When the teen turned 16, he decided that he was going to use it in different ways. Perhaps if he used a little bit of it, it won’t be as hard to hide it as it was when he found out about it. He used it on the garden, making the flower grow bigger, the grass greener, the trees more flourished. When guests came to see it and they asked how they got the flowers to look so beautiful, Oliver would proudly say he was just good at gardening.  His little sister Amelia didn’t like it because whenever she picked a flower, it would immediately die in her hand. He managed to make a flower crown for her that wouldn’t die, getting the hang of the little exert of magic he was going. Though, there was one thing he noticed while using his magic: if he used a lot of it, a marking would appear on his arm. They were intricate designs that glowed when the magic was being used, bust lasted for hours and he had to find ways to cover it.

It came to a point that the young man had questions as well as fears. Oliver hated being so secretive with his family and tried his best to seem okay. Every so often, he would glance at the forest, wondering if that man and his two sons could help. But that would expose him, and he just wasn’t ready for that. He remained quiet, hiding his big secret from a family that didn’t have any exposure to it. Oliver Kirkland, the awkward teenager of the family right now who acts weird around people at times. He had to do this on his own – but often wished he had someone who could help him. If he asked Roy or any of the other mages, they were required to tell his father and he didn’t want that.

Hiding magic isn’t so bad!

Right?

Six years passed.

Within those six years, Allister announced he was retiring as king to give it to his eldest son, Arthur, after he was married. The blond Kirkland was now a 25 year old bachelor and the talk of many noble women in Sheston. With his emerald eyes, defined eyebrows, golden hair, and athletic body, it made every young woman blush as hey spoke about how handsome he was. He carried the same pride and strong look as his father and grandfather before him. Oliver turned out to be completely different from his older brother - his features became more effeminate with long eyelashes, a slender body, and he began to wear earrings that made him look even prettier. People found him adorable because of how young the 22 year old looked and some even said he was prettier than some women; Oliver was open to conversations, was polite, and had a charm that people loved. But, what none of them knew, was the 2nd prince had magic and been using it for over 5 years now - and honestly, he was at a point where he wanted to learn how to properly use it. Every time he bought it up, his parents where almost the same as when he was asking them as a a kid once more - uptight and refusing to shed any light on mages.

It bothered the young man, but not as much as it did when he was a kid and teenager. Oliver was at a point where most men were trying to figure out what they wanted to do in life - though, Arthur found it weird that his little brother never was interesting in women. The last time a woman flirted with the pink haired man, he was completely oblivious and figure she was just being nice to him; causing her to gossip about how the younger prince might not like women. As a normal citizen it was normal to like the same sex, but in a noble and royal family, it wasn't when the family wants to grow in size to continue to the family name. Oliver wouldn't admit out loud but, yes, he preferred men and was attractive to them, but gods, if his family knew about that they would flip out. He was also not the type of person to snap at  people for gossip that may or may not be true because to him, it just stirs up unwanted drama and stress.

"Oliver, you're joining the summer solstice party right?" Francis asked as the group of men sat in the parlor with drinks in hand. The younger man became friends with Arthur's friends and grew a bit more closer to Francis because of their same interests. The young prince smiled, "Of course. It's one of my favorite celebrations of the year. Plus, I don't want to miss seeing all those women trip over themselves to impress Arthur, hoping to become the next queen of Sheston." The other's chuckled with Arthur rolled his eyes,"Don't remind me. I am not ready to impress all these women....I guess it's better than going with the old ways of mother and father picking one I don't know." The other agreed with that, "But I'm curious about you, Oliver."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

His brother gave a small smirk,"You need to find yourself someone. Maybe someone to finally have some fun to relieve that stress you have." The pink prince blushed,knowing exactly what Arthur meant as he covered his face with a hand, "Seriously? Isn't that a bit inappropriate right now?" Antonio waved a hand, "Relax! We're all friends here!" Arthur laughed and patted his brother's shoulder,"Really, Oliver, you know mother is expecting both of us to find a potential wife at the party. Amelia is no longer a baby and hitting her teen years, so, she's expecting grand kids now."You're going to be the one giving here that, not me, the pink prince thought,"Ergh...we'll see. After you become king, I still have to figure out what to do once your coronation is done and you have that shiny crown on your head. Perhaps I'll travel!" His brother just ruffled his hair, chuckling, "Alright, kiddo. But do expect you to at least talk to people at the party. No avoiding people and running off to the library, got it?"

The smaller Kirkland heavily sighed, "Fiiineeeee  guess I can do that." But honestly, he wasn't ready for the party because when there was a lot of people, his magic would be erratic, making it hard for Oliver to keep it hidden. Almost every party he had to slip away to relax and try keep the magic down or do something to release it - often causing a bush to be set on fire. Lately, it's been growing and the markings have made their way to his shoulders and other arm, giving a cooling feeling through his body. Oddly enough, it relaxes him but the young prince had to find ways to avoid people for fear of them seeing his intricate blue markings. Perhaps with this party, it wouldn't be too bad because it's outside where he can get fresh air and Oliver can manage it better than being cooped up in a large gathering hall. Oliver wanted to support his brother and knew that if he missed this party, it would the talk of the nobles the next day - he rather not feed into the gossip like that.

[laurakinneywrites]

RITA PARK;

fc: chloe bennet | counterpart: rita from oliver and company full name: rita park goes by: rita, reets, etc birthday: 19th december 1995 sexuality: bisexual parents: unknown pets: n/a (give her a pet tho) occupation: thief

Rita knows nothing of her family, nor even where she was born. After being abandoned on the side of the road as a child, Rita was found, taken in, and named, before being hastily tossed into the foster system. Rita was never fortunate enough to settle within any family, always breezing in and out of various foster homes, picked up by potential adoptive parents, only to be discarded when she proved herself to be too difficult to handle.

As a child she had the tendency to be more reserved, always withdrawing and shutting herself off from others, terrified that should she grow close to anybody she'll only be left disappointed when they inevitably abandon her too. As a result of this, and of being such a small and easily disposable person, she was often kicked around and mistreated, both by the kids she went to school with, and her 'families'. She endured years and years of abuse of different varieties, and had to learn to defend and take care of herself when it finally dawned on her that nobody else was going to.

She always yearned for a family, for parents who loved her, for siblings, and friends, and somebody to call her own, but as she grew older she came to accept that the stark truth of it was that she wouldn't ever find a home or safety like that, and that maybe she didn't deserve it. She became all to adamant that, perhaps, she wasn't destined for the life that so many were, and that it was her lot to just keep on fighting back against whatever situation she might find herself in. However, where such conditions might drive most people to insanity, or to revert even further into themselves, it only fuelled Rita. Forcing on a brave face, Rita made damn well sure she would stand up for herself, even to the degree of always mouthing off, only further angering teachers, foster siblings, foster parents, and a whole array of others. Rita's actions only furthered some of the abuse that she experienced, ie giving her foster parents an incentive to beat her for 'acting out'.

She eventually found a loving home, a family that wanted to keep her and protect her from her horrendous past. That was until her foster mother passed away, after a fatal car accident, and in all of his grief, Rita's new foster father turned to alcohol, and in turn became violent. Her only foster sibling, a brother, watched his father's behaviour and began to mimic it, and once again Rita found herself becoming somewhat of a punching bag to the people that were supposed to love and take care of her. Eventually, aged 16, she bolted from the home she was in and ran away. Having to fend for herself, she soon became accustomed to stealing things so as to feed herself, and even going as far as to pick the pockets of unsuspecting strangers for a few dollars to get her through the day.

Of course, life on the streets paved way for a lot of trouble, both inside and outside of the law, but it also meant that she met Artie, her best friend. As someone who has a difficult time trusting people, and certainly has a difficult time trusting men, Rita surprised herself with how taken she was by Artie, who quickly worked his way into her good graces – whether or not he meant to was another question altogether.

As distrusting as she can be, Rita is also a terrible flirt and will try and work her charm on practically anybody, including Artie when they first became acquainted. Soon after their meeting, and joining up with Foland's gang, she met a guy named Derek who, after lots of flirting and a few hook ups here and there, she soon went on to date. Derek was exceptionally possessive, though, and was constantly questioning Rita on her whereabouts and every minor detail of her life. While Rita wasn't the type of person who would give up Artie, or any of Foland's gang, she also didn't like being under such a tight scope, and thought she should have the freedom to live her life without having to answer all of Derek's questions. Things were never just black and white with him, however, and he would switch from being sweet as pie, claiming he wanted to give her the love and respect she deserved, to expecting her to confer with him on all of her decisions in life, believing that he had some sort of hold over her and that she belonged to him.

In addition to all of this, he was incredibly biphobic. On discovering just how open and proud Rita was about her sexuality, he became all the more insecure and suspicious of her, constantly accusing her of cheating and doing him dirty. One day he became exceptionally angry and violent, going so far as to hit her. Terrified of losing somebody else in her life, and being abandoned once more, Rita stayed with Derek despite his anger and his cruelty. Insecure and afraid of abandonment, and never truly being loved, she convinced herself that she probably deserved it for not being a particularly good person, and that this was 'as good as it gets' and that nobody would love her more than Derek would.

Both luckily and unluckily for her, her relationship with Artie always took a forefront, and one day Derek became all the more jealous and angry and, after claiming he'd never do it again, he started hitting her again. Rita got out as fast as she could, just in time for Foland to whisk them all away and into Cherry Grove. She has no idea if Derek knows where she disappeared to, or if he'll make an appearance anytime soon, but she can only hope that he won't.

After years of trauma, emotional, physical, and even sexual abuse, between foster families and exes, Rita has long since given up any dreams and hopes of living a happy and normal life. She's resigned herself to be quite content within Foland's gang, happily picking pockets and helping out where she can, while also doing her best to try and keep some of the boys in line. All foolish notions of happily ever afters have been forgotten, and she counts herself lucky in that she'll always have Artie by her side.

Despite knowing she always has Artie, she's terrified that one day she won't. While she's accepted that maybe her best friend might never leave her – though it took her a while to get there – she's certain he will get himself into a certain degree of trouble that there's no coming back from. While she's definitely defensive and protective of the people she cares for, she is less likely to jump into a fight like her best friend might, and though she knows he's well capable of taking care of himself, she also recognises his reckless actions, and they frighten her a little because he's the one person she won't be able to come back from losing.

Rita suffers from abandonment issues and severe insecurities that are masked in self-deprecating jokes, sarcasm, and extreme levels of faux-confidence. She's incredibly flirty, loves to tease and enjoys comic books and magic, but is also well capable of defending herself where necessary. She's often outspoken and rude, and jumps into situations a little rashly from time to time, but for the most part has good intentions. If she loves you, she loves you wholly, and if she has a crush on you she'll make it known. Rita also loves tea, hates coffee, doesn't drink or smoke, and loves cats and dogs. She loves photography, and would love to make a career out of it someday, though she has no expectations for her own future in that regard.

[hoenn-hakase]

The Hosts in 20 Years

So there was  a prompt over on the subreddit and i thought I’d share my entry here.

Red: Was never one for the massive following he got. He did love to think that he was able to bring so many to the light of Helix's teachings, but they should be following HELIX not him. Used the fight with AJ to fake his death, and after getting Abe back home, his bro helped him find a good place to build a monastery hidden in the mountains. His followers are some of the most zealous, but he doesn't mind because he's the worst since it's a much smaller group. Abe and their mom are just glad to know where he is and write more often than risk visiting.

AJ: After "murdering Red", he had several years and a heck of a time proving his innocence on the matter. Honestly, he'd be proud to admit it if it didn't mean basically losing EVERYTHING either due to being hunted down by Red's followers (which he's had enough of that already) or the stigma from his friends and family to learn he'd actually killed someone, so he eventually managed to convince the courts that there wasn't enough evidence to say whether or not Red's reported death was his fault. While there is still speculation, he's managed to live a mostly quiet life. 20 years later, he's telling his adopted kid about his wild tales on the road and lauding himself how it's because of him that Johto is at least much safer than it used to be when the Church of Helix was at it's peak.

A-chan: If her addictions haven't killed her, after 20 years, she's probably been through rehab a few times on mandate. Her wild and reckless streak has toned down, but she's still quite the pistol you don't want to mess with. It's been debated for years just how much damage her and her team actually caused for Hoenn, whether talking about the societal structure, the economy, or property damage, and even more so in wondering if all their work was "for the better" or not. Gets compared to Alice a lot as far claims of totalitarianism goes, but no one can deny that Hoenn has at least been peaceful since she took out Aqua, Magma and the League.

Alice: Pokemon Professor, no surprise, but she is THE authority of Commewnist Kanto. Green is also a professor, usually the one dealing with starting trainers and such, but most kids know that if or when they're ready to go into an academic career instead of being just another trainer, they'll probably be meeting with her eventually.

Napoleon: Even if he doesn't like to show it, he's surprisingly close with those of his inner circle. His friends, his family, his Pokemon, he just seems to like traveling a lot with them or to visit them for some reason or another while keeping his life very private from the public. When he does show up though, it's usually as a major Sinnoh event (like the League games or Rapidash Races) or when opening new venue. He sure does still own a lot of different kinds of gambling venues (like his Aunt Gracie has a place named after her since she's long since retired as a Rhyhorn Rider) and he sure does know how to throw one hell of a party, but after 20 years he's not big on the dance riots. He still enjoys a good dance riot, and many will say to see any of the family dance is a real treat, but he tends to just feed off the energy of the room than participate.

Aooo: It is a mystery! 8O But seriously, while she does have a family to take care of, how she does so is anyone's guess since she doesn't work but instead will go off for hours by herself and somehow come back with stuff for them. With her wife being a big name movie star, most just assume that money isn't the issue, but where she goes all day leaves people guessing. Never shows up at Sabrina's movie premiers either, at least... not on the red carpet. People always report seeing her at the theatre, but for some reason no fan or tabloid has ever be able to prove it on camera.

Jimmy: While he may have gained such notoriety as an internet star and has had his fair share of ups and downs with the Media trying to bring up his ties with Plasma in the past, he's learned not to let it get to him. After 20 years Plasma has long since been gone, he was the one to take them down in the first place, the former and even current gym leaders support him and often guest star at his online or real life charity events, and it seems when it's not some charity event he's in the papers for, it's his on-again-off-again relationship with N that's even become something of a joke with his fanbase in taking bets to how long before N runs off again. He's had other relationships, but somehow... somehow this just never "officially" went away.

Cly: While she is still a big name actress, she's not as active as she used to be. She's a lot more meticulous in her roles and only seems to show up for either big-budget projects or films she really feels passionate about the script. And she can do that because she's got a clothing line and several music albums that seem to take up most of her time anyway.

D: Hilariously, while he failed as a fashion designer, he's a really great detective. It's just, most people don't realize this. As a member of the Looker Bureau, he's got a code-name like the others, and his investigations often seem to coincide with his love and knowledge of high fashion: jewelry theft, accusations of plagiarizing from between big name stores, getting asked for his opinion on cases where articles left at the scene might be crucial evidence of a bigger picture, ect. Nevermind the rumors that the only reason he's not on the streets yet is because his royalty family keep his otherwise lavish lifestyle funded, he likes the thrill of the hunt and it's kept him both well off and entertained between attempts at a "real" business. Pepe gives him a hard time in saying that by now Richard is failing on purpose. He should know how to art, it is really not that hard. Says the one with possibly literal god-given talent. Lay off him, jerk. XP

Arty: As I've mentioned before elsewhere, married to May (no, not M A Y but the Birch girl he traveled with during his time in Hoenn) and was at odds with her brother Orlando for quite some time but has since reconciled. HOWEVER, Orlando is still unsure how May even puts up with Arty after all these years because the guy has never held a steady job in his life. Sure he can always fall back on his music, but considering most people are asked what their fall back is when they want to get into music, that's saying something. The guy has done the rock star thing, the small business thing (several times really, from making t-shirts to breeding rabbits), the published writer thing (he did have an autobiography book published recently, but that was with a ghost-writer and sales were decent at least) and even the mafia thing. Not that he was bad at the mafia thing, but he just didn't think he was up for all this "shady business" when he craved the spotlight. Rumors still swirl around that he's got ties to the mafia, but oddly, despite all evidence, most general public just looks at that and laugh it off.

Abe: After finally making it home, stayed home for quite a long time just sort of helping out around Kanto. Helping Red get his place built and up and running, it kind of reminded him how much he missed traveling and exploring the uncharted territories of the world. Still, after all the trouble he ran into, he takes some baby steps at first in just making better maps of the Kanto and Johto region. 20 years later, he's a leading name when it comes to cartography and is quite the established architect too, having dozens of blueprints seen in buildings around the world for some of the most surreal looking structures. Got a dream? Let him take a look at the landscape in mind to get this thing started.

Baba: Like A-chan, if she's not dead, she's probably left quite a mess in her wake. Baba however was never as aggressive as A-chan was, and while her time as President was seriously controversial, many of Chengdu don't blame her for the circumstances as she inherited a mess to begin with. If she didn't pull the trigger, it would have been someone else (possibly was someone else considering the mysterious circumstances to when she left office.) For all she did wrong with the ongoing war with Orre, she did a lot of good in the way of equality for Elfs, Half-elfs, and the humans still leery about them. After 20 years, she's done quite a bit of travel anywhere other than her home country, and has settled down quite nicely in a house by the sea when she's actually home.

Amber: The ever faithful cleric still finds trouble making Sanae as big a thing as anything with the Fossil Pantheon. However, she's found quite a following none-the-less and has found much better tolerance among other "small" religions such as the fading Weather worshippers in Hoenn.

Athena: While she's never given up the fight for equality for her people, it's been a long and tiring fight nonetheless. Others have been able to take up the mantle for her, large gatherings taken up with more powerful or outspoken leaders. She writes a lot, but spends most of her time traveling with Amber since her own work can be done from anywhere whereas Amber seems to following her calling.

Nina: ...Oh Nina. Where do I even begin? -Ahem- After 20 years, she's finally managed to return home to find that Hoenn is FINALLY safe. While it could take a lifetime for things to finally return to normal, at least they can handle anything that's still lingering. Handle being the key word there. There's always still a lot of work left to do though. On the upside, there's no longer a sense of urgency for fear of impending doom, so the things she and all her network of friends has to focus on now is stuff that takes time. Stuff that she couldn't actually help with no matter how much she wanted to. Stuff that, for her at least, will have to wait. So in the meantime, there's a lot of trying to settle into a semi-normal life. But at least for all the "... what now?" that permeates the region, everyone is willing to work together to solve this.

A7: Like many have said, he never really could settle down. Not that he had some purpose he was chasing like Amber or Abe, he just doesn't know how. He's at least come to peace with his past though, and has long since come to accept that there's a whole lot of people who actually do care about him. He spends a lot of time going from one couch to crash on to another, and while his friends may not necessarily like it, they're always glad to see him when he passes through.

Alpha: ...|D;;; -AHEM- Well not taking anything else into account, I'm sure he's grown up to be a fine young... teen. It's not that he doesn't age, but due to a lot of his cybernetics and chemical changes, his body just doesn't respond normally anymore. It's been odd seeing his little sister grow up and surpass him, but his physical form has had done little in stopping him from becoming a high ranked researcher at the Pokemon HQ. And hey, he can still do a heck of a lot more than most people can, so his smaller stature has never been an issue either. He's had a lot of identity issues to overcome, but over the past 20 years, he's figured that there's a lot of stuff he can do to help in the region's recovery and gods know he's got plenty of time to do it.

Evan: Is basically a god. Timelines or not, I can't see him as anything otherwise. Shared the burden of Olden's power he inherited with Azure, and the two do a lot of minor meddling in the world to keep it functioning. He's WAY more chill about things than Olden ever was though, and has been rather curious and pleased to see how over the next several decades after being named supreme overlord that the Glitches have somewhat been accepted by the world. It's not necessarily peacefully, it's almost like any story where you have lots of mythological creatures being real. The "old wives tales" have proven quite useful to people who have learned that "If you see a -glitch- you can protect yourself with a pouch full of basil! / If you encounter one, it could prove quite lucky and make you a very wealthy person indeed! / They're actually very curious little things you might see out of the corner of your eye. They disappear if you ignore them long enough." He tries to keep them in line more often than he goes meddling in human affairs anyway. Even he, though, has become something of a legend among people as they may swear that sometimes, sometimes, you may see a ripple in the fabric of reality where the Glitch King has passed through recently.

Paul: He made it to the top! CEO of his own company, lots of friends, lots of adventures! ... So why did he feel like his journey was so... lackluster compared to the others? He's heard plenty of the other hosts, I don't doubt he's probably met a few of them, but hearing their stories compared to his own, it seemed... dull. But then again, he was a lot older than any of them when he started, so maybe the journey just seemed a lot less "magical." Or perhaps it was because of his friendship with the Glitches, that there seemed to be a lot less danger? Sometime in the first 10 years, he goes to take a personal journey for some soul searching for what he felt he was missing. After 20 years, he's long since returned home feeling empowered by what he's learned, and his company has been flourishing.

Pepe: By far the most quiet and reserved of his family, it constantly surprises people he's also the friendliest. Whenever there's some kind of major event, chances are he's there. Hiding out in the crowd, somewhat mingling along the outskirts to admire the building's decore or take a fascination with the party's theme, but he's very rarely one to instigate conversation. Should someone approach him though, he's not one to turn them away. He claims to own the dance floor. Napoleon highly disagrees, but it's more a matter of opinion since they have VERY different styles when it comes to dance. Over the past 20 years, he's realized that there's oddly a LOT of perks to being in his brother's shadow. He can shirk off most of political duties Napoleon has to deal with, and takes advantage of the fact that most people don't seem to care about him as much. He's not a major leader, he's not a party animal, he's got a fairly steady love life, and he's quiet about it. The news finds him dull usually, and intriguing to realize there's a certain air of mystery about him. Otherwise, he spends a lot of time off by himself, with his work, with his faith, and holding close the secret he's had since he was a child about the whole Artisan ordeal the world has long since forgotten about.

Cyan: In a constant state of "Dad pls" even after she's managed to get him to step down as Champion and has him offering advice whenever she rants to him whether she actually asked for his opinion or not. Her family still loves to get away from things every now and then, camping trips, exploring their "territories," her trying to prove to her parent that the Glitches are really sweet... that's not been going well, but they admire her for it anyway. After 20 years, she's quite the leader now and has spent a lot of time trying to clean up Naljo/Rijon political system. Probably goes golfing with Paul occasionally as an excuse for them to complain about Host things that no one else could ever understand.

Nigel: While he's settled down in Alola, he's never given up his Ranger ways and spends a lot of his time working in conservation efforts and working with other regional leaders about just what they could do to help out in a more grand scale preservation effort on some of the world's most delicate species.

Devin: Devin is uh... Okay, so 20 years from now, he... There's really no telling with him. While he does most likely have a bird sanctuary, he's got several other things he runs as well. His hyperness has thankfully gone down with age, but his eagerness has never waned and he's a World Tournament super star as his thirst for battle has only grown with each new region he gets to explore. Movie star? Maybe once or twice, and getting to meet Cly is certainly a good motive, but only because he can't turn down a good challenge. (She still kicked his ass btw, though in a coordinated for film fight, they loved to show off and keep it rather even.) He still lives in Alola though, and very rarely stays away for more than a few weeks at time because he does feel like he has a lot still to do there. WHERE in Alola is anyone's guess since he tends to just show up on the different islands at random, but a lot of people joke that he's probably got a bed set up in his office at the sanctuary. He's no longer Champion though due to how much he travels, but still stays in touch with all of the would-be Champions that have tried to take his place (except Faba, he will gladly kick him out of the seat the MINUTE he finds out Faba succeeded in becoming champ -shot- ).

X-man: Whoo boy, I hate to say it, but the rate technology advances, after the first decade most of his features have probably become obsolete. After 20, if he's not in a museum, you know that finding parts and storage drives has become nearly impossible due to the increasing rarity of finding such tech in good condition. He might still be functioning though, even if only as a display for how things were back then. There's been newer models since then, sleeker, more human looking models too, but even if the team found a way to transfer all of his data to the new robot, it's just not quite the same. New!X-man probably has looked at the old model in the display and smiles sometimes as he still remembers the journey. Every. last. input because his data files are accurate and doesn't allow for such nostalgia, but even he has to sometimes wonder at the grandmotherly parrot on his shoulder how the hell they managed to do it?

[side-kar]

Chance

Nightwing/Dick Grayson x Reader 

Word Count: 3079 

—————————————————— 

When you walked into your shared apartment, something felt off. You didn’t know what it was but your gut told you something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Babe?” you called out to your boyfriend, only to be met with silence which was odd considering you could see that he left his favorite shoes by the door.

Nonetheless, you shrugged off your coat and tossed your bag onto the couch before heading down the hall to the room that you both shared.

Oh.

Your heart plummeted to your stomach when you saw a pair of heels, that weren’t yours, in the hallway leading to your bedroom. They were placed as if they were taken off in a rush. The tears hadn’t come until you neared the door and opened it. It was clear that Dick and her had been there for a while as she was laying on top of his chest and their clothes were in a pile on the ground. The knife of betrayal twisted into your stomach and you choked a cry back as you saw how at ease he was laying there with her. They seemed peaceful, and together, something that you and him seemed to be lacking as of late. You backed out of the room slowly, as to not disturb them, but were quickly stopped by a hand placed on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Dick whispered as you turned around to face him.

You wanted to slap him and scream at him for betraying you after four years, but you couldn’t find the strength to do anything. A tear escaped and you quickly wiped it away, not wanting him to see.

“Yes? Sorry I was just getting out of your way. It’s clear I was interrupting something,” you said sarcasm and malice dripping from your voice.

“Babe please let me explain”

“Explain what? It’s clear what happened here. You and Zatanna clearly have something going on here and I’ll be damned if I’m sticking around to find out what.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I’m sorry but it’s exactly like that. She’s naked in our bed! Our room! Our apartment! You didn’t even have the decency to break up with me. So I’m going to ask this once. How many times?”

“Y/N….” he trailed off.

“Just answer the damn question Grayson,” you harshly whispered.

“Three,” he answered hesitantly and that was when you knew that there was no going back.

“I’ll have my stuff out of here by the end of the week,” you told him turning back around and hurrying down the hallway and out of the apartment.

“Y/N wait I’m sorry, please. Can we at least talk about this?”

“I have nothing to say. To either of you,” you said looking slightly over your shoulder, hand on the doorknob to leave.

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything or see the tears that were starting to rush down your face before exiting your apartment. You ran down several flights of stairs before stopping at the bottom of one, collapsing in sobs on the ground. Tears were streaming as you tried to hold on the cries and ragged breathing of your sobbing. You searched through reaching for your phone and calling the one person you knew you could trust right now.

“Y/N?” She asked through the phone.

“Can you please pick me up?” You asked, voice.

“Are you crying? Where are you? I’ll be right there” Artemis said.

“Front of my apartment building,” you replied before hanging up the phone.

You made it down the rest of the stairs to sit on the bench in front of the apartment building, face in your hands. Before you knew it, a hand rested on your shoulder and you looked up to see a welcomed face. Artemis pulled you into a hug immediately when she saw your face. You cried into her shoulder slightly as he held you there.

“Not here love. Don’t cry here, come on let’s go home,” she said pulling away and letting you hop into the car.

The drive was short and silent besides your hiccups from the passenger seat.

“What’d he do? Because I swear to god I will kill him and if Wally doesn’t me to then I’ll get Jason to kill him” She said once you two got to her own apartment with Wally and plopped onto the couch.

“He cheated on me,” you told her between sobs.

Her face was full of shock at your revelation; it was clear that she was not expecting that answer.

“I’M GOING TO KILL HIM.”

“That’s not it,” you said when the sobs had calmed down.

“Oh my God what else Y/N. tell me how many times I am going to have to kill him.”

“He cheated with Zee…. three times.”

“Oh Honey,” she said pulling you into her arms.

There was no doubt the pity she was feeling for you right now. Zee was your friend, and one of your best ones too. So for her to be the one that Dick had cheated with was an extra slap in the face. You couldn’t believe either of them, of course, you had known about the two of them before you and Dick started dating, but never had you thought it would pose a problem in your relationship.

A couple days passed and you were stuffing all your feelings down by working and cleaning. Wally had been sympathetic and told you to stay as long as you needed. In return, their apartment had been stocked with constant food and cleaning. You had ignored his copious amounts of calls and messages. You wanted nothing to do with him and today you were going back to clean out the majority of your things.

You turned the key to your apartment and were hit back flashbacks and nostalgia at the sight of the beyond mess of the rooms. Shaking your head you grabbed your suitcase from the closet and started throwing in the majority of your clothing and keepsakes that were in your shared bedroom. You sighed each time you came across a sweatshirt of his or a t-shirt that you had kept; you tossed each of those onto the bed except for your favorite which you reluctantly tucked into your suitcase. After packing up two suitcases, you grabbed wrote a note to him and then left.

Dick’s POV

The past couple days had blended into a monotonous routine of missions, work, and then straight home. Nothing could describe the pain that he felt when he knew he had fucked up and found you backing out of your own room quietly. Shaking his head, he unlocked the door to your apartment and the sight of its state left tears in his eyes. He couldn’t justify what he did to you and he wasn’t even sure why. But one thing was sure to him, it had always been just sex. Looking around, everything had been stripped of you. Gone was the stupid set of wine glasses you insisted on getting because of Scandal. Gone was the framed picture of you smiling that was stuck to your fridge. Gone was the blanket that you loved oh so dearly. He rushed into your bedroom and his breath hitched in his throat. You were gone; your clothes, shoes, and it didn’t seem like home to him anymore. On the bed was a small pile of his clothes you always wore, to the point that they smelt of you. He sat on the bed, grabbing one of his shirts and breathed in your scent as to hold onto any memory of you in this place. It was as if you had vanished from his life. Then he noticed the note on top of the clothes. It was one simple sentence written in your rushed handwriting, no doubt because you were trying to avoid him.

Everything else you can keep. I took everything I want. Thank you for the good times. ~ Y/N

And that was it. Four years done with three simple sentences. Sixteen words.

Dick knew that it was him that messed it all up; that it was him everyone blamed. Jason and Artemis hated him. Wally couldn’t speak to him normally anymore. Bruce, Tim, and Dami were all disappointed in him. Everyone else on the team still held a cold edge towards him. But he couldn’t blame them; he deserved this treatment and everyone loves you, including him, not that it mattered anymore. He could remember the first time he introduced you to his families and when they revealed their identities. You had become a member of the team in your own way and had left an imprint on everyone. He flopped back onto the bed clutching at the last memories of you two as he had done every night on his own.

~~~~

Y/N’s POV

Eventually, the calls and messages stopped, and a month passed by. You saw him each time you two ended up meeting at Mount Justice, and each time his look towards you crumbled your facade of being okay. You had been living with Walls and Arti for a month now, not that they had minded. Everyone had been sympathetic to you, even Zatanna who apologize profusely, and you hesitantly had let her back in your life.

Today you had been summoned by Alfred for dinner at the Wayne Manor. You agreed after much convincing that you were a part of the family and that Bruce and the boys wanted you there. No one had told you if Dick would be coming, but you presumed he wouldn’t since you were invited.

Slipping into your car, you headed to the manor. As you reached the gates, you could see each person’s car parked in the driveway making you smile as you realized everyone had come to see you. As you walked into the mansion, you were instantly greeted.

“Miss Y/N I am very glad to see you accepted the invitation,” Alfred greeted with a friendly hug.

“Of course I did, I’ve missed your cooking and everyone for that matter,” you complimented.

“No need for that, I’m just glad you came.”

“So am I,” you said as you looked around, reminiscing at how close it felt to home.

“Short stuff I’m glad you’re here, shocked but glad, ” Jason said as he greeted you by ruffling your hair as he always did.

You smiled, Jason had become much of a brother to you as with all the Batboys. Bruce and Alfred were the closest things you had to a father in your life.

“Y/n I am glad to see that the imbecile mistake that Grayson has made did not stop you from arriving,” Damian told you as he walked over to hug you.

“How have you been Dami?”

“I am well, but I believe I should be asking you that.”

The door behind you suddenly opened and your ears were met with a familiar voice, “I’m not late am I?”

“N, you are not Grayson.”

“Y/N…” he said lightly as you faced him.

“Hello Dick, I didn’t know you would be here,” you replied being civil about everything.

He looked tired. The bags under his eyes had grown and everything on him was a mess.

“I didn’t know you would be here either. Alfred said family dinner tonight.”

Jason instinctively put his arm around you and Damian had stepped in front of you as if to protect you from any more“imbecile” mistakes that his brother could make.

“I wasn’t aware of that. Sorry. I’ll just be on my way then,” you said softly looking at his blue eyes for the first time.

He didn’t say anything and you took that as you invitation to leave, starting to move from Jason and Damian.

“Don’t be ridiculous Y/N. You are family to us, so stay,” you heard from Bruce behind you.

“Are you sure Bruce? It’s really fine, I don’t want to be intruding on anything.”

“Absolutely. We wanted you here and that doesn’t change even if Dick is here.”

With that, you lightly dropped your bag to the ground and everyone shuffled towards the dining room, where Alfred had set the table beautifully with glorious amounts of food. Everyone else in the family were already sitting down and waiting patiently as the rest of you filled in the seats. Somehow Dick and you had managed to sit directly across from each other.

Dinner was filled with light conversation as you made sure to avoid Dick’s pleading eyes. You knew if you looked at him, the chance of forgiveness was there despite everything. You knew you would let him talk.

As dinner ended you quickly excused yourself from the table in order to get some fresh air. Whilst it had been nice, the room was chock full of tension despite everyone’s attempts to diffuse it. You stuffed your hands in your back pockets as you stared at the ground, pacing slightly, and breathing in the night air. Your thought were running amok and all of them were revolving around one man that didn’t deserve your thoughts. You were pulled out of your trance by someone speaking behind you.

“Y/N.”

He simply said your name, and yet your heart yearned for so much.

“Dick,” you replied still avoiding his glance.

“Can you at least look at me?”

You stopped your pacing in front of him and dragged your head to look at him in the eyes. His eyes shined with sincerity, regret, and love as the moonlight exaggerated their color.

“You look good,” he trailed off, not knowing exactly what to say.

“Thanks.”

The awkward silence set in as neither of you knew what to say or do. Part of you wanted to yell at him, scream and punch, to get out all the aggression that he left behind. Another wanted to start crying. Another wanted to jump into his arms and forget anything ever changed between the two of you. But the most rational part of you knew it would be best to just let him lead the conversation.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid to apologize because it doesn’t change what I did to you or anything for that matter, but I feel like it’s necessary for me to express how much I regret it Y/N. My god do I regret it. I miss you. I miss everything about you. I can’t tell you enough about how everything has fucking sucked without you.”

You didn’t say anything but nodded your head to let him know that it was okay to continue.

“I wake up in a bed, a room, and an apartment that’s not mine. It’s ours. It doesn’t feel like home without you there. I do the same damn routine every day and all I can think about is you and how I fucked up. I’m not saying that you should forget what I did, but please I’m begging you take me back.”

“I want to know why Dick. Was I not good enough?”

“No Y/N don’t ever say that. I was never good enough for you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I made stupid decisions and threw it all away. I regret it more than anything.”

You contemplated what he was saying before replying, “how can I even trust you anymore Dick? How do I know that this isn’t going to happen again? You said it yourself, three times. Three times you decided our relationship didn’t mean anything.”

“I know and I can’t change the past, but I can promise the future. I can promise that it won’t happen. I’m not asking you to forget, but please give me a chance to earn back your trust,” Dick said as he took your hands in his.

You had missed the way his hands enveloped yours, always radiating with warmth. Everything in your mind told you to say no, but when you looked at him you knew that you couldn’t. He meant too much for you to just let everything go.

Against your better judgment and with much hesitation you nodded your head and closed your eyes as he pulled you into a hug. You could feel how his heart was pounding, and tears were coming to both of your eyes. You missed how his hugs and what it was like to be near him.

“I can’t move back in yet. I just can’t. And we have to go slow okay? I’m not ready to jump right back in?” you stammered into his chest.

“Take as long as you need. I will be right here waiting for you the entire time.”

After a long while of standing there out in the night, you two returned back to the manor with the tension dissolved. Everyone could feel it when the two of you walked into the house. Within seconds, Jason had Dick pinned to the wall, holding him up by his shirt.

“I swear to God you pull that shit again on Y/N that will be the last thing you do. I will murder you,” Jason threatened.

“Grayson you dare hurt a person as amazing as Y/N, not only are you an imbecile and I will have to kill you, but I will set the entirety of the league on you,” Damian said casually strolling by.

“Just don’t do it again,” Tim threatened whilst looking at Jason and Dick.

“Alfred do you have anything to add?” Jason asked, tightening his grip on Dick.

“Don’t be foolish enough to lose her again. You’re lucky she loves you and gave you a second chance at all.”

“I know. I promise I do.” Dick told everyone as Jason finally let him out of his grip.

“You let me know if he hurts you again,” Jason whispered in your ear whilst pulling you into a hug.

“I will.”

[serenitydiviness]

An Awkward Situation- Part 26

Man oh man. It’s been a while since I’ve updated this, lowkey I lost motivation for this and recently I got a beautiful lengthy comment on this on AO3 and that seemed to give me the push I needed. 

so this chapter is an important filler that dicusses the past of one Aaron Jose Balboa the Fourth. 

A03/ffnet

Part 26

Adrien was pacing. He tried not to but he couldn’t help it. He felt his heart rushing as he waited for the door to signal the true identity of his lady.

Maria broke his pacing by forcing him to sit down.

“Breakfast.” She ordered gently.

He looked up at her slightly worried. She looked every bit as tired as she sounded.

“You too.” He said quietly.

“I will.” She nodded.

Maria served him and then sat down herself. He stared at his food completely mystified by the fact that the eggs and ham were mixed together but it wasn’t an omelet. He watched his food intently before picking at it. Why does the food always feel a little spicy? He wondered.

“Yo, Adrien.” He heard Arty call.

“Hmm?” He replied looking up from his meal.

“Some girl named Marinette is here to work on a math project with you.” He said.

Adrien’s heart dropped for a second nodding dumbly. “I’ll go greet her.” He said getting up out of his seat.

He practically ran, hitting a few things on the way, before getting to the elevator. Somehow, the world was both confusing and made a perfect amount of sense in that moment. When he got off the elevator, he saw her, standing there looking nervous. And before he could think, he was hugging her.

“Adrien?” She asked in that quiet musical voice of hers.

“It’s you. It’s always been you.” He whispered, so full of joy. It had been the first time in days since he’d felt truly happy.

“Kitty?” she whispered, sounding shocked.

“Yeah, my lady?” He smiled hugging her close and nuzzling her for her warmth.

“It’s you.” She said.

“It always has been.” He replied.

***   Marinette could hardly breathe at the realization of her who partner was but at the same time it was the most wonderful thing in the world. She hugged him back hard, letting herself melt into his hold.

“It’s you.” He whispered over and over like a mantra.

“It’s you.” She said pulling back softly. She looked up at him and gasped at what she was. He was tired and sad but his eyes seemed to shine brighter than she had seen in ages. “Kitty, is everything okay?”

 “It will be.” He smiled tiredly.

She moved a hand to his cheek. “Of course, it will.” She promised.

He moved his hand over hers and moved it away so that he could kiss it gently. Marinette blushed heavily at the action, feeling like her heart would burst at any given second.

“I know, my lady.” He whispered against her skin.

She swooned. It was too hard not to. It wasn’t every day you found out your crime fighting partner was also the prince charming of your dreams. And seeing those two personalities mesh was enough to drive anyone crazy. Especially her.

***

Adrien smiled as he brought her up, holding her by the waist as they walked careful for her not to nearly faint, again. He was rather curious as to what prompted that but decided not to ask. “Maria’s family isn’t too bad. I can really only speak with her and two of her brothers. I don’t know English or Spanish.” He laughed.

“I know English.” She smiled, his heart practically jumped and he was about ready to kiss her, in all honesty.

“That’s great.” He replied with a nodded as they came to the door.

He opened the door glad to see that everyone else was occupied with their own business, save for Maria who had a grin on her face.

“Marinette is here for um math.” He smiled.

“Remember, improper fractions are when the bigger one is top.” Arty called.

Maria burst out laughing, leaving Adrien confused.

Aaron on the other hand seemed mortified. “Go do work on the roof!” He insisted shooing them away.

***  

Aaron smiled as he got to the roof watching as the two teens babbled excitedly. It was nostalgic in a sad kind of way. Once he had been in their position, standing on top of the world with everything he could dream off, and so much more. They seemed so engrossed in their conversations, laughing happily, and seeming so carefree. It was a really bitter thought when the reality of it all hit. They were teenagers, just as he had once been, and yet they now took the weight of their world on their shoulders.  

“Hey.” He called.

Both of them turned to him.

“Hi…” the girl smiled nervously.

“No need to be shy, my name is Aaron Jose Balboa the fourth, and I used to be El Gato Negro.”

The girl relaxed a bit. “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She said.

“It’s an honor to meet you.” He smiled. “Why don’t you two sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

The two teens sat down in front of him.

“Um… I have a question but I’m not sure if it’s too much.” Marinette said quietly. She reminded him of Maria at that age, awkward with a great hidden fierceness.

“Ask away.” He said with a nod.

“What… um. Why is the previous Ladybug not allowed near the Miraculous?”

Aaron sighed. “I’ll be right back to answer your question. I just need some alcohol.” He said seriously.

“You don’t have to answer.” She said quietly.

“Yes I do. It’s gonna help you understand the situation a whole lot better.” He said getting up.

***

Marinette looked at Tikki. “I’m guessing it was bad.” She asked.

Tikki nodded looking as Aaron walked away. “It’s not something any of us like to remember.” She mumbled nuzzling close Marinette.

“I’m sorry.” Marinette said cradling the Kwami close. Marinette regretted asking that question the moment she saw the way Tikki seemed to be on the verge of tears, how Plagg seemed to get so angry, and how Aaron seemed so sad, as if a part of him was lost. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

“Don’t be sorry.” The tiny black kwami said. “It was unfortunately, unavoidable.”

Marinette shrunk.

Her negative thoughts were quickly pulled by a comforting hug from Adrien. A wave of guilt washed over her in that moment. She was the one who should have been comforting him. He was the one who had to fight his father, after all. She moved a hand away from Tikki to hold Adrien close. It felt so strange to have the power of all the good luck in the world and somehow be so powerless to those who mattered to her.

*****

Adrien hugged Marinette close and took a deep breath. Hugging her had been selfish on his part. Lately he had been desperate for physical contact because that seemed to be the only thing that calmed him down. Marinette responded and he was grateful for it. Everything was too much for him. He didn’t know if he could handle much more.

His thoughts were stopped by the return of Aaron who came with a bottle and glass in hand. He sat up a bit straighter, hugging Marinette close.

“Let’s talk about Joseph Noriega.” Aaron said pouring himself a drink. “The previous Ladybug, or as Los Angeles knew him, La Mariquita. Oh man where do I begin? Let’s see… Oh right. I was fourteen when I took on the Miraculous and this time I was discovering things about myself that I didn’t want to admit where there. Joseph and I were best friends, and I was pretty much in love with the guy. Tikki and Plagg have a thing where they choose people who are practically born to be together forever.”

***

“No we don’t!” Plagg protested.

Aaron wanted to laugh. He took a drink and continued with his tale. “We didn’t know that the other had become a superhero and we worked side by side and it was amazing. As El Gato Negro, I was free. I could flirt with another boy easily and I didn’t have to be afraid of being called some slur.”

“You could be who you really were.” Adrien said softly.

“Yeah.” Aaron nodded. “Six months into, we found out who the other was and it was scary but it was also when we had our first kiss. We were … I was his secret and he was mine. I thought his family wouldn’t accept me and I knew my parents weren’t… they weren’t accepting of it. The only reason I felt safe at home was because Maria had becoming a huge gay rights activist. I never knew what triggered it but having someone who thought I wasn’t unnatural at home made a big difference, it made it easier to fight for what was right.”

“Your sister sounds like she’s your best friend.”  Marinette smiled.

“Maria is my best friend.” Aaron smiled. “But yeah. It went on that way until we defeated El Zorro. Who is the fox miraculous.”

“Wait what? How did—.” Marinette began.

“Each Kwami is capable of being used for good or evil. Corrupted ones can create Akumas. Ones who are free of corruption can cleanse them. The fox miraculous could create akumas in a similar manner to the pied piper. They would play a beat that would cause someone to go into a trance.” He explained.

“Wait really?” Adrien looked surprised.

“Yeah… the girl behind it she had a crush on me and once akumatized my father. She wanted to hurt our family, and she almost did but we managed.” Aaron said. “Joseph became different after that last battle. He realized he liked the power… he was corrupting himself. He hired gang members to attack schools, provoked others to fight each other, got people to start racial wars, hell he paid off corrupt cops. Eventually… I had to fight him and I found out that he had been out to his family for a while and he had a serious boyfriend. It was a shitty moment.”

“He lost his way…” Tikki whispered. Aaron held out a hand to the small kwami so that she could cry.

“He became corrupted and I had to stop him.  We managed to do it and wiped his memory of it all… but it became too much. I went off the furthest college I could and he lived his life never really paying for his wrong doings.” Aaron said sadly.

“What happened to you after?” Adrien asked.

“I got wild. I partied hard, did drugs, anything that would black out the memories. I almost overdosed.” Aaron admitted quietly. “My dad came to get me and I admitted the stuff about my sexuality… It was the first time in a year that someone had hugged me because they loved me.”

“Oh Aaron… I’m so sorry I made you relive that.” Marinette said.

“It’s fine.” Aaron smiled. “it’s the first time I’ve told this story to kids your age. My brothers don’t even know about the overdosing.”

“Will you tell them?” Adrien asked.

“One day.” He nodded. “But you know what, we got something more important to do.”

“We know.” The teens nodded.

****

Plagg nuzzled up to Aaron and cursed himself quietly. He hadn’t known that one of his kittens had been so hurt and he hadn’t been there to help him.

“So what you guys are dealing with are the worst kind of Akuma.” Aaron said, petting Plagg gently.

“What do you mean?” He heard the bug girl ask.

“It means, Gabriel Agreste is completely conscious but his body is out of his control and whoever did this, knew him personally.” Aaron said. “So here’s the plan…”

�˟��\�

Hope you enjoyed! I promise next chapter will end the Akumatization of gabriel agreste!

[multiverseforger]

Franklin Benjamin Richards was born in New York City to Reed and Susan Richards.[6] Franklin began manifesting his powers while still a toddler due to his parents' radiation-altered genes, which drew the attention of Annihilus, who sought to use Franklin as a source for his own resurgence, transferring some measure of the child's latent power to himself with a gene-based machine, and releasing Franklin's full potential in the process. Fearing the immediate threat of his son's powers to the entire populace of Earth and unable to find another solution in time, Reed Richards shut down Franklin's mind.[7]

During a battle between Ultron-7 and the Fantastic Four, Ultron's energy output awoke Franklin and again released his powers, resulting in the sentient robot's defeat. Free of the energies expended in the confrontation with Ultron, Franklin was seemingly returned to his normal power level.[8]

Needing someone to watch over Franklin in their absence, Reed and Susan Richards came to rely on the services of an elderly woman known as Agatha Harkness,[volume & issue needed] who is also a benevolent witch. Franklin and Agatha soon developed a familial-like bond, even residing together for a time at Whisper Hill (Agatha's old residence, which was regularly destroyed and rebuilt). Eventually, Agatha returned to live in the secret witch community of New Salem, Colorado, and Franklin moved back in permanently with his parents and the rest of the Fantastic Four.[volume & issue needed] His powers, no longer dormant, continued to manifest themselves.[9]

Under the care of yet another guardian, a robot nicknamed H.E.R.B.I.E., Franklin unintentionally used his reality warping abilities to age himself into adulthood.[10] In this form, Franklin was an adept at molecular manipulation and psionics. Upon realizing his mistake, he soon restored himself to childhood.[11]

Despite his youth and inexperience, Franklin, a victim of many threats and abductions, has exhibited great courage in the face of overwhelming peril. Time and again, he has unknowingly saved innocent lives, including that of his famous family, from the likes of villainous perpetrators, such as Blastaar,[12] Norman Osborn,[13] Onslaught,[14] Nicholas Scratch,[15] and even the all-powerful Mephisto, whom he temporarily destroyed and later defeated on two separate occasions.[16][17]

Attempt at a normal lifeEdit



The first appearance of Franklin Richards as the superhero/Power Pack member Tattletale (Power Pack #17, December 1985), alongside the similarly-aged Katie Power, who suggests his codename. Art by June Brigman.

To try to give his son a "normal" life, Reed Richards devised psychic inhibitors to prevent his powers from being used, but Franklin, whether by fault or by intent, could still at times bypass the inhibitors and use his powers, such as projecting an image of himself at a long distance. At this point he secretly joined a team of pre-teen superheroes called Power Pack, in which he was code-named "Tattletale".[volume & issue needed][18]



A promotional advertisement for the "Fall of the Mutants" storyline which ran in various Marvel Comics cover dated November 1987. Franklin Richards is pictured at the far right in his "Tattletale" costume. Art by Jon Bogdanove.

Franklin's adventures with Power Pack gained him an enemy in the alien Zn'rx, and allies and friends in the Kymellian Whitemanes. Franklin was particularly close to the young Kofi Whitemane, who declared Franklin an honorary cousin in much the same way as the children of Power Pack had been adopted as honorary Whitemanes. Franklin also regarded the Power children and their parents as a sort of surrogate family — his association with them beginning at a time when he was feeling particularly distant from his parents at a time when they were living at Avengers Mansion. During this period Franklin also bonded emotionally with Avengers associate and manservant Edwin Jarvis, as Jarvis was his primary caretaker while Franklin stayed at the mansion. His friendship with the Power children also gave Franklin a taste of life among siblings, which the lonely Franklin would not experience until much later when his sister Valeria was born.[volume & issue needed]

The Richards and Power families became fast friends, though neither family's parents realized that any of the children other than Franklin were superpowered (though Susan and Reed discovered this later). Franklin even kept his membership of Power Pack a secret from his own parents: when he appeared before them in image form (see above) he would stick to ordinary clothes, only appearing in his Power Pack outfit before other heroes such as Kitty Pryde.[19]

Franklin even lived with the Power family for a time, when his parents decided that a superhero headquarters was a dangerous place for a child to live, and wanted Franklin to spend time in a "normal" family environment. He returned to his family when Power Pack temporarily left Earth for the Kymellian homeworld.[20][21]

Psi-LordEdit

Franklin was later kidnapped by his time-traveling grandfather Nathaniel Richards, and replaced with his teenage counterpart, Psi-Lord, who had been raised by Nathaniel in a dimension outside of time.[volume & issue needed] Franklin, as Psi-Lord, helped create the short-lived team known as Fantastic Force.[volume & issue needed] By tapping a stud hidden within the glove of his costume, Franklin was able to summon battle armor from a pocket dimension; it was designed specifically to siphon off the full measure of his powers.[22] As such, Franklin's abilities at this time were limited to telepathy, precognition, and psionic energy blasts.

Around this time, Sue's dark persona, Malice, began warring within her mind for supremacy of her body, causing Sue to become more prone to angry outbursts and a more violent use of her powers, as well as starting to wear a more revealing costume. Eventually, Psi-Lord expunged the Malice personality from Sue's body into his own. There, Malice plagued Psi-Lord for a short time.[23] Later during a battle against the Dark Raider (an evil alternate reality version of Reed Richards) Psi-Lord and the Invisible Woman forced the Malice persona into the Raider's mind leading to his defeat and the apparent destruction of the Malice persona.[24][25]

Nathaniel eventually revealed that in another possible future timeline, Franklin Richards would, with Rachel Summers, father a terrible time-and dimension-traveling supervillain named Hyperstorm.[26] In an effort to divert the attention of the Fantastic Four, Hyperstorm traveled back to the precise point in time when Franklin was abducted by Nathaniel Richards and returned the child to his parents mere seconds after he was first kidnapped, thus rendering the Psi-Lord version of Franklin Richards obsolete in the Earth-616 timeline.[27]

OnslaughtEdit

Shortly after these events, Onslaught kidnaps Franklin in order to use his abilities to reshape reality. To defeat Onslaught, the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, the X-Men, and several other heroes destroy first his physical form, and then his psychic form. In the process, Franklin's parents seemingly die. Franklin displays his true power, singlehandedly creating the "Heroes Reborn" pocket universe to contain the heroes who had "died" in that adventure. Some of them are recreated based on Franklin's memories of them, such as the temporally-displaced teenage Tony Stark becoming an adult once more while the mutated Wasp is restored to human form. While his parents are away in the Heroes Reborn universe, Generation X and Alicia Masters look after Franklin. This universe comes to be represented by a small, bluish ball which Franklin carries with him.[volume & issue needed]

Franklin travels with several X-Men to the farm owned by Hank McCoy's parents. He plays with Artie Maddicks and Leech, both mutant children. The Celestials recognize that Franklin represents the culmination of their genetic experiments, that he has power to rival even theirs. Ashema, one of the Celestials, representing herself as a human, visits Franklin. Ultimately, Franklin, Ashema and other forces allow the rightful heroes to return and both universes to remain functioning.[volume & issue needed]

In the wake of Mr. Fantastic's activation of the Ultimate Nullifier to destroy Abraxas, Franklin loses all his powers in the process of reforming Galactus and thus becomes a normal child.[28] Shortly afterwards, Doctor Doom makes a pact with the Haazareth Three to gain vast magical power. During Doom's attacks upon the Fantastic Four, Franklin is sucked into Hell by the Haazareth.[29] After the defeat of Doom, his parents rescue him, but Franklin has a hard time coping with the traumatic experience of being tormented in Hell. The Thing helps Franklin make a complete mental recovery by assuring him that, even if they couldn't always keep him safe, they would never give up on him.[30]

When the Scarlet Witch uses her powers to depower countless mutants, including Magneto and Professor X, the power lost by Magneto and Xavier combines and restores Onslaught, whose consciousness still lingered after his death. Onslaught takes control of both the Human Torch and Mister Fantastic in an attempt to get Franklin but is interrupted by the Thing and Invisible Woman.[volume & issue needed]

When Franklin flees to Counter-Earth, Onslaught follows him. The Avengers assess their new threat which did not exist until Franklin appeared.[volume & issue needed] After a brief skirmish, the heroes and villains decide to work together to defeat Onslaught. Rikki Barnes defeats him using a Fantasticar to send them both through the Negative Zone barrier in the Fantastic Four's lab, trapping them. Franklin returns home, Barnes finds herself on Earth-616, and Onslaught is seen floating outside the Area 42 Prison in the Negative Zone.[volume & issue needed]

Secret InvasionEdit

In the beginning of the Skrull strike on Earth, the Skrull Lyja, impersonating Sue Richards, sends the entire Baxter Building into the Negative Zone with Franklin, Valeria, and Johnny Storm inside. Franklin and Valeria team up with Johnny and the Thing to fight the Skrulls. Benjamin Grimm asks the help of the Tinkerer, who is a prisoner in the prison for the unregistered villains in the Negative Zone. The Tinkerer refuses, seeing no reason to help the people who arrested him as he was taking his grandchildren out for ice cream, and sent him to prison without due process. Franklin and Valeria plead with the Tinkerer. They strongly remind the old man of his own grandchildren. He is moved to tears, repents and agrees to help, in exchange for his freedom and reunion with his grandkids.[volume & issue needed]

Dark ReignEdit

During the Dark Reign: Fantastic Four miniseries; Franklin finds himself along with his sister under siege by Norman Osborn, Venom and a high number of H.A.M.M.E.R. agents. The siblings were on their own due to their father's experiment which left him unreachable and the other members of the Fantastic Four stranded in alternate realities.[31]

Valeria manages to separate Osborn from the rest of the H.A.M.M.E.R. agents by using a bureaucratic technicality and by having them underestimate her. Osborn is led into a room where he faces Franklin who is wearing a Spider-Man mask and calls him a villain. In the next scene, the two are chased down a hall by Osborn who is getting ready to shoot them.[32] The Fantastic Four return just in time to protect the children.[13] Mister Fantastic tells Osborn to leave the Baxter Building and not to come back. Osborn attempts to shoot Reed, only to be shot in the shoulder by Franklin. The gun Franklin used is by all accounts, a simple toy.[13]

On his birthday, Franklin is seemingly attacked by a strange intruder which is later revealed to be a future version of Franklin himself sent back through time to deliver a warning to Valeria about an approaching conflict. In the final pages, it is revealed that the attack by the adult Franklin was to plant a telepathic suggestion in the mind of his present-day counterpart, thereby apparently reawakening young Franklin's dormant mutant powers; in actuality, Franklin is not a mutant, but has subconsciously convinced the wider world at large that he is.[33]

Search for the Invisible WomanEdit

Franklin and his sister contact X-Factor Investigations, led by Madrox the Multiple Man. They find that their mother has strangely disappeared and think that their father had something to do with it.[34] According to the children, Reed Richards had been acting very strange the last couple of days. The team investigates and find that not only Sue was trapped, but also Reed, who has been replaced with an alternate version being mind-controlled by an alternate version of Doctor Doom. X-Factor find the real Reed in Latveria.[35] X-Factor and the Fantastic Four battle Doctor Doom and Layla Miller. Doom lets them "rescue" Sue and tells them all to leave. During the battle in New York, the alternate Doom/Reed is accidentally killed.[36]

Fear ItselfEdit

During the Fear Itself storyline, Franklin, against his father's prior wishes, uses his reality-warping powers to free Ben Grimm from the possession of an Asgardian warrior general named Angrir: Breaker of Souls by transforming him back into the Thing.[37][38]

Future FoundationEdit

Franklin is approached by a mysterious stranger, who has been secretly tutoring him in the use of his powers.[39] The stranger is later revealed to be a future adult incarnation of Franklin himself, who reiterates to his young counterpart that his powers must be properly harnessed for a singular intent: the act of life preservation.[40] In a confrontation between the Future Foundation and the Mad Celestials of Earth-4280, Franklin is described by one of the Celestials as 'beyond [the] Omega classification' applied to mutants, and is subsequently attacked with concussion beams. Franklin repels their attacks.[41]

Upon successfully creating a new future and simultaneously acting as an anchor for the changes he made in the process following the collapse of all reality into a single timestream, culminating with the heat death of everything, the adult Franklin, alongside his sister, a future incarnation of Valeria Richards, enters the fray in the final struggle against the Mad Celestials of Earth-4280.[42][43] He warps the three Celestials away to the inner sphere of a local gas giant. He then acquires an orb containing his younger counterpart's powers, which he stores within his chest. When the Celestials return, the adult Franklin uses the orb to revive an incapacitated Galactus. Franklin and Galactus confront the Celestials and destroy them in a prolonged battle.[42] In the aftermath, the adult Franklin shares a brief moment with Galactus. The two discuss the heat death of everything and the revelation of Franklin's immortality, specifically that he will, billions of years from now, stand beside Galactus to witness the birth of a new universe.[44]

Secret WarsEdit

Following the inevitable end of Marvel Multiverse, caused by the incursions, Doctor Doom gained the omnipotent power of the Beyonders and used it to gather the remnants of the destroyed realities to create a patchwork planet called Battleworld. Eventually those powers were stripped from Doctor Doom by the Molecule Man and transferred to Reed Richards. With his new powers, Reed along with his family, the Future Foundation and Molecule Man, began restoring the Multiverse, while also creating entirely new realities.[45]

Multiversal adventuresEdit

As they rebuild the Multiverse, a being self-described as the embodiment of entropy, the Griever at the End of All Thing, patiently waited to strike until Franklin Richards was depleted of his ability to create new universes as she repudiated their mission, claiming they overstepped their purpose. During this time, Franklin has taken up the codename of Powerhouse.[46] With the help from the heroes who were part of the Fantastic Four’s expanding members, including X-Men’s Iceman, they were able to defeat the Griever’s army. Franklin and Valeria, and their parents bids their fellow Foundation members, entrusted by Dragonman a farewell, as Earth wanted the Fantastic Four to return.[47]

Return to EarthEdit

Because time worked very differently when they were rebuilding the Multiverse, Franklin and his sister returned to Earth as young teenagers many days after the Hydra Captain America’s Secret Empire. After returning to Earth, his family entrusted their old Baxter Building to the superhero team Fantastix, and moved to Thing’s hometown Yancy Street as a new base operation and home. When a wedding between his god-uncle Thing and his new god-aunt Alicia is about to begin many days later, Franklin begin to dye his hair black.[48]

Another problem arose with Franklin's powers, they became depleted every time Franklin used them, for unknown reasons and even his father cannot understand why.[volume & issue needed]

Dawn of XEdit

Since Krakoa became a safe haven for all mutants, accessible only to those who carry the X-gene, an invitation was made to Franklin to live on the island of Krakoa, however, his parents decided it was better for him to remain with them. But when Xavier noted that Franklin's powers were depleting, he decided it was the right moment to take Franklin to Krakoa. So, Xavier and Magneto concocted a plan to usher Franklin to Krakoa by means of using his relationship with Kitty Pryde, employing the premise that they would be either helping Franklin get the full extent of his powers back or discerning if what's happening to young Franklin could also emerge in other mutants. .[49]

[lodelss]

Leah Sottile | Longreads | July 2019 | 45 minutes (9,790 words)

Part 5 of 5 of Bundyville: The Remnant, season two of Bundyville, a series and podcast from Longreads and OPB. Catch up on season one of Bundyville here.

I.

Stella Anne Bulla was born in November 1949 in Asheboro, North Carolina to Dorothy Ann Lemon and Brinford Bulla, a man who served in the Navy and worked for the federal government as a postal employee most of his life. Stella — who, at some point, preferred to be called by her middle name, Anne — was one of five children: brothers, Artis, John and Brad, and a sister, Cara. The children were raised devout Southern Baptists, attending church meetings once during the week, and twice on weekends. Anne wanted to grow up one day and live in a place where she could ride horses. 

By high school, Anne adhered to the “higher the hair, the closer to God” school of thought: Where other girls of Grimsley High School smiled with youthful innocence from photos, Anne grinned knowingly, hair teased high and wide into a flipped bouffant. 

Later, Anne met a man named Barry Byrd, and the two married, had a daughter, and moved to Stevens County, Washington in 1973, after Barry got out of the Air Force. He took a job in a Colville body shop — finally starting his own in the tiny town of Northport. The Byrds started a band called Legacy. Anne’s brother, Brad Bulla, joined them, playing mandolin, lead guitar, and banjo along with the Byrds’ vocals. The group released two records: Sons of the Republic and, in 1984, Judah’s Advance — which were sold via mail order by Christian Identity groups as far away as Australia. “Legacy is unique in that their music is designed with the Israel Identity image, and is an excellent way to introduce the subject to thousands of people,” the Australian group wrote in a newsletter. 

  Keep the characters of Bundyville: The Remnant straight with this character list.

The Judah’s Advance cover features a drawing of a ship bearing down on a rocky coastline, where a stone tablet engraved with the Ten Commandments sat amongst a pile of rocks that had fallen from the sky. In the center, an American flag — bearing just 13 stars and the number 76 — whips in the wind.

On Judah’s Advance, Dan Henry, the pastor at The Ark — the Christian Identity church where Byrds worshipped, but that has also helped produce violent acolytes — read a line of scripture, and the band thanked him in the credits. The producer for the album, they said, was YAHWEH. 

The back of the album is even more Christian Identity than the front. Alongside a photograph of the grinning musicians, the band lays out its beliefs: “Our forefathers understood that the establishment of this country was the fulfillment of the prophecy concerning the re-gathering of the nation of Israel,” it explains. The savior, the band writes, was a descendant of the “Judahites”, while “the true children of Israel,” after being freed from captivity, migrated westward, settling in “Scotland, Ireland, Britain and every other Christian, Anglo-Saxon nation in the world today.”

It reads like the liner notes to a Christian Identity concept album, and it made Legacy a popular feature on the Christian Identity and white supremacist conference touring circuit. In 1986, the band played the Northwest Freedom Rally in Richland, Washington alongside a bill of racist speakers. And from 1987 to 1989, the group reportedly traveled yearly to Colorado to play Pete Peters’ Rocky Mountain Bible Camps. Peters had been a guest at The Ark and the Aryan Nations, lecturing on the end of the world, and his hatred for Jews and homosexuals.

But Legacy was more than a band providing musical accompaniment to racists: In 1988, Barry Byrd and his brother-in-law and Legacy bandmate, Brad, were two of just 15 men who deliberated for about a week about their beliefs, and authored a document entitled “Remnant Resolves.” 

The document elaborates that the men felt a “spiritual burden”: “This burden was the need and desire to see Biblical principles of government once again established in our nation,” it reads. The men agreed that if they could not come to a consensus on solving that burden, they would not proceed with writing the document.

What comes next are resolutions to fix society for “the remnant” — the way for the chosen people to live in the fullest realization of liberty. Biblical principles should be put into practice at every level of government. The band maintained that in the home, women should be submissive to their husbands. Locally, the civil government should punish evil and protect the good. And at the federal level, taxes need to stop, since you can’t tax what God created. 

“It is blasphemous to regard antichrists as ‘God’s chosen people’ and to allow them to rule over or hold public office in a Christian Nation,” it reads. “Aborticide is murder. Sodomy is a sin against God and Nature. Inter-racial marriage pollutes the integrity of the family. Pornography destroys the purity of the mind of the individual and defiles the conscience of the Nation.” 

At the end, when it was all down on paper, there they are smiling wide for a picture — as if someone had said “say cheese” when they took it — and all fifteen men signed their names. 

A year after the Remnant Resolves, Legacy (now named Watchman) was back on tour, scheduled to play a Santa Rosa, California church affiliated with Dennis Peacocke, a self-described political activist turned leader in the “shepherding movement” — a religious movement in the 1970s and ’80s that involved congregants turning over all personal decisions to a spiritual leader, and has been criticized as cult-like. 

The Byrds made more than one trip to Peacocke’s church for Fellowship of Christian Leaders (FCL) conferences. During one visit, they stayed with a church host family: the Johnsons. Rick Johnson would eventually move his family north to Marble in the mid-1990s, and still lives there today.

At the time, Johnson’s son Jesse was just a kid, but he still recalls meeting the Byrds. Something about Anne immediately stuck out to him. “She has these piercing blue eyes,” he recalls. “I remember kind of being off put by that and … just by her presence. Because she didn’t smile very much. She was really intense and when she talked to you it was about what you’re doing to have a better relationship with the Lord. And I was, like, 8.”

Within a week of living at Marble, Jesse Johnson says he and one of his brothers “made a pact that we were leaving as soon as we were old enough.” 

But back in 1992, when the Byrds were still working on bringing their vision of a “Christian covenant community” to life, people in Stevens County were nervous, citing concern over the couple’s connection with Pete Peters. People called the group cultish; the Byrds made a brochure that said they weren’t “the least bit cultish or isolationist.” In that same brochure, the couple predicted “cataclysmic events.” At a city council meeting, they claimed to their neighbors that they weren’t racist, and didn’t “condone hatred”— in fact, Barry told the Spokesman-Review that they wanted to create a ministry and a working ranch to “take youngsters” of all races in. The couple claimed they’d severed ties with Peters and that their attendance at the Rocky Mountain Bible Camp was only to play music. They didn’t mention the “Remnant Resolves.” Debate about the Byrds and Peters raged for months in the pages of the Colville Statesman-Examiner. 

In May, a Colville man expressed concern in the paper: “We would love to have our fears allayed,” he wrote of the Byrds. “But the trail back to Pete Peters appears to be pretty warm.” 

The Byrds attempted to shoot down a list of rumors they were asked to address by Northport’s mayor at a May 1992 city council meeting. They said they had no relationship with Peters, never held white supremacist beliefs, and concluded that people with concerns should come to Marble. Barry Byrd “advised that reading newspapers was not a worthwhile way of attaining accurate information,” according to a report on the meeting. 

Meanwhile, in nearby North Idaho, Bo Gritz — a former Green Beret who once ran for President, and who famously served as a liaison between federal agents and Randy Weaver at the end of the Ruby Ridge standoff — attempted to create his own Christian covenant community, called “Almost Heaven.” Some said he modeled it after what the Byrds created at Marble.

Paul Glanville, a doctor, liked the idea, too, when he heard it. He brought his family north to Marble in 1992, several years after meeting the Byrds. He was delivering a presentation on low-cost or free medical care at a Christian seminar when he encountered the couple, who were  giving a talk on establishing covenant communities. “They are very charismatic,” Glanville recalls. “I really was interested in this idea of a Christian community where I could practice medicine in what I considered a very Biblical way.”

Once at Marble, he says he enjoyed the close community, the focus on church and family. It felt like his family had moved to the promised land. People would get to church early, chattering with the company of the other people who lived there, hurrying downstairs to stake a claim for the casserole dishes they’d bring each Sunday for a potluck, before rushing up again for church. 

But over time, cracks emerged in the smooth veneer of the Marble promise. Nothing drastic, just small fissures that, over time, built up. In the spring of 1997 Glanville noticed a strangely competitive drive behind — of all things — Marble’s softball teams. He says he felt there was a need to win, to conquer all of the other church teams from the area, as if to prove Marble’s superiority. Glanville sometimes skipped the adult games to watch his kids play softball. Soon after, the leaders called an emergency meeting to chastise anyone who skipped the adult games. Glanville found the suggestion that he watch the Byrds’ team over his own child’s bizarre. 

After a few years, Glanville started to feel that he hadn’t made a covenant with God so much as with the Byrds. “What they mean by ‘covenant’ is total, absolute obedience to the leadership without questioning, and that the leadership eventually has your permission to question you and scrutinize your life in the most invasive ways that you can possibly imagine,” he says. “They might not start that out from the beginning like that, but they will end up that way.”  

From the pulpit, the couple preached about “slander,” about never questioning their leadership, and turning in anyone who did. The Byrds gave sermons about submission, obedience. The word “individual” was sinful — individuality being a sin of pride. 

The church leaders would encourage the families there to turn against their own blood — parents reporting on children, children reporting parents, neighbors against neighbors — if that meant preserving perfection at Marble. 

Glanville says his own children went to Marble’s leadership and told them that he was skeptical of their intentions and teachings. By the summer of 1994, he says, “My kids and wife had been totally brainwashed.” He continues, “They were turning me in to Marble for negative talk.”

But even he didn’t understand how quickly he’d lost them: When he finally decided to leave, Glanville was shocked that his wife and family refused to come with him. “My wife filed for divorce when I left. And my kids basically all signed the divorce papers,” he says. 

“I could do a lot of things in this church,” Barry Byrd said in one 1994 sermon. “I have the authority. I could misuse it. I could manipulate you and intimidate you, which you know, I’m sure we’ve done some of that. Not meaning to, but that’s just part of the deal.”

The pulpit too, was Barry Byrd’s megaphone for talk of a country ruled by Biblical law, of the sins of the government, about the entire reason Marble was here at all.

“We’re fighting for something that much blood has been shed for, beginning [with] the blood of Jesus,” he said. “If the spirit of the Lord does not reign supreme and this book is not the law that governs all of life and living, then there is no peace and there is no liberty!” He spoke of righteous anger and “holy hatred” for those getting in the way of “the government of God.”

Byrd even glorified martyrdom as a way to achieve the church’s goals: “So you see, I don’t have any problem being martyred if I know it’s what God’s called me to. If I know that my blood is going to water the tree of Liberty and build for future generations, I would gladly give my life today.”

Two decades since he left Marble broken-hearted, alone, Glanville still sometimes hears the Byrds’ words in his head, nagging at him, pulling him back to that time, making him question how he could have fallen under the place’s sway. 

His mind goes back to the moments he still blamed himself for not being perfect. Times when Marble convinced him he was the problem, meetings when Barry Byrd stood over him shaking a fist, making him believe he was lucky they were being so patient with him.

“And you could say ‘well why did you put up with that?’” he tells me this spring. “A lot of people who are trying to leave a cult have magical thinking. That if they just could say the right thing, or do the right thing, the leaders will suddenly see the truth and repent and everything will be alright.”

***

Back in 1988, when the Byrds’ band was on tour, Anne Byrd’s own brothers, too, were positioning themselves as chosen ones. 

The Bullas were a family of prophets. It was as if they believed their ears were calibrated to pick up the unique pitch of the Lord’s voice.

Anne’s eldest brother, Art Bulla, at the time, was living in Utah and had converted away from the family’s Southern Baptist roots to his own racist interpretation of Mormonism. He found himself maligned from the mainstream LDS church in the early 1980s when he called himself “the one mighty and strong,” claiming he was receiving revelations. He also expressed his belief in polygamy, but admitted he’d had trouble recruiting women to marry him. He split from the church when it started ordaining blacks. 

Art Bulla, who I reached by phone at his Baja, Mexico home, says he visited his siblings Anne and Brad Bulla, and his brother-in-law Barry, in the early days of their Marble community. And though he says his sister and Barry were still practicing racist Christian Identity beliefs — which he points out he actually agrees with — he thought the couple seemed to be controlling the people who would form Marble. 

“Barry had a very strong personality, and Anne did too, and so they were able to hornswoggle if you will, the gullible,” he says. “I had suspected that Anne had gone too far with the controlling thing.” 

Art Bulla tells me he’s the only prophet in the family — not Anne and not their brother I found who pastes notes that say “God’s only priest” to cutouts of naked women and posts the pictures to Twitter. Art says he is the chosen one. 

“[Anne] always felt that she had to be in competition with me. And since I’m receiving revelations, then she’s got to receive revelations, too,” he says, “You see what I’m saying?” 

***

By the late 1990s, Paul Glanville, the doctor who had come to Marble hoping to bring God into his medical practice, was hardly the only person questioning Marble’s leadership, and the Byrds’ true intentions for the community. According to letters written during this time, between 1997 and 1998 Anne Byrd excommunicated her brother and Legacy bandmate, Brad, and his family. (Requests for comment by Brad Bulla were not returned.) 

The excommunication drew the attention of Jay Grimstead, an evangelical scholar who had briefly lived in the Marble community and become known for pushing dominionism. Grimstead wrote several letters to the Byrds detailing his concern for what he saw as the community’s increasingly authoritarian structure. 

In one letter to Barry and Peacocke, from September 1997, Grimstead wrote that Marble “is a clear, ‘top down’ monarchy that is governed primarily by a queen, ‘Queen Anne,’” he wrote. “The people at Marble live in great fear of displeasing the Byrds, particularly Anne.” 

Grimstead also excoriated Barry for not publicly condemning Christian Identity, which he referred to as “weird, unbiblical stuff.” He was even being told by Marble members that the ideology was still being discussed in 1997. 

In January of the next year, he wrote to Anne and Barry: “Please respond in some way to the letter of grave concern wherein I told you I was receiving an increasing amount of evidence that Marble, under your leadership, was fast becoming an authoritarian cult,” he wrote. 

Grimstead, with each letter, begged for answers, and grew more suspicious. “I am having more and more concern about the mental health (sanity, ability to process reality, etc) of both Anne and Barry, but Anne in particular,” he wrote in a letter to Peacocke. 

That same year, letters came to Grimstead, too — not from the Byrds, but from families who’d left Marble. They wrote of financial manipulation, of tithes that went to the Byrds (one person told me their partner tithed tens of thousands of dollars without their knowledge, and racked up a credit card bill of $55,000), of public confessions of sins that would later be weaponized against members. “No one was ‘forced’ to do it. Yet we all did,” one person wrote of these public confessions, where even children would allegedly confess dark thoughts. “What else could any of us done? Barry and Anne knew best. We trusted them. They were hearing from God, they told us.”

People who’d gotten away still feared Christian Identity was the agenda driving the church, despite what the Byrds had said about leaving the ideas of Peters and the Ark behind. One man, who had adopted non-white children, wrote to Grimstead, recounting a meeting with the Byrds. “Barry stated he did not believe in interracial marriage and that our non-white children would not be allowed to marry any of the sons and daughters at Marble, and that we would have to have faith that God would provide them with mates of their own race,” he wrote. 

But by the fall of 1998, 15 men signed a letter on FCL letterhead saying that Grimstead’s questioning of Marble’s intentions forced the organization to “mark him.” They called him a “factious and dangerous man” and sided with Marble. Among those signatures were Peacocke’s and — in the same loopy letters that marked the Remnant Resolves — Barry Byrd’s.

I wrote Grimstead this past spring, to see if he’d talk about that time, about those letters, that mark placed on him by his good friends. Grimstead’s response was curt: “If you have any of my letters from those years … my opinion of the Marble Fellowship under the Byrds has not changed,” he wrote in an email. “What I said in those letters is still true and provable as far as I know and I was never proven wrong in what I said.”

He declined to comment further. He is “too busy with positive work for the Kingdom.”

***

Jesse Johnson is 33 years old now, and for years he lived in Los Angeles, where he attended art school and came out as gay. He lived at Marble until he was 17, when he was excommunicated, and left to live with his maternal grandmother. For years prior, Johnson says his grandmother begged his mother to leave, believing Marble was a cult. She didn’t listen.

I meet Johnson in the spring of 2019, at a small house in Northport, Washington. A dog gnaws at a bone under the table. We’d been talking on the phone for months about his time at Marble. He tells me about a childhood dictated by fear of the Byrds, and an exclusion of the outside world. “The world is evil and the government is evil, and their whole thing is wanting to get back to Puritan America,” he says. “They would talk about that all the time: the founding fathers and how this isn’t what they wanted.” Johnson says leaders continually reminded the congregation of what happened to the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas — how something like that could play out at Marble, too. He recalls being told the community was on a federal watchlist. “I’m pretty sure that was all made up,” Johnson says, “but they were telling us that, so it was almost like stirring up the fear … are we next? Maybe we should prepare. That was definitely talked about from the pulpit, like, what we would do when — it wasn’t if — it was when the world collapses.”

Church was a harrowing experience: In one instance, Johnson says he was locked in a basement with all of the other children, who were told only to emerge only when they were speaking in tongues. “One of my friend’s dads whispered in my ear ‘just make something up,’” he remembers when he was one of the last in the room. 

Illustration by Zoë van Dijk

Teenagers were expected to follow stringent courtship rituals, which condemned even the smallest displays of affection, like hand holding, and punished offenders by garnishing their wages or with physical labor making repairs or cleaning leaders’ homes. Every year, a “purity ball” celebrating chastity was held for teenagers, and formal etiquette lessons were given. Homosexuality was not tolerated in the community — Johnson tells me stories of boys who were sent to conversion therapy. I hear stories of suicide. 

Punishment for children was constant and rules were always changing. Johnson says one day, he suddenly found out the Byrds had been made his godparents. “When I found that out it was kind of off-putting because if anything ever happened to my parents, the hope was that we wouldn’t have to be at Marble anymore.”

When families left or were forced out, “they were basically dead to God, dead to the community,” Johnson says. “To have contact with them would be hurting Marble.” Some people wanted to leave, but couldn’t sell their homes. Marble had the first right of refusal.

Several women who were raised there spoke to me on the condition of anonymity, expressing fear for the safety of family members still involved in the community. From all of them, I got the sense that to be a female at Marble is a particularly cruel experience: a life of shaming, abuse, and fear. They weren’t allowed to show skin — even swimsuits were deemed inappropriate. “We couldn’t show our arms. It was our job to protect the men from having bad thoughts, so we had to cover ourselves,” one woman said. I heard stories of physical and sexual abuse. Another shared a journal entry with me. “It was called Marble, and like the stone, it was beautiful and soft to touch and wrapped you up in its pure form,” she wrote, “But held the capacity to crush you under its cold weight, so that even if you escaped, the scars would never heal properly.” 

One woman claimed that when she was 4, she was molested by an older boy in the community, but her parents were told not to go to the police, that Marble would handle the problem on their own. Confused about why she felt the community didn’t take action, she swallowed a bottle of pills one day when she was 12 in a suicide attempt — but survived. “I didn’t tell my parents until a year or two later,” she told me. “I definitely did not want to continue living like that.” Today, she says she can’t even walk into a church without feeling overwhelming, paralyzing fear.

“I’ve gone back [to Marble] once or twice,” she said. The people “literally look like zombies walking around. They look like… just zombies. They don’t have a soul. They don’t have any control of their lives. They’re just being little robots for Barry and Anne.”

Children allegedly grew up handling firearms — something that is not unique or strange about living in a place as rural as Marble. But “most people around here with guns aren’t talking about the end of the world or having to protect themselves from the government,” Johnson tells me. “I don’t think tomorrow they’re all gonna take up arms… my concern is there are certain people that are impressionable, especially some of the younger people, and they do have access to quite a lot of guns.” 

But not everyone sees harm in the way things are run at Marble. Zion Mertens moved there when he was 6 years old, leaving briefly. He moved back as an adult with his own children, but doesn’t attend the church. He says today about half the community is like him. I ask him if Marble is a cult, and he says no but then offers this: “I prefer to avoid groupthink,” he says about the church. “I try to avoid it. So it’s not really so much that I disagree with them, it’s that I don’t really like sacrificing my own identity to the identity of a larger group.”

Mertens says he’s never caught a whiff of Christian Identity there, despite volunteering that the Byrds used to attend the Ark. “That place is, without a doubt, a white supremacist group,” he says. But things like homosexuality definitely are condemned. He doesn’t disagree completely with the Byrds on that, and he says it’s grounded in the leaders’ hope to make society “better.” 

I ask about how the outside world is supposed to reconcile his feeling that Marble isn’t racist with the guest appearance of a neo-Confederate racist preacher, John Weaver, in 2015. He says that surprised him, too. “I actually really don’t have an answer on that one,” he says. “I had never encountered anything like that there, so when I ended up finding out that was his background, for me it was kind of like a little bit of a shock.” 

But it’s clear it didn’t bother people in the community enough for them to speak up. I get the sense that maybe it’s just easier to turn a blind eye. Pretend it’s not there — to only see the place for the Christian, patriotic flowers pushing through the surface, not the roots of where they come from.

Jesse Johnson was excommunicated for not attending “prep school,” what Johnson describes as a religious pre-college program held at Marble to prepare young people to rebuild society after an “inevitable global and national conflict.” Later, when he came out as gay, he received a barrage of scornful emails from the Byrds and people still living at Marble. He changed his email address, but his family continued to shun him.

“I was informed by my family that I wasn’t allowed contact with any of my siblings,” he says. “One day I called just like crying and begging if I could just talk to one of my brothers and sisters. And [my mom was] like ‘yeah, change your lifestyle and come back to God and we can talk about it. But I’ve got to go to church,’ and then she just hung up.”

Life on the outside was not easy for Johnson. He says he was homeless for a while. “They say ‘you’re going to leave and everything’s gonna go wrong for you and everything is gonna be horrible until you come back,’” he says. 

“Were they right?” I ask. 

“No, not at all,” he says. “I don’t think anyone who’s left has had an easy time. And I think the majority of people I’ve talked to they say they felt like we were part of a psychological experiment… we were the guinea pigs.”

Paul Glanville, the doctor, agrees. Today, he’s reconciled with most of his children, but his ex-wife and one of his sons still live near Marble. He says he believes Marble is a cult that took away his family.

Johnson, too, has gone to great lengths to open communication with his parents again. A few years ago, Johnson moved back to the rural area after spending 14 years away. By then, his siblings had left Marble. His family was talking to him again. But his parents remained in the Marble community. “My mom and I had to come to an agreement that she wouldn’t talk about my sexuality and I wouldn’t critique her religion,” he says. “I wouldn’t say it’s worked well but it’s definitely allowed us to have more of a relationship.”

I wanted to understand how Johnson perceived Marble’s growing association with the Patriot Movement, with politicians like Shea. Johnson told me he suspected the Biblical Basis for War was from a Marble sermon. And he says the group is now filled with vehement Trump supporters — which flew in the face of everything he’d told me about how the Byrds felt about the federal government. 

“There’s an underlier of something that’s a little more sinister,” he says. It isn’t about loving the government, suddenly, but loving what might come next. “I think it’s more of the fact that [Trump] is destroying everything so quickly. Like maybe this will progress to their revolution that they’re waiting for.”

Trump is, potentially, “bringing the apocalypse,” he says. “They definitely have thought the world was ending a few times and were super excited about it.” 

This reminded me of something Glanville had told me, about how people at Marble were always talking about what to do when the end times came. And it sharpens something Matt Shea — their friend and acolyte, who sees the end times as an “opportunity” — has brought up in the Biblical Basis for War and the state of Liberty. They’re the blueprints for a rebooted nation. 

***

I ask Johnson about what Tanner Rowe and Jay Pounder — the guys who made the Biblical Basis for War public — advised me: I’d need to be armed and in body armor to go to Marble. He was excommunicated, but he still offers to take producer Ryan Haas and me there that afternoon. He said that since his parents still live there, it’s not strange for him to be on the property.

When we pull under the gates of Marble, there’s not a person to be seen. Up ahead there’s a street sign: “Liberty Way,” it reads. There are signs for a bunkhouse, a hitching post.

Admittedly, I’m nervous, afraid to have my notepad out, and Haas tucks the microphone away as Johnson’s car crawls up a rocky road, up a hill where he says you can see the whole community. At the top, a group of people are out for a stroll. They stop and stare at the car. For a second, it feels like maybe we’ve been caught. 

But Johnson throws the car into park and pops out. He knows everyone here. “Hey, Barney!” he yells and struts toward them with a big smile across his face. They talk for a minute or two, and Johnson comes back. Everything’s just fine. “Have a good one guys!” he calls to them.

We keep driving up the hill and stop at the place a big white cross has been mounted, overlooking the community. Johnson says groups pilgrimage up the hill from Marble, down below, every Easter Sunday. 

For a few minutes, we stand there overlooking a patchwork of green fields, under a sky that feels bluer and wider than anywhere I’ve ever been. The sound of chickens clucking carries its way up the hill. It’s the opposite of the Branch Davidian compound or the remote cabin at Ruby Ridge. It’s a sparse community of houses. Some are big, beautiful homes — the type that rich people might call “the cabin.” Others are rickety shacks melting back into the earth. The Byrds don’t live on the Marble property, but instead, in the nicest house of them all up one of those side roads Rowe told us to stay away from. Johnson doesn’t disagree with that advice. 

“It’s beautiful,” Johnson says, standing there, looking out over it. And it’s striking to me that someone could look out over a place that caused them so much pain, and still see a kernel of good in it. By the end of the day, we’ll have driven all around the property for two hours, and Johnson keeps hopping out of the car to say hello to someone, to tell them he’ll stop by soon, to ask how they are. 

He says he figures if he’s nicer than anyone here, no one can hate him anymore — no matter what the Byrds say. 

  II.

Just before I moved to Spokane, Washington as a college freshman, at age 18, in 1999, a girl at my high school jibed that the place was filled with Nazis — living, breathing white supremacists. I ignored her, figuring that, like myself, she didn’t know what she was talking about.

In fact, both being Oregon-bred white teenagers, we’d both been living around white supremacists our entire lives. The state of Oregon was a haven for Confederate ideas even after the Civil War, a place that, from its very start, was built for whites and whites alone — a part of the state’s history that was omitted from our education. We didn’t learn that the KKK once had a strong presence among Oregon’s state officials. We didn’t know neighborhoods where our friends lived — only decades before — had exclusion laws discriminating against who could own property there. 

In January 2011, I thought of that conversation with that girl again. 

It was a cold winter morning in Spokane: the day of the Martin Luther King Jr. Unity March, a parade that went right down Main Avenue through the center of the city, and was always filled with kids and people with their arms linked. Sometime that morning, a Stevens County white supremacist named Kevin Harpham planted a backpack bomb on the parade route near a metal bench and a brick wall, a block away from my apartment.

Before the parade could begin, as marchers gathered, milling in the streets, filling the city with energy, Harpham — armed with a remote detonator — strolled amongst the crowd taking photos of himself. But before it detonated, several city workers saw that black backpack, thought it seemed out of place, and they called it in. 

Inside the backpack was a six-inch long pipe bomb welded to a steel plate. The bomb was packed with more than a 100 lead fishing weights coated in rat poison and human feces. The backpack also contained two T-shirts commemorating events that took place in small towns in nearby Stevens County.

If those city workers had continued on, ignored the backpack, and that bomb would have gone off, it would have immediately twisted that metal bench into daggers of shrapnel. Those shards and the fishing weights would have rocketed at that brick wall, ricocheting off and firing into the marchers’ bodies. The rat poison — which contained an anticoagulant — would have made sure the people hit wouldn’t have stopped bleeding easily; the feces was likely there to cause an infection in every wound.

At the time, most of my day-to-day life happened in the two city blocks surrounding the bomb site. Police tape closed off the entrance to my apartment building. Traffic was re-routed. When it happened, I remember looking at all the guys in hazmat suits, the bomb robot, the closed streets, and figuring it was a big fuss over nothing. I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Violence like what was narrowly missed on Martin Luther King Jr. Day has plagued this part of the Northwest for decades. But that history was something I’d had the privilege to navigate around as a white person living in a majority white city in the whitest part of the country. When I was a kid I had an excuse: No one told me. But as an adult, I’d come to believe that good always had, and always would, prevail. 

But white racism in the American West was not a rumor or a chapter of history that had been solved and tied up with a bow. Racists weren’t burning crosses over there, in some other place, wearing KKK hoods, and performing Nazi salutes, wearing swastikas so they could be easily spotted. It seems like such a cartoon image of a racist now, when I think about it. What willful ignorance to think the enemy is always one you’ll recognize, that they’ll always look and act the same.

Those history books I read as a kid never talked about weapons made of rat poison, fishing weights, and human shit. But when Kevin Harpham chose my neighborhood to try to commit mass murder, he didn’t bring a burning cross or a Nazi flag. His hatred had him making that bomb for who knows how long. Investigators later found he bought those weights in batches. Piece by piece. That attempted bombing was my introduction to this entire subject.

I started devouring books and documentaries on the history of North Idaho and the Aryan Nations compound that had, for years, sat within an hour of my home. I read about the militias that had long thrived here in the Northwest, and the conspiracies that inspired them to action. I learned about Waco, Ruby Ridge, the Montana Freemen. 

I needed to understand how hate had stayed so alive in America, what the fuel was that kept it burning — not just in the hills of some faraway place, but right here. Hate happened here. Hate happened in the morning. It happened on a Monday.

Five years later, on another cold January morning, another explosive event occurred in my backyard. By then I was in Oregon, back in my hometown. 

A group of armed men took over a wildlife refuge in the far southeastern corner of the state. Among them were militias and white racists who had really radical ideas about the federal government, race and religion.

My editor at the Washington Post asked if I could help with coverage. My life hasn’t been the same since.

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  III.

In late 2016, I started asking people about the bombing in Panaca — a thing I’d read about, but never heard much about what happened. Finally, in May of 2019, I got some answers.

I’d asked the Kingman Police Department, in Arizona, for documents about the raid on Glenn Jones’ trailer — that’s the guy who blew himself up and the Cluff’s house in Panaca, Nevada. Kingman was Jones’ last address before the bombing. Police reports had talked about his journal, about some writing about LaVoy Finicum — so I asked if I could see it. 

They sent over photos of a spiral bound notepad of graph paper with a bright red cover. Inside, Jones had carefully written a note in black marker: “This is for the murder of LaVoy Finicum and all the other Americans who have died for freedom.” 

He had flipped the page, and written it again: “This is for the murder of LaVoy Finicum and all the other Americans who have died for freedom.” 

He’d done it a third time, and had written the same words. 

I needed more pages. I asked Kingman police for more photos, more pictures of his trailer. I wanted everything I could get so I could try to answer this one question I’d had rolling around in my mind: Was Glenn Jones a suicide bomber for the Patriot Movement?

I asked for web searches on his laptop, GPS waypoints on his Garmin. I wanted photos of journals, photos of the trailer, photos of the storage unit. I couldn’t stop thinking about how no one really knew Jones. How people in Panaca just called him “the person” or “the suspect” because, even though he lived in the tiny town for years, no one seemed to really know him. 

They said he was quiet, shy, forgettable. They were the same words people used when TV reporters descended on Stevens County, Washington to describe Kevin Harpham — the Spokane MLK Day parade bomber, who was eventually sentenced to 32 years in prison. They’re the same words people used to describe Stephen Paddock, the man who killed 58 people in a mass shooting in Las Vegas in 2017. Or Dylann Roof, when he murdered black parishioners in a church in South Carolina. They’re the same words used to describe people who’ve spilled blood in the name of an ideology from Virginia to Colorado. 

Kingman officials told me I’d have to get all that from the FBI. They’d handed most of their files over. For months, I sent requests for comment. Calls went nowhere; I couldn’t tell if my emails were reaching anyone. Finally, I got a response. The FBI said, “It is the policy of the FBI not to confirm or deny the existence of an investigation.”

Illustration by Zoë van Dijk

But two departments had told me the FBI had taken everything over. I knew it was an investigation — wasn’t it? Still, no comment.

I couldn’t believe the story of what really happened there was solely one being kept by Josh Cluff — who had also declined to talk to me. So, in a journalistic hail mary, I told Kingman officials that, well, since the FBI says maybe no investigation even exists, I guess you can send me that evidence now. 

On a rainy Saturday, two weeks later, a CD filled with photos arrived in my mailbox.

There was no manifesto, no clear explanation of why Glenn Jones did what he did. They didn’t even send most of the things I’d asked for. But the photos did make the story clearer: Jones was not just a nice guy who blew up a house one time, but a guy who was so invisible to the rest of the world, no one had any idea who he really was. He had navigated nearly six decades on the planet like a specter who’d been walking in the shadows his whole life. No one noticed the guy living in the RV with very little else besides bombs.

At the end, he lived inside the type of camper a family of four might take on a tour of national parks. It was a tight, cramped space — not a place someone appeared to be living, but a space used as a workshop to build explosives. 

Every window was covered, and every surface was covered with wires and gun powder, fuses and power tools. If he was truly living there, it was like he was existing inside a junk drawer.  The only food in his cupboards were cans of soup, some chips, and some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. The silverware drawer had no forks or spoons or knives, but pliers, scissors, and wire cutters. The fridge and microwave were spotless. The shower floor was crusted with black gun powder; there was no showerhead. 

Investigators hauled bucket after bucket of supplies outside. They stacked huge antique bomb shells on a picnic table, and several metal ammunition boxes that were filled to the brim with gunpowder, fuses snaking out of holes drilled in the sides. There were guns — some modern, some antique. White briefs and socks were folded neatly in one cabinet. A pair of puffy white sneakers sat next to the bed. 

Next to denture cleaner and cigarette butts, they found some of his journals: They contained shopping lists, to-do lists, notes about cars for sale, phone numbers for realtors. There were also drawings of bombs, complete with careful measurements of gunpowder, what charges were needed.

I kept flipping through the photos again and again, trying to absorb what story they told about Jones. I did it again: dirty trailer, no food, handwritten notes, stacks of materials.

I was idly staring at a photo of an open notepad, a note telling some unnamed person they’d better watch their back, when I realized the dark handwriting on a previous page was showing through to the other side — a page the police department hadn’t sent me. I zoomed in, flipped the image so I could read it. 

It was a letter — a letter written to Josh Cluff, dated July 3, 2016. 

Hay Stoupid [sic] — 

Remember the $8,000-$10,000 I needed? 

I could have leveled out the whole BLM Building — But, NO, you had to get greedy and not pay back any of the $60,000 you borrowed. 

Plus, you bet the “farm” you went “All In,” You almost had this Bomb delivered to your houses. Never bet your family on a desperate idiot. Don’t ever assume somebody won’t shoot you + wife + kids over money. 

Fuck You, Josh. 

Glenn

I wish I had 2 Bombs. You would [illegible]

 But the thing was, ten days later, he had two bombs. He delivered them to Cluff’s house, and told his wife and children to leave before they went off. 

I started flipping all of the pages, looking for more shadows left by an invisible man. “We are different than Iran and Syria,” he wrote in one note, “… Another generation doesn’t need to see [illegible] of Waco and Ruby Ridge.” He wrote the word “ranchers” at the bottom of the page, but I couldn’t read the rest. On yet another page, he wrote the name of the man who baptized LaVoy Finicum in the 1960s. It’s Josh’s grandfather. 

The letter Jones never sent to Cluff made it clear that he was planning to commit an act of terrorism that would destroy a Bureau of Land Management building. And then, the day before the bombing was supposed to happen, the plan fell apart. Something — or someone — got in the way of that plan. He turned the bomb on Cluff.

 But the journal showed Jones was thinking like so many other people I’d interviewed over the years across the West, from a Nevada rancher to a Utah militiaman, to an Arizona widow, to people in Washington who grew up being told the government was out to get them. Jones was writing about revenge and martyrdom and all the things the Patriot movement thrives on. 

But he wasn’t always like this. When investigators called his ex-wife, Kathi Renaud, and told her that he died in such a violent way, she was shocked. They hadn’t spoken in years, but it didn’t sound like the guy she’d been married to. She had a hard time even believing it was true — her daughter demanded proof, she tells me, “whatever to make sure that’s really him. You know? Because this is not his demeanor.”

But it really was her ex-husband. And I asked her why she thought Jones changed.

“I think somebody, in my own opinion, I think had to put that into his mind to make him think that, cuz like you know. No, he never talked bad about the government or anything. Nothing bad. At all.” I asked her for names of more of Jones’ family, friends. She gave the name of one guy — who never got back to me — but no one else. No one really knew him.

But someone, she says, along the way must have gotten to him. Put an idea into his head.

***

The Jones bombing showed me that extremist violence, in some ways, is changing. I talked to one extremism expert after another, asking if they’d ever heard about a Patriot suicide bomber. All of them said no. Some people had committed suicide by cop, trying to go out in a blaze of glory. A guy even once crashed a plane into a building that housed IRS offices on purpose. But a suicide bomber? That would be new. 

Adam Sommerstein, who used to be an analyst with the FBI, told me, “that is a particular phenomena I have never seen in either the Patriot movement or the overall right-wing terror movement.”

A suicide bombing is saying something different than an attack. It’s a sign of devotion to an idea. And it says that this idea is important — more important than my life. And by blowing myself up, I believe this idea will reach more people.

But domestic terrorism still seems to be a thing lots of Americans aren’t even aware exists. And now here — with Jones — it was changing, evolving, maybe becoming even more extreme. And yet his bombing barely made the news outside Nevada.

After so-many high profile shootings, the violence at Charlottesville and other ideologically motivated killings in recent years, lawmakers in Washington are pushing for change. They’ve held hearings on white supremacy — even introduced legislation to create a better response to domestic terrorism. They say the government needs more power to stop extremists in this country. 

“But that’s absurd,” Mike German, from the Brennan Center for Justice, told me. He’s the one who infiltrated and helped take down white supremacist and militia groups as an undercover FBI agent in the ’90s. He says this discussion about passing new terrorism laws as a way to stop extremist violence is a huge red herring. 

“There are 57 federal crimes of terrorism. That’s what they’re called in the United States Code. Of those 57 federal laws of terrorism, 51 of them apply to domestic terrorism as well as international terrorism,” he says. “And if there is a group of intergalactical terrorists, it will apply to them too. It just applies to terrorism. But the fact that it doesn’t say in the law — domestic terrorism — the Justice Department is using that as an excuse to argue for new powers.”

In German’s view, the more of a power grab law enforcement can pull off, the more the government can become like the thought police. And that’s not just anecdotal: He says the government has been doing it against Muslims regularly since 9/11. Someone gets a label and their rights are gone. Historically, those people are brown or black, not white.

German says it’s a flawed thought pattern to want to snatch away the civil liberties of someone who holds racist or radical anti-government views, and thinking that couldn’t also be done to you with the next shift of the political winds. People can hold despicable views — politicizing what thoughts are OK normalizes the continual pushing of the envelope that’s been common since the Twin Towers attack. It’s “the opportunity to target people who you don’t like,” he says. 

And I can’t help but think that making the issue of radical violence something that the government needs to fix as a new way for people to make it someone else’s problem. If that law doesn’t pass, things just stay the same. We say, ‘god, why don’t lawmakers do their job?’

But, see, I think that’s a misdirection — putting the onus on powerful people, who benefit from power structures that have just one definition of terrorist. It ignores that radical violence is the end result of the extreme ideas that have crept into our daily lives. 

Where, once, conspiracies were stories someone had to seek out, or that came to a person on a flyer at a militia meeting or a gun show, they’re now commonplace in everyone’s home. They come through Facebook feeds, Twitter posts and YouTube videos. And maybe you don’t click on them. You already know they’re crazy. But maybe one of them you do, and so do 1000 other people. A video on guns leads you to a fake news story about firearms regulations, which leads you to Agenda 21, or theories about the New World Order. And maybe something there speaks to a certain pain that feels familiar. You agree just enough — so you post it to Facebook. Your friends like it, and that feels good — so you keep posting things just like it. 

And then conspiracy theories aren’t fringe anymore. Online, they become prevailing arguments — things worth entertaining, at the least. They’re noise — noise we’ve all gotten used to drowning out. They’re posts your uncle or your neighbor or brother-in-law is sharing, that your family is liking and re-sharing. And none of those people consider themselves members of the Patriot Movement. They’d never take over a wildlife refuge. They wouldn’t drive away from cops if they got pulled over. But, in daily life, they’re indulging the ideas that have led to instances of violence. 

Sometimes those ideas get in the wrong person’s head, and turn violent. And unless it’s directed at you, it feels like someone else’s problem to fix. 

It seems like the real battle here is over the narrative. The prize is to get your version of things on top — at the top of politics, at the top of search results — no matter how based in falsehoods and hatred it is. 

***

After I found everything in Glenn Jones journal, I called Sheriff Lee, back in Panaca. When we’d sat down in person over the winter, he really couldn’t tell me much about the motives behind the bombing. But as I reported, people kept asking me ‘hey, if you find something out, will you let me know?’ I got the sense they felt a little forgotten — like the biggest thing that had ever happened in their town was the smallest concern to the rest of the world.

Sheriff Lee hadn’t heard of any of the evidence I uncovered — so I read him the entries from Jones’ notebook over the phone. 

“My first words are: Wow,” he said, a solemness to his voice I hadn’t heard in any previous  interviews I’d had with him. “My second words are: It sure would have been nice to have that shared with another law enforcement entity whose conducting an investigation on this.” 

He’s shocked that the target really was supposed to be a BLM office. “And it looks like he had more of an intention than just putting bombs, talking about shooting people,” he says. “This could have been a hell of a lot worse than it was.”

For such a nice guy, Lee sounds pissed — I get the sense he’s not a guy to throw the word “hell” around willy-nilly, too. But I get it: A bomb went off in his tiny town, a place that was always supposed to be this perfect haven of purity in a wild state. And even he can’t give people answers about what happened. The feds never told him. 

“Who radicalized him?” he asks. 

Glenn Jones said he could have “leveled out” a government building because he believed so much in the story of LaVoy the martyr. He was willing to die for it.

Ultimately he didn’t bomb the BLM. I don’t know why he didn’t carry out his original plan. I don’t know what the FBI knew about him. I do know, though, that during that very same summer, the feds “wanted to push [Keebler] outside his comfort zone to take his temperature” on a bombing… when right here, just a few hours away, Glenn Jones was sitting in an RV making a bomb so large it would shower a town in a mile’s worth of shrapnel. 

Lee thinks somebody knew — Panaca’s too damn small for people not to — he thinks they just didn’t say anything, says people might consider it not their business, or figure “nah — not my problem,” he says. 

I think until Kevin Harpham’s bomb arrived just down the street from me in Spokane, maybe I was like that, too. Nah, not my problem. Figured domestic terrorists were over there, white supremacists over there. 

But now I know, I just wasn’t letting myself see what had always been around me. Until that happened, I think I was trying to protect myself from the from the messy business of dealing with hate, unwilling to acknowledge that white supremacist structures support white people who are willing to be violent in the name of ideology and how those people are rarely called terrorists.  

Americans think terrorists are these fictional people streaming over the borders, when in reality, most terrorists are already here — they are white, they are Christian, they were born in America. According to the Anti-Defamation League, 2018 was one of the deadliest years for domestic extremist violence since the Civil Rights era — and almost every attack had some link to a type of right-wing extremism, especially white supremacy. A government assessment of mass attacks in public spaces from that same year also showed that about a third of those attackers believed in a violent ideology — from white supremacy to conspiracy theories, to sovereign citizenry. 

But transparency could change how Americans see terrorism. So when instances of violence happen, the government could tell people what homegrown terrorism really looks like. Because every time the feds cover something up, or use questionable tactics, or don’t say anything at all, it hands the Patriot Movement a new victory. It helps them tell their story. The narrative is in their hands. One more thing they could point to and say ‘look, the government always lies to you.’

I think that’s one step in fixing all this, in creating new Patriots — just not the kind in the Patriot Movement. 

Maybe real Patriots are the ones who can look at themselves, their own communities, and have some uncomfortable conversations about who they really are. Maybe they’re people who can say something is out of place in their own community.

Like the city workers in Spokane who saw that backpack and trusted their guts to say something, likely saving hundreds of lives.

Or Tanner Rowe and Jay Pounder, who leaked the Biblical Basis for War: two conservative guys who used to work for Matt Shea but weren’t so hypnotized by a belief system that they couldn’t recognize when it was turning into something dangerous. 

Or Jesse Johnson, who didn’t turn anyone in, but instead simply turns a cheek again, and again, and again to the people at Marble. Extending a hand out to the people who hurt him, killing them with kindness. Or trying to. They can believe what they want, but he doesn’t have to hate them back.

Because Johnson knows that hate takes work. He was raised in a place where anger and violence were preached as virtues, but grew up to be a man who knows those weren’t the words of God. They were words of people trying to play God.

So each of them took a risk. They all stood up. They all exposed a problem. They stopped living in fear.  

They know that in the light, there can be no shadows.

***

Listen to the audio version of this series.

  Leah Sottile is a freelance journalist based in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in the Washington Post, Playboy, California Sunday Magazine, Outside, The Atlantic and Vice.

Editors: Mike Dang and Kelly Stout Illustrator: Zoë van Dijk Fact checker: Matt Giles Copy editor: Jacob Gross

Special thanks to everyone at Oregon Public Broadcasting.

[marriageofconveniencerp]

Thank you for your app and we’re glad to welcome you to Marriage of Convenience! We loved your application and look forward to seeing your boy on the dash! Please review the New Member Checklist and send an ask to the main with your account!

Name/Alias/Pronouns: Kary, She/Her

Age: 27

Your Birthday: August 30 

Time zone: CST 

Activity level: 7

Trigger Warning: No sweeties, but thank you for asking :) Anything else?: Read the rules, thank you :)

IN CHARACTER.

Desired Character: Arthur Tristan Abrams

Desired FC: Kevin McHale 

Birthday: May 19 , 1991 

Gender/Pronouns: He /Him

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Bisexual

Occupation/School:  App developer 

FAMILY INFORMATION.

Parents Name/FC/Status: Alyona (Julianne Moore) and John Abrams (Liam Neeson)  

What do your Parents do for work?: Alyona is the CEO of “Pink Code” a Company that develops mobile apps. Before her, the company was named “BCode”. Her father was the previous CEO and believed firmly that the IT environment was not for a girl. Unfortunately for him, he only had daughters . Alyona, being the oldest and smartest of them all inherited it and re-branded it , making sure girls would never be neglected in her company ever again .

John, in the other hand, is the CEO of an architectural firm that was founded by his family 4 generations ago. They developed (and own) most of the movie  theaters in and around town. 

Why are they/did they, arrange your characters Marriage?: For them it is a no brainer. They married for convenience and eventually warmed up to each other,  so they see it as normal .

How do you feel about the person your parents chose for you?: Britt and I have always gotten along. I mean…when I was eight and I had to let her teach me to tango I never thought “wow this is it , thi girls is gonna be my wife one day” but it makes sense. She’s gentle, she’s caring, she’s so …innocent. I hope I don’t mess this up somehow. 

Bio: Alyona Schwab  and John Abrams could remember each other since childhood, always annoying their parents with their manners and clothes of clothing in social events. They knew they were privileged, and that privilege was something they should never take for granted but they also knew they couldn’t let it go to their heads. 

They were both brilliant. Always with a book on their noses or a computer on their lap. Were rivals at school and studied their asses off to beat each other at lectures. It was all in good fun of course and their eternal teasing served them well, earning them spots in Ivy League schools. Glorious days of stimulating studying …but also wild partying and fast living. Years of loving, yearning and experiencing new things. 

After graduating they got back home, where their parents’ companies were waiting for them- even if Alyona’s father  (Victor)  had to give her a spot kicking and screaming due to a lack of a male heir .

They were also given a  subtle but firm notice. They would marry . Soon. As soon as possible since Victor’s health was deteriorating and he was not willing to leave the company in hands of an unmarried woman. 

That was the start of the happy family. 

Funnily enough, the attitude John had after the wedding was what really won Alyona over. He trusted her. Her opinion, her intelligence, her leadership. He never tried to set a foot in Pink Code -her company- and never tried to see a dollar from it . He was just passionate, focussed and full of ideas for his architectural developments. 

All the work, all the banter made them the power couple they are to this day. Everyone in town admires - and even envies - their dynamic and would be shocked to learn they were never really sure they loved each other until two years into their marriage - when their first born , Aubrey,  was born. 

Aubrey and Artie were always really close growing up and had a happy childhood- even when their parents were crazy strict with studying and were obligated to attend a crazy amount of social events every year. They enjoyed them in a way , and found great friends in the Jones, Lopez and Pierce family. 

From a young age, Artie loved dancing but tried to water it down in front of their parents to avoid their disappointment. He knew that dancing was his calling in life since he was  eight years old and mastered tango dancing with Brittany S. Pierce without even trying. he started taking lessons in every spare moment he was( a rare event since he was in advanced classes in school ) during his entire life until the moment came and he had to go to College. 

Artie’s parents informed him he had to be an architect. Just like his father. After all, Pink Code was Aubrey's inheritance and Abrams’s Developments was his. And Artie, being the stubborn guy he was, ran away. 

The Abrams, poised and elegant as always managed to hide their son’s little adventure for a year . They hired a handful of private investigators, and kept going to every gala with a big smile -who no one could tell was fake- plastered on their faces. 

And then  they found him. In a hospital. In a coma and a life-altering prognosis over his head. 

Artie had been living in New York for about a year, training as a dancer. He had been in a terrible car wreck and sustained a spinal chord injury. He would never dance again. 

It took a year for Artie to take interest in pretty much anything. He never cried or made a scene in front of everyone but appeared to be completely out of it, all the time. And suddenly…he got into coding. No explanation, no great heartwarming speech. He simply did it. 

And he got insanely good at it. 

After getting his degree, masters and more courses that we can  count ,Artie became the stellar  coder on  Pink Code. But the tension between Aubrey and Artie seems more and more palpable since Pink Code is supposed to end up in her hands , not his. 

He got back in touch with his old friends - above all the Jones , Lopez and Pierce family - and he’s pretty much gotten back to his old self - even if there are topics he’s not willing to touch with pretty much anyone. 

[lodelss]

Bundyville: The Remnant, Chapter Five: The Remnant

Leah Sottile | Longreads | July 2019 | 45 minutes (9,790 words)

Part 5 of 5 of Bundyville: The Remnant, season two of Bundyville, a series and podcast from Longreads and OPB. Catch up on season one of Bundyville here.

I.

Stella Anne Bulla was born in November 1949 in Asheboro, North Carolina to Dorothy Ann Lemon and Brinford Bulla, a man who served in the Navy and worked for the federal government as a postal employee most of his life. Stella — who, at some point, preferred to be called by her middle name, Anne — was one of five children: brothers, Artis, John and Brad, and a sister, Cara. The children were raised devout Southern Baptists, attending church meetings once during the week, and twice on weekends. Anne wanted to grow up one day and live in a place where she could ride horses. 

By high school, Anne adhered to the “higher the hair, the closer to God” school of thought: Where other girls of Grimsley High School smiled with youthful innocence from photos, Anne grinned knowingly, hair teased high and wide into a flipped bouffant. 

Later, Anne met a man named Barry Byrd, and the two married, had a daughter, and moved to Stevens County, Washington in 1973, after Barry got out of the Air Force. He took a job in a Colville body shop — finally starting his own in the tiny town of Northport. The Byrds started a band called Legacy. Anne’s brother, Brad Bulla, joined them, playing mandolin, lead guitar, and banjo along with the Byrds’ vocals. The group released two records: Sons of the Republic and, in 1984, Judah’s Advance — which were sold via mail order by Christian Identity groups as far away as Australia. “Legacy is unique in that their music is designed with the Israel Identity image, and is an excellent way to introduce the subject to thousands of people,” the Australian group wrote in a newsletter. 

  Keep the characters of Bundyville: The Remnant straight with this character list.

The Judah’s Advance cover features a drawing of a ship bearing down on a rocky coastline, where a stone tablet engraved with the Ten Commandments sat amongst a pile of rocks that had fallen from the sky. In the center, an American flag — bearing just 13 stars and the number 76 — whips in the wind.

On Judah’s Advance, Dan Henry, the pastor at The Ark — the Christian Identity church where Byrds worshipped, but that has also helped produce violent acolytes — read a line of scripture, and the band thanked him in the credits. The producer for the album, they said, was YAHWEH. 

The back of the album is even more Christian Identity than the front. Alongside a photograph of the grinning musicians, the band lays out its beliefs: “Our forefathers understood that the establishment of this country was the fulfillment of the prophecy concerning the re-gathering of the nation of Israel,” it explains. The savior, the band writes, was a descendant of the “Judahites”, while “the true children of Israel,” after being freed from captivity, migrated westward, settling in “Scotland, Ireland, Britain and every other Christian, Anglo-Saxon nation in the world today.”

It reads like the liner notes to a Christian Identity concept album, and it made Legacy a popular feature on the Christian Identity and white supremacist conference touring circuit. In 1986, the band played the Northwest Freedom Rally in Richland, Washington alongside a bill of racist speakers. And from 1987 to 1989, the group reportedly traveled yearly to Colorado to play Pete Peters’ Rocky Mountain Bible Camps. Peters had been a guest at The Ark and the Aryan Nations, lecturing on the end of the world, and his hatred for Jews and homosexuals.

But Legacy was more than a band providing musical accompaniment to racists: In 1988, Barry Byrd and his brother-in-law and Legacy bandmate, Brad, were two of just 15 men who deliberated for about a week about their beliefs, and authored a document entitled “Remnant Resolves.” 

The document elaborates that the men felt a “spiritual burden”: “This burden was the need and desire to see Biblical principles of government once again established in our nation,” it reads. The men agreed that if they could not come to a consensus on solving that burden, they would not proceed with writing the document.

What comes next are resolutions to fix society for “the remnant” — the way for the chosen people to live in the fullest realization of liberty. Biblical principles should be put into practice at every level of government. The band maintained that in the home, women should be submissive to their husbands. Locally, the civil government should punish evil and protect the good. And at the federal level, taxes need to stop, since you can’t tax what God created. 

“It is blasphemous to regard antichrists as ‘God’s chosen people’ and to allow them to rule over or hold public office in a Christian Nation,” it reads. “Aborticide is murder. Sodomy is a sin against God and Nature. Inter-racial marriage pollutes the integrity of the family. Pornography destroys the purity of the mind of the individual and defiles the conscience of the Nation.” 

At the end, when it was all down on paper, there they are smiling wide for a picture — as if someone had said “say cheese” when they took it — and all fifteen men signed their names. 

A year after the Remnant Resolves, Legacy (now named Watchman) was back on tour, scheduled to play a Santa Rosa, California church affiliated with Dennis Peacocke, a self-described political activist turned leader in the “shepherding movement” — a religious movement in the 1970s and ’80s that involved congregants turning over all personal decisions to a spiritual leader, and has been criticized as cult-like. 

The Byrds made more than one trip to Peacocke’s church for Fellowship of Christian Leaders (FCL) conferences. During one visit, they stayed with a church host family: the Johnsons. Rick Johnson would eventually move his family north to Marble in the mid-1990s, and still lives there today.

At the time, Johnson’s son Jesse was just a kid, but he still recalls meeting the Byrds. Something about Anne immediately stuck out to him. “She has these piercing blue eyes,” he recalls. “I remember kind of being off put by that and … just by her presence. Because she didn’t smile very much. She was really intense and when she talked to you it was about what you’re doing to have a better relationship with the Lord. And I was, like, 8.”

Within a week of living at Marble, Jesse Johnson says he and one of his brothers “made a pact that we were leaving as soon as we were old enough.” 

But back in 1992, when the Byrds were still working on bringing their vision of a “Christian covenant community” to life, people in Stevens County were nervous, citing concern over the couple’s connection with Pete Peters. People called the group cultish; the Byrds made a brochure that said they weren’t “the least bit cultish or isolationist.” In that same brochure, the couple predicted “cataclysmic events.” At a city council meeting, they claimed to their neighbors that they weren’t racist, and didn’t “condone hatred”— in fact, Barry told the Spokesman-Review that they wanted to create a ministry and a working ranch to “take youngsters” of all races in. The couple claimed they’d severed ties with Peters and that their attendance at the Rocky Mountain Bible Camp was only to play music. They didn’t mention the “Remnant Resolves.” Debate about the Byrds and Peters raged for months in the pages of the Colville Statesman-Examiner. 

In May, a Colville man expressed concern in the paper: “We would love to have our fears allayed,” he wrote of the Byrds. “But the trail back to Pete Peters appears to be pretty warm.” 

The Byrds attempted to shoot down a list of rumors they were asked to address by Northport’s mayor at a May 1992 city council meeting. They said they had no relationship with Peters, never held white supremacist beliefs, and concluded that people with concerns should come to Marble. Barry Byrd “advised that reading newspapers was not a worthwhile way of attaining accurate information,” according to a report on the meeting. 

Meanwhile, in nearby North Idaho, Bo Gritz — a former Green Beret who once ran for President, and who famously served as a liaison between federal agents and Randy Weaver at the end of the Ruby Ridge standoff — attempted to create his own Christian covenant community, called “Almost Heaven.” Some said he modeled it after what the Byrds created at Marble.

Paul Glanville, a doctor, liked the idea, too, when he heard it. He brought his family north to Marble in 1992, several years after meeting the Byrds. He was delivering a presentation on low-cost or free medical care at a Christian seminar when he encountered the couple, who were  giving a talk on establishing covenant communities. “They are very charismatic,” Glanville recalls. “I really was interested in this idea of a Christian community where I could practice medicine in what I considered a very Biblical way.”

Once at Marble, he says he enjoyed the close community, the focus on church and family. It felt like his family had moved to the promised land. People would get to church early, chattering with the company of the other people who lived there, hurrying downstairs to stake a claim for the casserole dishes they’d bring each Sunday for a potluck, before rushing up again for church. 

But over time, cracks emerged in the smooth veneer of the Marble promise. Nothing drastic, just small fissures that, over time, built up. In the spring of 1997 Glanville noticed a strangely competitive drive behind — of all things — Marble’s softball teams. He says he felt there was a need to win, to conquer all of the other church teams from the area, as if to prove Marble’s superiority. Glanville sometimes skipped the adult games to watch his kids play softball. Soon after, the leaders called an emergency meeting to chastise anyone who skipped the adult games. Glanville found the suggestion that he watch the Byrds’ team over his own child’s bizarre. 

After a few years, Glanville started to feel that he hadn’t made a covenant with God so much as with the Byrds. “What they mean by ‘covenant’ is total, absolute obedience to the leadership without questioning, and that the leadership eventually has your permission to question you and scrutinize your life in the most invasive ways that you can possibly imagine,” he says. “They might not start that out from the beginning like that, but they will end up that way.”  

From the pulpit, the couple preached about “slander,” about never questioning their leadership, and turning in anyone who did. The Byrds gave sermons about submission, obedience. The word “individual” was sinful — individuality being a sin of pride. 

The church leaders would encourage the families there to turn against their own blood — parents reporting on children, children reporting parents, neighbors against neighbors — if that meant preserving perfection at Marble. 

Glanville says his own children went to Marble’s leadership and told them that he was skeptical of their intentions and teachings. By the summer of 1994, he says, “My kids and wife had been totally brainwashed.” He continues, “They were turning me in to Marble for negative talk.”

But even he didn’t understand how quickly he’d lost them: When he finally decided to leave, Glanville was shocked that his wife and family refused to come with him. “My wife filed for divorce when I left. And my kids basically all signed the divorce papers,” he says. 

“I could do a lot of things in this church,” Barry Byrd said in one 1994 sermon. “I have the authority. I could misuse it. I could manipulate you and intimidate you, which you know, I’m sure we’ve done some of that. Not meaning to, but that’s just part of the deal.”

The pulpit too, was Barry Byrd’s megaphone for talk of a country ruled by Biblical law, of the sins of the government, about the entire reason Marble was here at all.

“We’re fighting for something that much blood has been shed for, beginning [with] the blood of Jesus,” he said. “If the spirit of the Lord does not reign supreme and this book is not the law that governs all of life and living, then there is no peace and there is no liberty!” He spoke of righteous anger and “holy hatred” for those getting in the way of “the government of God.”

Byrd even glorified martyrdom as a way to achieve the church’s goals: “So you see, I don’t have any problem being martyred if I know it’s what God’s called me to. If I know that my blood is going to water the tree of Liberty and build for future generations, I would gladly give my life today.”

Two decades since he left Marble broken-hearted, alone, Glanville still sometimes hears the Byrds’ words in his head, nagging at him, pulling him back to that time, making him question how he could have fallen under the place’s sway. 

His mind goes back to the moments he still blamed himself for not being perfect. Times when Marble convinced him he was the problem, meetings when Barry Byrd stood over him shaking a fist, making him believe he was lucky they were being so patient with him.

“And you could say ‘well why did you put up with that?’” he tells me this spring. “A lot of people who are trying to leave a cult have magical thinking. That if they just could say the right thing, or do the right thing, the leaders will suddenly see the truth and repent and everything will be alright.”

***

Back in 1988, when the Byrds’ band was on tour, Anne Byrd’s own brothers, too, were positioning themselves as chosen ones. 

The Bullas were a family of prophets. It was as if they believed their ears were calibrated to pick up the unique pitch of the Lord’s voice.

Anne’s eldest brother, Art Bulla, at the time, was living in Utah and had converted away from the family’s Southern Baptist roots to his own racist interpretation of Mormonism. He found himself maligned from the mainstream LDS church in the early 1980s when he called himself “the one mighty and strong,” claiming he was receiving revelations. He also expressed his belief in polygamy, but admitted he’d had trouble recruiting women to marry him. He split from the church when it started ordaining blacks. 

Art Bulla, who I reached by phone at his Baja, Mexico home, says he visited his siblings Anne and Brad Bulla, and his brother-in-law Barry, in the early days of their Marble community. And though he says his sister and Barry were still practicing racist Christian Identity beliefs — which he points out he actually agrees with — he thought the couple seemed to be controlling the people who would form Marble. 

“Barry had a very strong personality, and Anne did too, and so they were able to hornswoggle if you will, the gullible,” he says. “I had suspected that Anne had gone too far with the controlling thing.” 

Art Bulla tells me he’s the only prophet in the family — not Anne and not their brother I found who pastes notes that say “God’s only priest” to cutouts of naked women and posts the pictures to Twitter. Art says he is the chosen one. 

“[Anne] always felt that she had to be in competition with me. And since I’m receiving revelations, then she’s got to receive revelations, too,” he says, “You see what I’m saying?” 

***

By the late 1990s, Paul Glanville, the doctor who had come to Marble hoping to bring God into his medical practice, was hardly the only person questioning Marble’s leadership, and the Byrds’ true intentions for the community. According to letters written during this time, between 1997 and 1998 Anne Byrd excommunicated her brother and Legacy bandmate, Brad, and his family. (Requests for comment by Brad Bulla were not returned.) 

The excommunication drew the attention of Jay Grimstead, an evangelical scholar who had briefly lived in the Marble community and become known for pushing dominionism. Grimstead wrote several letters to the Byrds detailing his concern for what he saw as the community’s increasingly authoritarian structure. 

In one letter to Barry and Peacocke, from September 1997, Grimstead wrote that Marble “is a clear, ‘top down’ monarchy that is governed primarily by a queen, ‘Queen Anne,’” he wrote. “The people at Marble live in great fear of displeasing the Byrds, particularly Anne.” 

Grimstead also excoriated Barry for not publicly condemning Christian Identity, which he referred to as “weird, unbiblical stuff.” He was even being told by Marble members that the ideology was still being discussed in 1997. 

In January of the next year, he wrote to Anne and Barry: “Please respond in some way to the letter of grave concern wherein I told you I was receiving an increasing amount of evidence that Marble, under your leadership, was fast becoming an authoritarian cult,” he wrote. 

Grimstead, with each letter, begged for answers, and grew more suspicious. “I am having more and more concern about the mental health (sanity, ability to process reality, etc) of both Anne and Barry, but Anne in particular,” he wrote in a letter to Peacocke. 

That same year, letters came to Grimstead, too — not from the Byrds, but from families who’d left Marble. They wrote of financial manipulation, of tithes that went to the Byrds (one person told me their partner tithed tens of thousands of dollars without their knowledge, and racked up a credit card bill of $55,000), of public confessions of sins that would later be weaponized against members. “No one was ‘forced’ to do it. Yet we all did,” one person wrote of these public confessions, where even children would allegedly confess dark thoughts. “What else could any of us done? Barry and Anne knew best. We trusted them. They were hearing from God, they told us.”

People who’d gotten away still feared Christian Identity was the agenda driving the church, despite what the Byrds had said about leaving the ideas of Peters and the Ark behind. One man, who had adopted non-white children, wrote to Grimstead, recounting a meeting with the Byrds. “Barry stated he did not believe in interracial marriage and that our non-white children would not be allowed to marry any of the sons and daughters at Marble, and that we would have to have faith that God would provide them with mates of their own race,” he wrote. 

But by the fall of 1998, 15 men signed a letter on FCL letterhead saying that Grimstead’s questioning of Marble’s intentions forced the organization to “mark him.” They called him a “factious and dangerous man” and sided with Marble. Among those signatures were Peacocke’s and — in the same loopy letters that marked the Remnant Resolves — Barry Byrd’s.

I wrote Grimstead this past spring, to see if he’d talk about that time, about those letters, that mark placed on him by his good friends. Grimstead’s response was curt: “If you have any of my letters from those years … my opinion of the Marble Fellowship under the Byrds has not changed,” he wrote in an email. “What I said in those letters is still true and provable as far as I know and I was never proven wrong in what I said.”

He declined to comment further. He is “too busy with positive work for the Kingdom.”

***

Jesse Johnson is 33 years old now, and for years he lived in Los Angeles, where he attended art school and came out as gay. He lived at Marble until he was 17, when he was excommunicated, and left to live with his maternal grandmother. For years prior, Johnson says his grandmother begged his mother to leave, believing Marble was a cult. She didn’t listen.

I meet Johnson in the spring of 2019, at a small house in Northport, Washington. A dog gnaws at a bone under the table. We’d been talking on the phone for months about his time at Marble. He tells me about a childhood dictated by fear of the Byrds, and an exclusion of the outside world. “The world is evil and the government is evil, and their whole thing is wanting to get back to Puritan America,” he says. “They would talk about that all the time: the founding fathers and how this isn’t what they wanted.” Johnson says leaders continually reminded the congregation of what happened to the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas — how something like that could play out at Marble, too. He recalls being told the community was on a federal watchlist. “I’m pretty sure that was all made up,” Johnson says, “but they were telling us that, so it was almost like stirring up the fear … are we next? Maybe we should prepare. That was definitely talked about from the pulpit, like, what we would do when — it wasn’t if — it was when the world collapses.”

Church was a harrowing experience: In one instance, Johnson says he was locked in a basement with all of the other children, who were told only to emerge only when they were speaking in tongues. “One of my friend’s dads whispered in my ear ‘just make something up,’” he remembers when he was one of the last in the room. 

Illustration by Zoë van Dijk

Teenagers were expected to follow stringent courtship rituals, which condemned even the smallest displays of affection, like hand holding, and punished offenders by garnishing their wages or with physical labor making repairs or cleaning leaders’ homes. Every year, a “purity ball” celebrating chastity was held for teenagers, and formal etiquette lessons were given. Homosexuality was not tolerated in the community — Johnson tells me stories of boys who were sent to conversion therapy. I hear stories of suicide. 

Punishment for children was constant and rules were always changing. Johnson says one day, he suddenly found out the Byrds had been made his godparents. “When I found that out it was kind of off-putting because if anything ever happened to my parents, the hope was that we wouldn’t have to be at Marble anymore.”

When families left or were forced out, “they were basically dead to God, dead to the community,” Johnson says. “To have contact with them would be hurting Marble.” Some people wanted to leave, but couldn’t sell their homes. Marble had the first right of refusal.

Several women who were raised there spoke to me on the condition of anonymity, expressing fear for the safety of family members still involved in the community. From all of them, I got the sense that to be a female at Marble is a particularly cruel experience: a life of shaming, abuse, and fear. They weren’t allowed to show skin — even swimsuits were deemed inappropriate. “We couldn’t show our arms. It was our job to protect the men from having bad thoughts, so we had to cover ourselves,” one woman said. I heard stories of physical and sexual abuse. Another shared a journal entry with me. “It was called Marble, and like the stone, it was beautiful and soft to touch and wrapped you up in its pure form,” she wrote, “But held the capacity to crush you under its cold weight, so that even if you escaped, the scars would never heal properly.” 

One woman claimed that when she was 4, she was molested by an older boy in the community, but her parents were told not to go to the police, that Marble would handle the problem on their own. Confused about why she felt the community didn’t take action, she swallowed a bottle of pills one day when she was 12 in a suicide attempt — but survived. “I didn’t tell my parents until a year or two later,” she told me. “I definitely did not want to continue living like that.” Today, she says she can’t even walk into a church without feeling overwhelming, paralyzing fear.

“I’ve gone back [to Marble] once or twice,” she said. The people “literally look like zombies walking around. They look like… just zombies. They don’t have a soul. They don’t have any control of their lives. They’re just being little robots for Barry and Anne.”

Children allegedly grew up handling firearms — something that is not unique or strange about living in a place as rural as Marble. But “most people around here with guns aren’t talking about the end of the world or having to protect themselves from the government,” Johnson tells me. “I don’t think tomorrow they’re all gonna take up arms… my concern is there are certain people that are impressionable, especially some of the younger people, and they do have access to quite a lot of guns.” 

But not everyone sees harm in the way things are run at Marble. Zion Mertens moved there when he was 6 years old, leaving briefly. He moved back as an adult with his own children, but doesn’t attend the church. He says today about half the community is like him. I ask him if Marble is a cult, and he says no but then offers this: “I prefer to avoid groupthink,” he says about the church. “I try to avoid it. So it’s not really so much that I disagree with them, it’s that I don’t really like sacrificing my own identity to the identity of a larger group.”

Mertens says he’s never caught a whiff of Christian Identity there, despite volunteering that the Byrds used to attend the Ark. “That place is, without a doubt, a white supremacist group,” he says. But things like homosexuality definitely are condemned. He doesn’t disagree completely with the Byrds on that, and he says it’s grounded in the leaders’ hope to make society “better.” 

I ask about how the outside world is supposed to reconcile his feeling that Marble isn’t racist with the guest appearance of a neo-Confederate racist preacher, John Weaver, in 2015. He says that surprised him, too. “I actually really don’t have an answer on that one,” he says. “I had never encountered anything like that there, so when I ended up finding out that was his background, for me it was kind of like a little bit of a shock.” 

But it’s clear it didn’t bother people in the community enough for them to speak up. I get the sense that maybe it’s just easier to turn a blind eye. Pretend it’s not there — to only see the place for the Christian, patriotic flowers pushing through the surface, not the roots of where they come from.

Jesse Johnson was excommunicated for not attending “prep school,” what Johnson describes as a religious pre-college program held at Marble to prepare young people to rebuild society after an “inevitable global and national conflict.” Later, when he came out as gay, he received a barrage of scornful emails from the Byrds and people still living at Marble. He changed his email address, but his family continued to shun him.

“I was informed by my family that I wasn’t allowed contact with any of my siblings,” he says. “One day I called just like crying and begging if I could just talk to one of my brothers and sisters. And [my mom was] like ‘yeah, change your lifestyle and come back to God and we can talk about it. But I’ve got to go to church,’ and then she just hung up.”

Life on the outside was not easy for Johnson. He says he was homeless for a while. “They say ‘you’re going to leave and everything’s gonna go wrong for you and everything is gonna be horrible until you come back,’” he says. 

“Were they right?” I ask. 

“No, not at all,” he says. “I don’t think anyone who’s left has had an easy time. And I think the majority of people I’ve talked to they say they felt like we were part of a psychological experiment… we were the guinea pigs.”

Paul Glanville, the doctor, agrees. Today, he’s reconciled with most of his children, but his ex-wife and one of his sons still live near Marble. He says he believes Marble is a cult that took away his family.

Johnson, too, has gone to great lengths to open communication with his parents again. A few years ago, Johnson moved back to the rural area after spending 14 years away. By then, his siblings had left Marble. His family was talking to him again. But his parents remained in the Marble community. “My mom and I had to come to an agreement that she wouldn’t talk about my sexuality and I wouldn’t critique her religion,” he says. “I wouldn’t say it’s worked well but it’s definitely allowed us to have more of a relationship.”

I wanted to understand how Johnson perceived Marble’s growing association with the Patriot Movement, with politicians like Shea. Johnson told me he suspected the Biblical Basis for War was from a Marble sermon. And he says the group is now filled with vehement Trump supporters — which flew in the face of everything he’d told me about how the Byrds felt about the federal government. 

“There’s an underlier of something that’s a little more sinister,” he says. It isn’t about loving the government, suddenly, but loving what might come next. “I think it’s more of the fact that [Trump] is destroying everything so quickly. Like maybe this will progress to their revolution that they’re waiting for.”

Trump is, potentially, “bringing the apocalypse,” he says. “They definitely have thought the world was ending a few times and were super excited about it.” 

This reminded me of something Glanville had told me, about how people at Marble were always talking about what to do when the end times came. And it sharpens something Matt Shea — their friend and acolyte, who sees the end times as an “opportunity” — has brought up in the Biblical Basis for War and the state of Liberty. They’re the blueprints for a rebooted nation. 

***

I ask Johnson about what Tanner Rowe and Jay Pounder — the guys who made the Biblical Basis for War public — advised me: I’d need to be armed and in body armor to go to Marble. He was excommunicated, but he still offers to take producer Ryan Haas and me there that afternoon. He said that since his parents still live there, it’s not strange for him to be on the property.

When we pull under the gates of Marble, there’s not a person to be seen. Up ahead there’s a street sign: “Liberty Way,” it reads. There are signs for a bunkhouse, a hitching post.

Admittedly, I’m nervous, afraid to have my notepad out, and Haas tucks the microphone away as Johnson’s car crawls up a rocky road, up a hill where he says you can see the whole community. At the top, a group of people are out for a stroll. They stop and stare at the car. For a second, it feels like maybe we’ve been caught. 

But Johnson throws the car into park and pops out. He knows everyone here. “Hey, Barney!” he yells and struts toward them with a big smile across his face. They talk for a minute or two, and Johnson comes back. Everything’s just fine. “Have a good one guys!” he calls to them.

We keep driving up the hill and stop at the place a big white cross has been mounted, overlooking the community. Johnson says groups pilgrimage up the hill from Marble, down below, every Easter Sunday. 

For a few minutes, we stand there overlooking a patchwork of green fields, under a sky that feels bluer and wider than anywhere I’ve ever been. The sound of chickens clucking carries its way up the hill. It’s the opposite of the Branch Davidian compound or the remote cabin at Ruby Ridge. It’s a sparse community of houses. Some are big, beautiful homes — the type that rich people might call “the cabin.” Others are rickety shacks melting back into the earth. The Byrds don’t live on the Marble property, but instead, in the nicest house of them all up one of those side roads Rowe told us to stay away from. Johnson doesn’t disagree with that advice. 

“It’s beautiful,” Johnson says, standing there, looking out over it. And it’s striking to me that someone could look out over a place that caused them so much pain, and still see a kernel of good in it. By the end of the day, we’ll have driven all around the property for two hours, and Johnson keeps hopping out of the car to say hello to someone, to tell them he’ll stop by soon, to ask how they are. 

He says he figures if he’s nicer than anyone here, no one can hate him anymore — no matter what the Byrds say. 

  II.

Just before I moved to Spokane, Washington as a college freshman, at age 18, in 1999, a girl at my high school jibed that the place was filled with Nazis — living, breathing white supremacists. I ignored her, figuring that, like myself, she didn’t know what she was talking about.

In fact, both being Oregon-bred white teenagers, we’d both been living around white supremacists our entire lives. The state of Oregon was a haven for Confederate ideas even after the Civil War, a place that, from its very start, was built for whites and whites alone — a part of the state’s history that was omitted from our education. We didn’t learn that the KKK once had a strong presence among Oregon’s state officials. We didn’t know neighborhoods where our friends lived — only decades before — had exclusion laws discriminating against who could own property there. 

In January 2011, I thought of that conversation with that girl again. 

It was a cold winter morning in Spokane: the day of the Martin Luther King Jr. Unity March, a parade that went right down Main Avenue through the center of the city, and was always filled with kids and people with their arms linked. Sometime that morning, a Stevens County white supremacist named Kevin Harpham planted a backpack bomb on the parade route near a metal bench and a brick wall, a block away from my apartment.

Before the parade could begin, as marchers gathered, milling in the streets, filling the city with energy, Harpham — armed with a remote detonator — strolled amongst the crowd taking photos of himself. But before it detonated, several city workers saw that black backpack, thought it seemed out of place, and they called it in. 

Inside the backpack was a six-inch long pipe bomb welded to a steel plate. The bomb was packed with more than a 100 lead fishing weights coated in rat poison and human feces. The backpack also contained two T-shirts commemorating events that took place in small towns in nearby Stevens County.

If those city workers had continued on, ignored the backpack, and that bomb would have gone off, it would have immediately twisted that metal bench into daggers of shrapnel. Those shards and the fishing weights would have rocketed at that brick wall, ricocheting off and firing into the marchers’ bodies. The rat poison — which contained an anticoagulant — would have made sure the people hit wouldn’t have stopped bleeding easily; the feces was likely there to cause an infection in every wound.

At the time, most of my day-to-day life happened in the two city blocks surrounding the bomb site. Police tape closed off the entrance to my apartment building. Traffic was re-routed. When it happened, I remember looking at all the guys in hazmat suits, the bomb robot, the closed streets, and figuring it was a big fuss over nothing. I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Violence like what was narrowly missed on Martin Luther King Jr. Day has plagued this part of the Northwest for decades. But that history was something I’d had the privilege to navigate around as a white person living in a majority white city in the whitest part of the country. When I was a kid I had an excuse: No one told me. But as an adult, I’d come to believe that good always had, and always would, prevail. 

But white racism in the American West was not a rumor or a chapter of history that had been solved and tied up with a bow. Racists weren’t burning crosses over there, in some other place, wearing KKK hoods, and performing Nazi salutes, wearing swastikas so they could be easily spotted. It seems like such a cartoon image of a racist now, when I think about it. What willful ignorance to think the enemy is always one you’ll recognize, that they’ll always look and act the same.

Those history books I read as a kid never talked about weapons made of rat poison, fishing weights, and human shit. But when Kevin Harpham chose my neighborhood to try to commit mass murder, he didn’t bring a burning cross or a Nazi flag. His hatred had him making that bomb for who knows how long. Investigators later found he bought those weights in batches. Piece by piece. That attempted bombing was my introduction to this entire subject.

I started devouring books and documentaries on the history of North Idaho and the Aryan Nations compound that had, for years, sat within an hour of my home. I read about the militias that had long thrived here in the Northwest, and the conspiracies that inspired them to action. I learned about Waco, Ruby Ridge, the Montana Freemen. 

I needed to understand how hate had stayed so alive in America, what the fuel was that kept it burning — not just in the hills of some faraway place, but right here. Hate happened here. Hate happened in the morning. It happened on a Monday.

Five years later, on another cold January morning, another explosive event occurred in my backyard. By then I was in Oregon, back in my hometown. 

A group of armed men took over a wildlife refuge in the far southeastern corner of the state. Among them were militias and white racists who had really radical ideas about the federal government, race and religion.

My editor at the Washington Post asked if I could help with coverage. My life hasn’t been the same since.

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  III.

In late 2016, I started asking people about the bombing in Panaca — a thing I’d read about, but never heard much about what happened. Finally, in May of 2019, I got some answers.

I’d asked the Kingman Police Department, in Arizona, for documents about the raid on Glenn Jones’ trailer — that’s the guy who blew himself up and the Cluff’s house in Panaca, Nevada. Kingman was Jones’ last address before the bombing. Police reports had talked about his journal, about some writing about LaVoy Finicum — so I asked if I could see it. 

They sent over photos of a spiral bound notepad of graph paper with a bright red cover. Inside, Jones had carefully written a note in black marker: “This is for the murder of LaVoy Finicum and all the other Americans who have died for freedom.” 

He had flipped the page, and written it again: “This is for the murder of LaVoy Finicum and all the other Americans who have died for freedom.” 

He’d done it a third time, and had written the same words. 

I needed more pages. I asked Kingman police for more photos, more pictures of his trailer. I wanted everything I could get so I could try to answer this one question I’d had rolling around in my mind: Was Glenn Jones a suicide bomber for the Patriot Movement?

I asked for web searches on his laptop, GPS waypoints on his Garmin. I wanted photos of journals, photos of the trailer, photos of the storage unit. I couldn’t stop thinking about how no one really knew Jones. How people in Panaca just called him “the person” or “the suspect” because, even though he lived in the tiny town for years, no one seemed to really know him. 

They said he was quiet, shy, forgettable. They were the same words people used when TV reporters descended on Stevens County, Washington to describe Kevin Harpham — the Spokane MLK Day parade bomber, who was eventually sentenced to 32 years in prison. They’re the same words people used to describe Stephen Paddock, the man who killed 58 people in a mass shooting in Las Vegas in 2017. Or Dylann Roof, when he murdered black parishioners in a church in South Carolina. They’re the same words used to describe people who’ve spilled blood in the name of an ideology from Virginia to Colorado. 

Kingman officials told me I’d have to get all that from the FBI. They’d handed most of their files over. For months, I sent requests for comment. Calls went nowhere; I couldn’t tell if my emails were reaching anyone. Finally, I got a response. The FBI said, “It is the policy of the FBI not to confirm or deny the existence of an investigation.”

Illustration by Zoë van Dijk

But two departments had told me the FBI had taken everything over. I knew it was an investigation — wasn’t it? Still, no comment.

I couldn’t believe the story of what really happened there was solely one being kept by Josh Cluff — who had also declined to talk to me. So, in a journalistic hail mary, I told Kingman officials that, well, since the FBI says maybe no investigation even exists, I guess you can send me that evidence now. 

On a rainy Saturday, two weeks later, a CD filled with photos arrived in my mailbox.

There was no manifesto, no clear explanation of why Glenn Jones did what he did. They didn’t even send most of the things I’d asked for. But the photos did make the story clearer: Jones was not just a nice guy who blew up a house one time, but a guy who was so invisible to the rest of the world, no one had any idea who he really was. He had navigated nearly six decades on the planet like a specter who’d been walking in the shadows his whole life. No one noticed the guy living in the RV with very little else besides bombs.

At the end, he lived inside the type of camper a family of four might take on a tour of national parks. It was a tight, cramped space — not a place someone appeared to be living, but a space used as a workshop to build explosives. 

Every window was covered, and every surface was covered with wires and gun powder, fuses and power tools. If he was truly living there, it was like he was existing inside a junk drawer.  The only food in his cupboards were cans of soup, some chips, and some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. The silverware drawer had no forks or spoons or knives, but pliers, scissors, and wire cutters. The fridge and microwave were spotless. The shower floor was crusted with black gun powder; there was no showerhead. 

Investigators hauled bucket after bucket of supplies outside. They stacked huge antique bomb shells on a picnic table, and several metal ammunition boxes that were filled to the brim with gunpowder, fuses snaking out of holes drilled in the sides. There were guns — some modern, some antique. White briefs and socks were folded neatly in one cabinet. A pair of puffy white sneakers sat next to the bed. 

Next to denture cleaner and cigarette butts, they found some of his journals: They contained shopping lists, to-do lists, notes about cars for sale, phone numbers for realtors. There were also drawings of bombs, complete with careful measurements of gunpowder, what charges were needed.

I kept flipping through the photos again and again, trying to absorb what story they told about Jones. I did it again: dirty trailer, no food, handwritten notes, stacks of materials.

I was idly staring at a photo of an open notepad, a note telling some unnamed person they’d better watch their back, when I realized the dark handwriting on a previous page was showing through to the other side — a page the police department hadn’t sent me. I zoomed in, flipped the image so I could read it. 

It was a letter — a letter written to Josh Cluff, dated July 3, 2016. 

Hay Stoupid [sic] — 

Remember the $8,000-$10,000 I needed? 

I could have leveled out the whole BLM Building — But, NO, you had to get greedy and not pay back any of the $60,000 you borrowed. 

Plus, you bet the “farm” you went “All In,” You almost had this Bomb delivered to your houses. Never bet your family on a desperate idiot. Don’t ever assume somebody won’t shoot you + wife + kids over money. 

Fuck You, Josh. 

Glenn

I wish I had 2 Bombs. You would [illegible]

 But the thing was, ten days later, he had two bombs. He delivered them to Cluff’s house, and told his wife and children to leave before they went off. 

I started flipping all of the pages, looking for more shadows left by an invisible man. “We are different than Iran and Syria,” he wrote in one note, “… Another generation doesn’t need to see [illegible] of Waco and Ruby Ridge.” He wrote the word “ranchers” at the bottom of the page, but I couldn’t read the rest. On yet another page, he wrote the name of the man who baptized LaVoy Finicum in the 1960s. It’s Josh’s grandfather. 

The letter Jones never sent to Cluff made it clear that he was planning to commit an act of terrorism that would destroy a Bureau of Land Management building. And then, the day before the bombing was supposed to happen, the plan fell apart. Something — or someone — got in the way of that plan. He turned the bomb on Cluff.

 But the journal showed Jones was thinking like so many other people I’d interviewed over the years across the West, from a Nevada rancher to a Utah militiaman, to an Arizona widow, to people in Washington who grew up being told the government was out to get them. Jones was writing about revenge and martyrdom and all the things the Patriot movement thrives on. 

But he wasn’t always like this. When investigators called his ex-wife, Kathi Renaud, and told her that he died in such a violent way, she was shocked. They hadn’t spoken in years, but it didn’t sound like the guy she’d been married to. She had a hard time even believing it was true — her daughter demanded proof, she tells me, “whatever to make sure that’s really him. You know? Because this is not his demeanor.”

But it really was her ex-husband. And I asked her why she thought Jones changed.

“I think somebody, in my own opinion, I think had to put that into his mind to make him think that, cuz like you know. No, he never talked bad about the government or anything. Nothing bad. At all.” I asked her for names of more of Jones’ family, friends. She gave the name of one guy — who never got back to me — but no one else. No one really knew him.

But someone, she says, along the way must have gotten to him. Put an idea into his head.

***

The Jones bombing showed me that extremist violence, in some ways, is changing. I talked to one extremism expert after another, asking if they’d ever heard about a Patriot suicide bomber. All of them said no. Some people had committed suicide by cop, trying to go out in a blaze of glory. A guy even once crashed a plane into a building that housed IRS offices on purpose. But a suicide bomber? That would be new. 

Adam Sommerstein, who used to be an analyst with the FBI, told me, “that is a particular phenomena I have never seen in either the Patriot movement or the overall right-wing terror movement.”

A suicide bombing is saying something different than an attack. It’s a sign of devotion to an idea. And it says that this idea is important — more important than my life. And by blowing myself up, I believe this idea will reach more people.

But domestic terrorism still seems to be a thing lots of Americans aren’t even aware exists. And now here — with Jones — it was changing, evolving, maybe becoming even more extreme. And yet his bombing barely made the news outside Nevada.

After so-many high profile shootings, the violence at Charlottesville and other ideologically motivated killings in recent years, lawmakers in Washington are pushing for change. They’ve held hearings on white supremacy — even introduced legislation to create a better response to domestic terrorism. They say the government needs more power to stop extremists in this country. 

“But that’s absurd,” Mike German, from the Brennan Center for Justice, told me. He’s the one who infiltrated and helped take down white supremacist and militia groups as an undercover FBI agent in the ’90s. He says this discussion about passing new terrorism laws as a way to stop extremist violence is a huge red herring. 

“There are 57 federal crimes of terrorism. That’s what they’re called in the United States Code. Of those 57 federal laws of terrorism, 51 of them apply to domestic terrorism as well as international terrorism,” he says. “And if there is a group of intergalactical terrorists, it will apply to them too. It just applies to terrorism. But the fact that it doesn’t say in the law — domestic terrorism — the Justice Department is using that as an excuse to argue for new powers.”

In German’s view, the more of a power grab law enforcement can pull off, the more the government can become like the thought police. And that’s not just anecdotal: He says the government has been doing it against Muslims regularly since 9/11. Someone gets a label and their rights are gone. Historically, those people are brown or black, not white.

German says it’s a flawed thought pattern to want to snatch away the civil liberties of someone who holds racist or radical anti-government views, and thinking that couldn’t also be done to you with the next shift of the political winds. People can hold despicable views — politicizing what thoughts are OK normalizes the continual pushing of the envelope that’s been common since the Twin Towers attack. It’s “the opportunity to target people who you don’t like,” he says. 

And I can’t help but think that making the issue of radical violence something that the government needs to fix as a new way for people to make it someone else’s problem. If that law doesn’t pass, things just stay the same. We say, ‘god, why don’t lawmakers do their job?’

But, see, I think that’s a misdirection — putting the onus on powerful people, who benefit from power structures that have just one definition of terrorist. It ignores that radical violence is the end result of the extreme ideas that have crept into our daily lives. 

Where, once, conspiracies were stories someone had to seek out, or that came to a person on a flyer at a militia meeting or a gun show, they’re now commonplace in everyone’s home. They come through Facebook feeds, Twitter posts and YouTube videos. And maybe you don’t click on them. You already know they’re crazy. But maybe one of them you do, and so do 1000 other people. A video on guns leads you to a fake news story about firearms regulations, which leads you to Agenda 21, or theories about the New World Order. And maybe something there speaks to a certain pain that feels familiar. You agree just enough — so you post it to Facebook. Your friends like it, and that feels good — so you keep posting things just like it. 

And then conspiracy theories aren’t fringe anymore. Online, they become prevailing arguments — things worth entertaining, at the least. They’re noise — noise we’ve all gotten used to drowning out. They’re posts your uncle or your neighbor or brother-in-law is sharing, that your family is liking and re-sharing. And none of those people consider themselves members of the Patriot Movement. They’d never take over a wildlife refuge. They wouldn’t drive away from cops if they got pulled over. But, in daily life, they’re indulging the ideas that have led to instances of violence. 

Sometimes those ideas get in the wrong person’s head, and turn violent. And unless it’s directed at you, it feels like someone else’s problem to fix. 

It seems like the real battle here is over the narrative. The prize is to get your version of things on top — at the top of politics, at the top of search results — no matter how based in falsehoods and hatred it is. 

***

After I found everything in Glenn Jones journal, I called Sheriff Lee, back in Panaca. When we’d sat down in person over the winter, he really couldn’t tell me much about the motives behind the bombing. But as I reported, people kept asking me ‘hey, if you find something out, will you let me know?’ I got the sense they felt a little forgotten — like the biggest thing that had ever happened in their town was the smallest concern to the rest of the world.

Sheriff Lee hadn’t heard of any of the evidence I uncovered — so I read him the entries from Jones’ notebook over the phone. 

“My first words are: Wow,” he said, a solemness to his voice I hadn’t heard in any previous  interviews I’d had with him. “My second words are: It sure would have been nice to have that shared with another law enforcement entity whose conducting an investigation on this.” 

He’s shocked that the target really was supposed to be a BLM office. “And it looks like he had more of an intention than just putting bombs, talking about shooting people,” he says. “This could have been a hell of a lot worse than it was.”

For such a nice guy, Lee sounds pissed — I get the sense he’s not a guy to throw the word “hell” around willy-nilly, too. But I get it: A bomb went off in his tiny town, a place that was always supposed to be this perfect haven of purity in a wild state. And even he can’t give people answers about what happened. The feds never told him. 

“Who radicalized him?” he asks. 

Glenn Jones said he could have “leveled out” a government building because he believed so much in the story of LaVoy the martyr. He was willing to die for it.

Ultimately he didn’t bomb the BLM. I don’t know why he didn’t carry out his original plan. I don’t know what the FBI knew about him. I do know, though, that during that very same summer, the feds “wanted to push [Keebler] outside his comfort zone to take his temperature” on a bombing… when right here, just a few hours away, Glenn Jones was sitting in an RV making a bomb so large it would shower a town in a mile’s worth of shrapnel. 

Lee thinks somebody knew — Panaca’s too damn small for people not to — he thinks they just didn’t say anything, says people might consider it not their business, or figure “nah — not my problem,” he says. 

I think until Kevin Harpham’s bomb arrived just down the street from me in Spokane, maybe I was like that, too. Nah, not my problem. Figured domestic terrorists were over there, white supremacists over there. 

But now I know, I just wasn’t letting myself see what had always been around me. Until that happened, I think I was trying to protect myself from the from the messy business of dealing with hate, unwilling to acknowledge that white supremacist structures support white people who are willing to be violent in the name of ideology and how those people are rarely called terrorists.  

Americans think terrorists are these fictional people streaming over the borders, when in reality, most terrorists are already here — they are white, they are Christian, they were born in America. According to the Anti-Defamation League, 2018 was one of the deadliest years for domestic extremist violence since the Civil Rights era — and almost every attack had some link to a type of right-wing extremism, especially white supremacy. A government assessment of mass attacks in public spaces from that same year also showed that about a third of those attackers believed in a violent ideology — from white supremacy to conspiracy theories, to sovereign citizenry. 

But transparency could change how Americans see terrorism. So when instances of violence happen, the government could tell people what homegrown terrorism really looks like. Because every time the feds cover something up, or use questionable tactics, or don’t say anything at all, it hands the Patriot Movement a new victory. It helps them tell their story. The narrative is in their hands. One more thing they could point to and say ‘look, the government always lies to you.’

I think that’s one step in fixing all this, in creating new Patriots — just not the kind in the Patriot Movement. 

Maybe real Patriots are the ones who can look at themselves, their own communities, and have some uncomfortable conversations about who they really are. Maybe they’re people who can say something is out of place in their own community.

Like the city workers in Spokane who saw that backpack and trusted their guts to say something, likely saving hundreds of lives.

Or Tanner Rowe and Jay Pounder, who leaked the Biblical Basis for War: two conservative guys who used to work for Matt Shea but weren’t so hypnotized by a belief system that they couldn’t recognize when it was turning into something dangerous. 

Or Jesse Johnson, who didn’t turn anyone in, but instead simply turns a cheek again, and again, and again to the people at Marble. Extending a hand out to the people who hurt him, killing them with kindness. Or trying to. They can believe what they want, but he doesn’t have to hate them back.

Because Johnson knows that hate takes work. He was raised in a place where anger and violence were preached as virtues, but grew up to be a man who knows those weren’t the words of God. They were words of people trying to play God.

So each of them took a risk. They all stood up. They all exposed a problem. They stopped living in fear.  

They know that in the light, there can be no shadows.

***

Listen to the audio version of this series.

  Leah Sottile is a freelance journalist based in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in the Washington Post, Playboy, California Sunday Magazine, Outside, The Atlantic and Vice.

Editors: Mike Dang and Kelly Stout Illustrator: Zoë van Dijk Fact checker: Matt Giles Copy editor: Jacob Gross

Special thanks to everyone at Oregon Public Broadcasting.

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