#also I should draw ulysses more times

[toothed-raven]

I like how this turned out!!!

[powerfulscribbles]

Odyssey AU where Varré plays Circe and offers a magic concoction to Tarnished that turns them into lambkins. That's it send post

[datura-tea]

Why would you put Ulysses in a situationship like that…poor dude has been through it time and time again…. Also what does Avery(????I think that’s his name?????) look like?

hahahaha sorry!!! i wanted to explore a different ulysses/courier dynamic, one that's directly opposite from ulysses and moz. so if moz/ulysses is a slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers story, where they are both crazy for each other, just fully understand the other, make each other better and want to not just survive but thrive together, then avery/ulysses is... very much not that. they're a flash in a pan relationship, full of miscommunication; i mean, the feelings are reciprocated (in a way), but since avery is so reserved and distant, it's essentially one-sided. poor ulysses, falling for a man who is always on the run, not just from the authorities but from his own emotions

essentially... moz makes ulysses's life better :) avery makes ulysses's life worse >:(

also here's avery!! i should draw him more hehe

[neonmetro]

Went back and reread your infodump post because that shit is like Nicotine /J

This is in no way related to Ocs or anything but likeeee I couldn't help it

Kirby mention so I'm just gonna rant rq

I have all the Kirby games up to forgotten lands, Super Nintendo? Wii U? YEAH I GOT EM

I literally can't because the Super Nintendo is the LOVE of my life, Doctor Mario and Tetris was MY SHIT, i also used to play shooters on the WII U until I lost the gun piece. . .sigh those were the days. Not to mention Hip Hop dance experience which if you want me to be honest it's just Hip Hop just dance and wayyyyy better in my humble opinion. PLS TELL ME YOU HAVE PLAYED ON THE SUPER NINTENDO, also I used to have a Mortal Kombat arcade system until it broke. . .still need a replacement piece/

ALSO YOU SHARE THE LOVE OF MARINE BIOLOGY???? PLS PLS PLS I LOVE MARINE BIOLOGY AND HAVE LOVED IT SINCE I WAS IN THE 3RD GRADE, I did half of my science projects around Jellyfish and sea slugs. . .the ocean is so scary but so beautiful. LIKE SEA ANGELS???? AND LION FISH??? DON'T GET ME STARTED ON JELLYFISH AND SHARKS CHAT. I could rant for hourrs about Marine life, also like coral is so pretty. . .I honestly think people should start caring more about the environment !!!! To keep beautiful things like this alive !!! (If you want to infodump by all means this is an invitation hehe. . .)

Another hyperfixation of mine is Astronomy. . .sighs. . .if I were to talk about astronomy I fear I wouldn't be able to send this ask because it would just be too long. . .tumblr is such a hater

and then butterflies and castles . . .I really like castles, um

Butterflies though !!! They are great, I find it silly that a lot of the Morpho butterflies are named after Greek myth. Like the Morpho menalaus, the Morpho achillies, and Morpho Telemachus.

I also really like fairy tales, classical literature, vampires. . .sighs, vampires

PLS FEEL FREE TO RANT ABOUT ANY OF YOUR INTERESTS OR HYPERFIXATIONS PLEASE THAT WOULD BE GREAT ACTUALLY, I RUN OFF OF INFO DUMPS

-Ulysses loving anon

HELP ME?!?!??!?!?! CRAZY ANALOGY

HELL YESSSSSSS god all those games are iconic.... i'll be so honest i haven't played many nintendo games, i only got a switch this year LMAOOO and i've only played pokemon + splatoon 2.... i love kirby with all my heart though i have a little squeaky toy of him in my room and he is poyo poyoing all over the place

i mean i've watched some nintendo gameplay videos but none of those games.... sorry

most games i've been able to play are on the phone .... bc i'm not that good at playing on my computer (cause i draw instead so i have to drag myself away)

GODDD!!! I LOVE MARINE BIOLOGYYY it was so intense in junior year that i wanted to become a marine bio major (it's such an odd choice considering my first major is business marketing....?) but we ball tbh i'd still like to take a course in it

HGNGNGHGGH I FUCKING LOVE JELLYFISH YOU HAVE NOOOO IDEA!!!! the lampocteis and moon jellies are my absolute favorites, comb jellies are peak and so are moon jellies

honestly i'm really lucky i can travel a lot bc i get to go to so many aqauriums. we fucking ball. like everytime i go to an aquarium i take five million pictures LOLLL like its a problem lmfao!!!!! (like i went to a aquarium in tokyo and it was baller)

outside of jellyfish my favorite is orcas, whales, and other deep sea animals. fuck i love them so much. (i call orcas assholes all the time because they are but i love them for it) smth smth moby dick being 50% whale facts only fed into the marine bio fixation

sea slugs are awesome too. look at those sluggos go eating sponges and becoming poisonous as a result. oh i also love sphinophores (hi portuguese man o' war) they're awesome

i rarely get to make things about my marine bio interest... but while playing webfishing i almost exclusively fish out at sea and i bother my friends about fun facts all the time

HONESTLY? TRUE. that's kinda the main way to get ppl to care lol make it about little guys that are cute and don't you want them to be alive instead of dead?

coral bleaching is such a insane problem man....... make sure you pay attention to what sunscreen you're using!!!!!!!!

AHHH ASTRONOMY..... i used to be really into it when i was younger but erm. it kinda died after awhile and i'm hesitant to get back into it after an incident lol... i still love the planets tho (thank you sailor moon you are the source of many awakenings for me)

castles are awesome i'm ngl.....

OHHH!!! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT ABOUT BUTTERFLIES THAT'S SO COOL ACTUALLY... AND REALLY ICONIC ONES TOO THAT'S CRAZYYYY

its actually so cool that scientific names for animals are named after greek heroes its so cool. like the genus and family name for albatrosses are named after diomedes and i was like HOLY SHIT!!!!!

HELL YESS FAIRY TALES AND CLASSIC LIT!!!! those are so peak (i love fairy tales and ballets with a burning passion. they're awesome. i need every adaptation of a fairy tale IN MY VEINS. NOW.)

oghghgh i really love metro systems. i love how color coordinated they are and how they're genuinely the best kind of public transportation there is, its so cool... also the aesthetics are so good.

i also really love pop art (i'm from new york can you tell) GENUINELY SUCH AN AWESOME MOVEMENT AGAINST WHAT IS AND ISN'T CONSIDERED ART!!!! GOING AGAINST ALL STANDARDS AND QUALIFICATIONS!!!! also i just love bright colors and tone dots lmfao.... (i'm not the biggest fan of abstract art but pop art just hits diff)

[lastwave]

hiiii ok<3 my deeply silly concept. important to know the better half of this has been me coming to this when im bored and just going with whatever idea makes me laugh. the plot is absurd and makes no sense and i love it this way. Apologies for. how much this is

so in this world ive made there is this sport called extreme hockey which is just hockey but off the rails. recently, the biggest game ever just happened (the stanley cup squared) where the coach of the philadelphia fighter jets (philidelphia flyers' insane sister team) Ulysses Dodger just won with the trojan horse maneuver, credited to him and the team manager, Ana

the team wants to go home. but also, they're hungry as hell. everyone but Ulysses gets sketchy airport food and gets food poisoning so that delays their trip by. a good bit.

on the way back to the hotel room, Ulysses and the two way forward, Ed Kuznetsov, are trying to figure out the plane ticket situation when they get in an argument with this guy in the elevator. which then breaks. so now theyre stuck in the elevator with this pissed off guy, which comes to a head with Ulysses jabbing the guys eye out, Ed managing to pry open the doors between floors, Ulysses giving the guy his real name and then the two running back to the room after climbing out.

Ulysses calls Ana about it, asking how much trouble he's in. Ana blocks him.

the team gets new tickets but theres a new issue: their flight to philly keeps getting delayed by just horrible awful weather. Ulysses and Ed both were in the airforce briefly so they know how to fly a plane (ed quit, ulysses was discharged for an ant farm related incident). So Ulysses gets it in his head "i could fly in this weather." and they go to the airport manager, [Aeolus stand in to be named], who lends them a plane. all they need to do is not draw attention to the fact they aren't supposed to be the pilots and it should go fine.

except Ed fucks it up on the radio RIGHT before they get to Philly so they have to take a fucking uturn.

now they end up at JFK airport again, where we run into the guy from the airport, who we find out works for air traffic control.

Unsure of the transitional event but they end up at Laguardia airport. where they meet Circe, who runs a petplay club. you can see where that leads. they spend almost a week with her

Circe tells them they have to go where no NHL team makes it out alive: Atlanta, Hartsfield-Jackson airport. on the underground level is a disgraced pilot-turned-psychic who will them how to proceed.

they go to ATL, get their emotional shit rocked, some hijinks occur where Ed steals some handcuffs, and get sent to Harry-Reid in Vegas

here, 5 members of the team get wrapped up into an MLM. we lose them in Vegas. then, 6 more members are bought out of the team during the NHL draft. leaving just Ulysses and Ed (because theyre not gonna just send Ulysses's picks over to where he is, that's absurd)

then theres just a fun "flying in inclement weather" sequence until they land in Indiana, out of gas and unable to get more without being caught. Here, they're approached by a youtuber, Dr Monster, who gives them a deal: participate in his game. which is this, go an unspecified amount of time with food in front of them without eating. if they make it the whole way, they get a ride to philly. if not, they get turned in to the ATC.

Ed caves after the first day and handcuffs Ulysses to his chair, goes for the food. It's implied they both pass out after this.

Ulysses wakes up in the middle of nowhere, just to see his face on TV as a wanted man. They don't know his whereabouts. He doesn't look the picture anymore.

He gets a shit job at a diner in Indiana and works there for a long while, under a fake name.

Meanwhile, through [Aeolus stand in], Ana's family has tracked down Ulysses. Turns out, Ana's uncle is in charge of the ATC. Ana manages to convince her uncle to pardon Ulysses because of the unique circumstances, and she sends her cousin Henry to go pick up Ulysses in a *car* and drive him back to Philly.

Ulysses reunites with his family and Ed :]

does anyone wanna hear my dumbass story. that is just an odyssey rip off but what if its planes. aand hockey. i started toying with the idea as a joke but the characters started having actual characterizations outside the odyssey rip off thing and now im attached

[iincantatorum]

@xxxlovedandlostxxx​ from (X)

Normally the Mad Hermit kept to himself and not draw attention to himself, but something about this stranger’s technique had him staring. He had to comment on the waste of magic that might be crucial at a later time. The years he spent committed to honing his skills made him rather observant to others, so much so that he got a little too invested. He could not tear his gaze away, fixated on the mistakes that were idiotic blunders, in his opinion.

Now Ulysses was infuriated with himself for opening his mouth, but the insult was like a cold balm to him from the itch he would have felt for ignoring it. 

“Maybe you should stop focusing on who I am, and focus more on your techniques, boy. Also, what are you doing here in my forest!? Did they send you?”

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster.  The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.  This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack  of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others.  Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies.  John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven. 

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together.  He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but  already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it.  A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp.  Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention?  To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one.  I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon? 

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch.  I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice.  I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts.  I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat.  The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man. 

[iamanartichoke]

... All right, let’s do this. 

Under the cut bc there’s SO MANY images, and I’m sorry, and I know the cut is worthless to mobile users but, well, here we are. Please don’t unfollow me for this post specifically. 

^^ I can’t decide if this woman holding the Tesseract is impressive or not bc, I mean, she’s wearing a glove - but, Red Skull probably was, too? Also the TVA are obviously not humans, so “impressive” may be generous. On the other hand, “only beings of enormous power” can wield the Tesseract/infinity stones, so. 

Loki looks pissed. 

“I know what this place is.” I like this, bc it provides us with some narrative evidence that Loki has always known much more about the universe and How Things Work than anyone cared to realize. Loki’s always known what’s going on; that he isn’t ignorant to the existence or inner functions of the TVA feels in-character. 

Inception! 

Lokiception! 

Why does every shot of the TVA’s headquarters look like the inside of a poorly-lit DMV? Though I guess it fits with the “timelessness” of it all as, after all, time ceases to exist or have meaning once you enter the DMV. 

But I digress. 

I’ve already remarked on the “I’m smart” comment, but I do like this shot. 

I really love what Loki’s hair is doing here, I don’t even care. For better or for worse, his hair’s doing it’s own all-natural thing and I dig it. Let it move, let it dance, let it fall into his face and obscure his features as fanfic has allowed so many times. 

I’m not a fan of the exaggerated jump or “wtf” expression along with “this is absurd” but THIS moment? Classic Loki. He looks 500% done and we’re only 51 seconds in. Also, I refuse to believe that stack of papers is everything Loki’s ever said. I know we all complained about the “you love to talk” line but, I mean, certainly he’s said more than approximately the total sum of Ulysses in his 1000 years of existence. 

Here’s what I want to know: 

1. How does Loki taking the Tesseract result in so many new timeline branches? Surely he’s only responsible for one new timeline? I really, really hope they address that this is all the Avengers’ fault. 

2. What timeline is WandaVision and TFatWS taking place in? The main one, I presume? How do we know it’s not one of these alternate ones? 

3. Which timeline is Agents of SHIELD in and will they be addressed? Bc they got up to all kinds of Time Shenanigans in seasons 5, 6, and 7 to the point where I’m pretty sure they split off into their own universe (which is why they weren’t affected by the Snap or that whole thing, or so I’ve heard). If Loki crosses paths with Coulson & crew, I may pee my pants.

4. So where does Jessica Jo - ah, forget it, I’m not even going to ask. 

I wonder what it is about this “unique Loki perspective” that Mobius is interested in recruiting. (Incidentally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen Wilson in, like, a real role - wherein he’s not playing some version of Owen Wilson, that is. He’s got a costume and everything here. Fun to see!) 

This is a bamf shot, okay. The way it’s framed is pretty intimidating. 

“You listen well, brother -” 

“I’m listening.” 

^^ I figured out what kind of energy this moment has, lmao. 

“It’s adorable that you think you can manipulate me.” I mean, do I even have to comment? I am here for narratively validating the “Loki is ten steps ahead” (heh, and I quote) canon. Here’s another place where I feel like Tom was involved, since I’m pretty sure that somewhere, he’s literally said “Loki’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else.” 

That said, I’m not crazy about the delivery of this line; the over-confident tone of it smacks of “here’s someone about to get knocked the fuck off their pedestal” and I’m not here for that. 

That said, these next scenes - 

- not only show Loki with the upper hand but, also, it’s clear that Loki goes rogue at some point, possibly early on, and I do like that. Drag me if you will, but I want to see Loki scheming and being manipulative, in his own interests. 

I think that Loki being the protagonist will allow them to portray his manipulation in a way that the audience is on his side. I don’t think that the TVA is being framed as the “reliable narrator” through which the audience should view Loki, or “good guys” at all; I think that maybe they’re not evil, but there’s probably a lot of morally-grey shenanigans and goings-on. 

I also think Loki is capable of outwitting them; Loki, being ten steps ahead, has probably figured out something that the TVA has not even thought of yet, so he’s going to fix things his own way, according to his own plan. And I want to see that, because I think that this will give the narrative room to really explore both how Loki thinks and what he does when his plans go awry (as I’m sure they’re bound to do); like, how will he fix it and still remain on top in the end?

So, I mean, I’m pretty intrigued (and still cautiously optimistic). 

Lots of action shots happening, I won’t add even more images to this post, but this magic is still giving me life. 

What is this, a food court? (Speaking of which , what’s up with all the action in the mall earlier?) 

“I’ve studied almost every moment of your life” 

(^^ Missed opportunity)

“and you’ve literally stabbed people in the back like 50 times.” 

Receipts or it didn’t happen, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that line right now. 

Thanks, I hate it. This is all wrong, this whole thing - just awful, scrap it, toss it out. Tom, I love you, but this was the wrong delivery and an all-around bad acting decision. It’s too over-the-top, too earnestly “well I never!”, too comical (as in, feels like it belongs in a comic with a speech bubble as opposed to funny). 

Once more, with feeling. From the top! 

I like that we get to see Loki doing a wardrobe change, as I don’t think we’ve gotten to see that before. He always just shows up in a new outfit or illusions one on. 

That’s one ugly ass outfit, but you make it look passable, Loki. You’re beautiful, in case no one’s told you that today. 

The remaining shots are very visually pleasing and action-y and I dig them, except the volcano one (stop posing with your arms outstretched every five seconds, Loki, it’s kinda cringe. In the above still, it works; in front of a volcano, it’s just tonally off. I say this with love, don’t @ me). 

Overall, I think I maintain my 7/10 rating. I think that the trailer hints at a lot of potential in the story that I will enjoy seeing, and I think that the nature of it being a trailer means that it’s a little tonally hyperbolic (this is kinda the format for Disney shit; show the flashy bits, the funny (”funny”) bits, to draw in the casual viewer. Save the story bits for the show. (Case in point: there’s a lot of great material in TFatWS that happened just before or after the one-liners shown in the trailer.) 

So, yes. Sorry this is such a mammoth post, I just needed to explode my feels. If you think the trailer’s awesome, kudos and I love you. If you’re disappointed and upset, I’m sorry and I love you. If you’re hovering in the middle, still in cautiously optimistic territory, pull up a seat and have some popcorn with me. 

That is all. 

[gardenofkore]

The Theory of the Sicilian Origin of the Odyssey refers to a particular trend (particularly fashionable during the 19th century) according to which the true author of the Odyssey was a young woman from Trapani, who took inspiration from people and places familiar to her to write this famous epic poem. The postulation was made especially renowned after Victorian novelist Samuel Butler published his work The Authoress of the Odyssey in 1897 and is still debated nowadays. The main reasonings who could support the theory of a female writer are the fact that, in the Odyssey, women are depicted as more reasonable and positive than men, who act almost mechanically and aren’t as exalted as their female counterparts. While Iliad’s women are creatures who need to be protected, Odyssey’s women rule, counsel and protect. When Ulysses reaches Scheria, Nausicaa advises him to plead for help from Queen Arete rather than King Alcinous. No woman in the Odyssey is made fun of, and almost everyone of them is treated with respect, except if they committed a serious crime (like Penelope’s unfaithful handmaidens, who are showed no mercy) while men aren’t considered trustworthy and able. Also, the text is peppered with small errors (about navigation, the structure of a ship, the shape of a weapon etc) which no male author could have made.

Who, then, was she?

I cannot answer this question with the confidence that I have felt hitherto. So far I have been able to demonstrate the main points of my argument; on this, the most interesting question of all, I can offer nothing stronger than presumption.

We have to find a woman of Trapani, young, fearless, self-willed, and exceedingly jealous of the honour of her sex. She seems to have moved in the best society of her age and country, for we can imagine none more polished on the West coast of Sicily in Odyssean times than the one with which the writer shews herself familiar. She must have had leisure, or she could not have carried through so great a work. She puts up with men when they are necessary or illustrious, but she is never enthusiastic about them, and likes them best when she is laughing at them; but she is cordially interested in fair and famous women.

I think she should be looked for in the household of the person whom she is travestying under the name of King Alcinous. The care with which his pedigree and that of his wife Arēte is explained (vii. 54-77), and the warmth of affectionate admiration with which Arēte is always treated, have the same genuine flavour that has led scholars to see true history and personal interest in the pedigree of Æneas given in "Il." XX. 200-241. Moreover, she must be a sufficiently intimate member of the household to be able to laugh at its head as much as she chose. [...]

Lastly, she must be looked for in one to whom the girl described as Nausicaa was all in all. No one else is drawn with like livingness and enthusiasm, and no other episode is written with the same, or nearly the same, buoyancy of spirits and resiliency of pulse and movement, or brings the scene before us with anything approaching the same freshness, as that in which Nausicaa takes the family linen to, the washing cisterns. The whole of Book vi. can only have been written by one who was throwing herself into it heart and soul.

All the three last paragraphs are based on the supposition that the writer was drawing real people. That she was drawing a real place, lived at that place, and knew no other, does not admit of further question; we can pin the writer down here by reason of the closeness with which she has kept to natural features that remain much as they were when she portrayed them; but no traces of Alcinous’s house and garden, nor of the inmates of his household will be even looked for by any sane person; it is open, therefore, to an objector to contend that though the writer does indeed appear to have drawn permanent features from life, we have no evidence that she drew houses and gardens and men and women from anything but her own imagination.

[...]

Richly endowed with that highest kind of imagination which consists in wise selection and judicious application of materials derived from life, she fails, as she was sure to do, when cut off from a base of operation in her own surroundings. This appears most plainly in the three books which tell of the adventures of Ulysses after he has left Mt. Eryx and the Cyclopes. There is no local detail in the places described; nothing, in fact, but a general itinerary such as she could easily get from the mariners of her native town. With this she manages to rub along, helping herself out with fragments taken from nearer home, but there is no approach to such plausible invention as we find in Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe, or Pilgrim's Progress; and when she puts a description of the land of Hades into the mouth of Circe (x. 508–515)—which she is aware must be something unlike anything she had ever witnessed—she breaks down and gives as a scene which carries no conviction. Fortunately not much detail is necessary here; in Ithaca, however, a great deal is wanted, and feeling invention beyond her strength she does not even attempt it, but has recourse with the utmost frankness to places with which she is familiar.

Not only does she shirk invention as much as possible in respect of natural features, but she does so also as regards incident. She can vilipend her neighbours on Mt. Eryx as the people at Trapani continue doing to this day, for there is no love lost between the men of Trapani and those of Mte. S. Giuliano, as Eryx is now called. She knows Ustica: the wind comes thence, and she can make something out of that; then there is the other great Sican city of Cefalù—a point can be made here; but with the Lipari islands her material is running short. She has ten years to kill, for which, however, eight or eight-and-a-half may be made to pass. She cannot have killed more than three months before she lands her hero on Circe's island; here, then, in pity's name let him stay for at any rate twelve months—which he accordingly does.

She soon runs through her resources for the Sirens’ island, and Scylla and Charybdis; she knows that there is nothing to interest her on the East coast of Sicily below Taormina—for Syracuse (to which I will return) was still a small pre-Corinthian settlement, while on the South coast we have no reason to believe that there was any pre-Hellenic city. What, she asked herself, could she do but shut Ulysses up in the most lonely island she could think of—the one from which he would have the least chance of escaping—for the remainder of his term? She chose, therefore, the island which the modern Italian Government has chosen, for exactly the same reasons, as the one in which to confine those who cannot be left at large—the island of Pantellaria; but she was not going to burden Calypso for seven long years with all Ulysses’ men, so his ship had better be wrecked.

This way out of the difficulty does not indicate a writer of fecund or mature invention. She knew the existence of Sardinia, for Ulysses smiles a grim Sardinian smile (xx. 302). Why not send him there, and describe it with details taken not from the North side of Trapani but from the South? Or she need not have given details at all—she might have sent him very long journeys extending over ever so many years in half a page. If she had been of an inventive turn there were abundant means of keeping him occupied without having recourse to the cheap and undignified expedient of shutting him up first for a year in one island, and then for seven in another. Having made herself so noble a peg on which to hang more travel and adventure, she would have hung more upon it, had either strength or inclination pointed in that direction. It is one of the commonplaces of Homeric scholars to speak of the voyages of Ulysses as "a story of adventurous travel." So in a way they are, but one can see all through that the writer is trying to reduce the adventurous travel to a minimum.

See how hard put to it she is when she is away from her own actual surroundings. She does not repeat her incidents so long as she is at home, for she has plenty of material to draw from; when she is away from home, do what she may, she cannot realise things so easily, and has a tendency to fall back on something she has already done. Thus, at Pylos, she repeats the miraculous flight of Minerva (iii. 372) which she had used i. 320. On reaching the land of the Læstrygonians Ulysses climbs a high rock to reconnoitre, and sees no sign of inhabitants save only smoke rising from the ground—at the very next place he comes to he again climbs a high rock to reconnoitre, and apparently sees no sign of inhabitants but only the smoke of Circe's house rising from the middle of a wood. He is conducted to the house of Alcinous by a girl who had come out of the town to fetch a pitcher of water (vii. 20); this is repeated (x. 105) when Ulysses’ men are conducted to the house of the Læstrygonian Antiphates, by a girl who had come out of the town to fetch a pitcher of water. The writer has invented a sleep to ruin Ulysses just as he was well in sight of Ithaca (x. 31, &c.). This is not good invention, for such a moment is the very last in which Ulysses would be likely to feel sleepy—but the effort of inventing something else to ruin him when his men are hankering after the cattle of the Sun is quite too much for her, and she repeats (xii. 338) the sleep which had proved so effectual already. So, as I have said above, she repeats the darkness on each occasion when Ulysses seems likely to stumble upon Trapani. Calypso, having been invented once, must do duty again as Circe—or vice versâ, for Book x. was probably written before Book v.

Such frequent examples of what I can only call consecutive octaves indicate a writer to whom invention does not come easily, and who is not likely to have recourse to it more than she can help. Having shown this as regards both places and incidents, it only remains to point out that the writer's dislike of invention extends to the invention of people as well as places. The principal characters in the "Odyssey" are all of them Scherian. Nestor, Ulysses, Menelaus and Alcinous are every one of them the same person playing other parts, and the greater zest with which Alcinous is drawn suggests, as I have said in an earlier Chapter, that the original from whom they are all taken was better known to the writer in the part of Alcinous than in that of any of the other three. Penelope, Helen, and Arēte are only one person, and I always suspect Penelope to be truer to the original than either of the other two. Idothea and Ino are both of them Nausicaa; so also are Circe and Calypso, only made up a little older, and doing as the writer thinks Nausicaa would do if she were a goddess and had an establishment of her own. I am more doubtful about these last two, for they both seem somewhat more free from that man-hatred which Nausicaa hardly attempts to conceal. Still, Nausicaa contemplates marrying as soon as she can find the right person, and, as we have seen, neither Circe nor Calypso had a single man-servant of their own, while Circe was in the habit of turning all men who came near her into pigs or wild beasts. Calypso, moreover, is only made a little angry by being compelled to send Ulysses away. She does not seem to have been broken-hearted about it. Neither of them, therefore, must be held to be more fond of men than the convenience of the poem dictated. Even the common people of Ithaca are Scherians, and make exactly the same fault-finding ill-natured remarks about Penelope (xxiii. 149-151) as the Phæacians did about Nausicaa in Book vi. 273-288.

If, then, we observe that where the writer's invention is more laboured she is describing places foreign to her own neighbourhood, while when she carries conviction she is at or near her own home, the presumption becomes very strong that the more spontaneous scenes are not so much invention as a rendering of the writer's environment, to which it is plain that she is passionately attached, however much she may sometimes gird at it. I, therefore, dismiss the supposition of my supposed objector that the writer was not drawing Alcinous’ household and garden from life, and am confirmed in this opinion by remembering that the house of Ulysses corresponds perfectly with that of Alcinous—even to the number of the women servants kept in each establishment.

Being limited to a young woman who was an intimate member of Alcinous’ household, we have only to choose between some dependant who idolised Nausicaa and wished to celebrate her with all her surroundings, or Nausicaa (whatever her real name may have been) herself. 

[...]

 The fact that in the washing day episode, so far as possible, we find Nausicaa, all Nausicaa, and nothing but Nausicaa, among the female dramatis person, indicates that she was herself the young woman of Trapani, a member of the household of King Alcinous, whom we have got to find, and that she was giving herself the little niche in her work which a girl who was writing such a work was sure to give herself.

[...]

At the same time I think it highly probable that the writer of the "Odyssey" was both short and plain, and was laughing at herself, and intending to make her audience laugh also, by describing herself as tall and beautiful. She may have been either plain or beautiful without its affecting the argument.

I wish I could find some one who would give me any serious reason why Nausicaa should not have written the "Odyssey." For the last five years I have pestered every scholar with whom I have been able to scrape acquaintance, by asking him to explain why the "Odyssey" should not have been written by a young woman. 

Samuel Butler, The Authoress of the Odyssey

[sustraiii]

TEAM ZRCN ARC 3 - EPILOGUE

Aaannndddd that’s a wrap for arc 3! We leave our main cast for the moment to turn our attention to Bianca and things in Olympia.

Once again, thanks to @neopoliitan for proofreading

BIANCA

“Are we nearly there?” Sparrow’s voice weakly asked from where they were sitting huddled in the passenger seat.

Bianca turned her attention from the window to the navigation system on the dashboard. She was driving slow and there was little in the way of obstacles this far out in the tundra, so she was willing to risk a look away. “Ten minutes out.” She informed her companion. “How are you holding up?”

“Eh, I’ve felt better,” Sparrow responded. They started to chuckle, but the action aggravated their injuries, and with a small groan they leaned back into the chair. “Looking forward to some of that sweet medication Theodora has got waiting for me.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’ll do more for you than the painkillers Miho managed to find for you back in Highpoint,” Bianca said, looking back out the window.

Sparrow made a small noise in approval, and remained silent for the remainder of the journey, only speaking up once the old, faded sign came into view.

"Ah, the O.R.C.A.S," Sparrow said, splitting the acronym into "orc" and "ass" as they said it. "Home sweet home."

The O.R.C.A.S was merely an acronym for the place where Bianca, her family, and most of their associates made their home. Also known as the "Olympia Research and Climate Analysis Station", their home was a now  disused military-sanctioned research base. It's original purpose was to monitor the weather, but had later been expanded to allow select research projects to be worked on within its walls. After the town of Olympia had been lost to the Grimm, many of the survivors had sought refuge at the base. Atlas had long since turned their gaze away from Olympia and it's old research base, and so they were left untroubled to do what they wanted.

Pulling up to the front gate, Bianca leaned forward in her front seat, watching as Euphemia Crest appeared, giving a small wave before slowly pushing the gate open. Bianca raised her hand in acknowledgement, before driving the vehicle through the reinforced outer walls and up to the front of the base. 

As Bianca parked, she saw the front doors open, and the last Crest sibling, Theodora, stepped outside. Bianca hopped out of the van, offering a small hello to Euphemia who had come over to join them after closing the gate. Sparrow meanwhile, struggled getting out of the van without causing any discomfort to themself, and had to be helped out the rest of the way by Theodora.

Theodora was about to lead Sparrow back inside when Bianca stopped her and called her over. "Theo, can I keep you for a moment?"

"Of course," Theodora responded, before moving their hands away from Sparrow. "You remember where my rooms are don't you Sparrow?"

"I haven't been gone that long," Sparrow smirked. "But sure, I know the way. See you soon, doc."

Sparrow trudged inside, leaving the three women together. Bianca gestured for the sisters to follow her to the rear of the van, where she warned them to brace themselves, before opening the rear doors, revealing the three people within. Whilst two of the passengers remained quiet, the youngest of the three glared at Bianca. "You're going to be in big trouble." She warned.

"I wasn't aware keeping prisoners was going to be a permanent thing after the situation with Lunick," Euphemia commented, looking at Bianca disapprovingly. 

"Blame Belle," Bianca answered with a huff. "This is her doing. She insisted I bring them with me when I returned for 'safekeeping' until she returned."

Euphemia and Theodora shared a glance between each other, and at that moment Bianca was aware of how much they looked like each other - and like their late brother Ulysses for that matter. All three of them shared the same dark brown hair and blue eyes, and all three were also caprine Faunus.

"You'd better take them to my rooms as well," Theodora said to her sister after a moment, putting her hands on her hips and sighing. "I'll want to confirm for myself they're all in good health and uninjured. Find some food and water for them too, Fee."

Euphemia nodded, and clapped her hands together, ordering the three of them out of the van. Once they were all safely out of the vehicle, looking around with a mix of curiosity and confusion at their surroundings, Euphemia clapped her hands together and gestured for the three of them to follow her inside. Bianca and Theodora watched them leave, and once they had disappeared inside the building, Bianca was aware of the other woman's gaze upon her.

"This isn't good," Theodora shook her head. "What was Belle thinking when she did this?"

"Probably about herself," Bianca said quickly. "Nothing good at least."

Theodora let out a faint laugh.

"Did everyone return?" Bianca asked, looking to the woman as the two of them made their way inside the building.

"Yes, all those you called have returned to base," Theodora nodded in confirmation. "Laurel and Biggs arrived yesterday."

"Good," Bianca smiled contentedly. "Once you have seen to Sparrow and our guests, I would like you to summon everyone to the meeting room and then come and find me."

"What will you be doing?"

"Saying hello to my father."

"Oh, well you had better go to the storeroom then," Theodora said, stopping Bianca from walking in the direction of where Alden's rooms were located. Bianca turned on her heel, and raised a brow at Theodora. The storeroom had once been a parking bay, but had been converted into a storeroom for her father's Sentinels almost a decade ago. It had been a long time since she had heard her father and the storeroom mentioned in the same sentence - her father's memory issues had meant that working on his creations as he wanted had been difficult in recent years.

"Since when has he been working on the Sentinels again?" Bianca asked.

"Oh, he's not working on them," Theodora explained. "He's been tinkering on those old drone prototypes he and Cala put together two years back. It's quite marvellous to watch actually. He becomes very talkative when working on them. He still seems a little confused and isn't aware of what the year is, but it's nice to hear him talking in a clear and concise manner once again."

Intrigued by this development in her father, Bianca was keen to make her way to the storeroom, finding her father tinkering away on the drones as Theodora had promised. He greeted her warmly, and gestured for her to sit with him where they sat and enjoyed a nice conversation. He looked tired, his white hair shaggy and unkempt, and as impossible as it seemed, there looked to be more wrinkles on his face than there had been the last time they had spoken. But there was a sparkle in his red eyes that hadn't been there for a long time.

As nice it was to talk with him, the moment was bittersweet; despite talking clearly and being more aware of what was going on then he had in years, he did not know who Bianca was. He admitted to some recognition, but could not put a name to the face, though he admitted she had a pretty name when she answered that question.

As they talked, Bianca tried to show an interest in what he was doing, but alas she had never had the aptitude for robotics and machinery as her father and sister had. Still, she could follow along well enough to participate in the conversation. 

“Bianca?” A knock preceded Theodora’s question, as the young doctor appeared in the doorway. “Everyone’s ready for you.”

“Seems like you have to go,” Her father mused, almost sounding disappointed as he spoke. “It was nice to speak with you, Bianca. I hope we are able to speak again soon.”

“I’d like that too,” Bianca smiled. “Farewell, da-Alden.”

**

Following Theodora into the meeting room, Bianca was greeted with a room of silence, and several pairs of eyes watching her as she moved. Unlike many of the rooms in the base, this one had never been altered for a different purpose, and was still used as a meeting room to this day. The room was dominated by a large oval table, with enough room that everyone could sit around with room to spare. Other than that, the room was sparse in terms of decorations - save for a few old posters proclaiming that “a happy worker is a productive worker!” and that Atlas “appreciates its dedicated workers!”. They had long since been defaced with crude swear words and drawings over the years, most of which had been the handiwork of Belleza and Miho.

Bianca took her seat at the end of the table - a place usually reserved for Belleza or their father - and took a moment to ready herself, taking the time to look round at those present. 

To the left of her sat Laurel, whose face was turned to the side to obscure her scars, and who currently seemed more interested in fiddling with her fingers than paying attention to Bianca. As always, Laurel was flanked by her Ursine companion Biggs, who looked ready to fight; his gaze never lingering on one person for long. Theodora and Lunick sat together; Theodora watching Bianca intently, Lunick looking extremely uncomfortable at being present and looking away.

To the other side of Bianca sat the Astrella siblings - Uriah and his younger sister Maia - a girl who was amazingly even more insufferable than her brother was. It was Maia who was currently watching her, her teal eyes boring into her with such intensity, that Bianca was surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust.

“Does Belleza know you are here?” Maia asked with an almost accusatory tone.

“Are you trying to accuse me of something?” Bianca responded with another question, meeting Maia’s gaze.

“Well, it’s a little strange that we all get called back, but Belleza isn’t here,” Maia pointed out. “And last I checked, she’s our leader, regardless of whether she is here or not...you should know your place.” With a cock of her head, Maia gestured to the seat which was currently occupied by Laurel, a position where Bianca would often sit.

“And you should know your place,” Bianca fired back, narrowing her eyes. 

 “Belleza’s not here right now,” Laurel chimed in, “There’s no need to keep kissing her ass.”

“Nobody asked your opinion, scar face.”

“How original,” Laurel mocked. “Next time hit me with something I haven’t heard a hundred times from Belle before.”

“You little-”

“Enough!” Bianca yelled, jumping in to prevent the two women from going back and forth at each other. It had been too long since the last time the two of them had been in a room together, Bianca had almost forgotten how contentious the two of them were. “If you two want to have it out in the courtyard later feel free, but right now we have things to discuss, and after a very long drive I would rather get this over and done with rather than drag it out.” Bianca paused and looked between the two women. “Now are the two of you going to behave yourselves so I can finish?”

When both women nodded their heads in agreement, Bianca smiled, glad that she would be able to get out what needed to be said.

“As some of you know, due to events that transpired in Atlas and Highpoint, we are moving forward with our timeline,” Bianca explained. “Which means that phase 3 of our plan is coming sooner than any of us expected - although I am no longer certain it will be just as my father and sister planned it.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to any of you, if Belle had her way, I don’t think we’d be sitting here talking about this now. Which is why I called you all home, to ready yourselves for what is to come - whatever that may be. The road to justice for what we lost has been long and hard, and now that we are close to the end, it will be harder than ever.

“I won’t be angry if some of you choose to leave,” Bianca said, looking over towards Laurel and Sparrow in particular. If she were in their position with no personal ties to the plans they had been working on for years, Bianca certainly would have considered it at least. Unfortunately, she did not believe herself to have that luxury.  “There is no doubt in my mind that what is ahead is going to be hard and messy. But if we work hard, and if we work together, I am sure we will endure. Are you with me? Are you with my family?”

Slowly, and with some reluctance from certain members of the assembled party, each and everyone nodded their heads and mumbled words of support. Bianca kept a neutral expression as she listened to their words, quietly glad that for once everyone was agreeing, without having to be threatened into complying as Belleza might have done had she been here.

“Good,” Bianca would say once everyone had the chance to speak. “Now that we are all on the same page, I believe some further preparations are in order.”

[trickstermakesallworlds]

@ladyoriza wants me to do all the prime numbers

What OC has/is a mentor?

I'm not sure this applies to any of them, not in any long-term sense. like, Keahi had an older priest mentor em when ey were young, and Anansi Surana had the Circle enchanters, etc etc... but that's just standard, I guess. nothing I'd write home about. (or should I say, nothing I'd write smutty mentor/student fic about... bwahaha)

What OC has a huge group of friends?

I think that honour goes to Dayir and Ishan, simply because they're so well-connected and know quite so many people across multiple landmasses on two different planets, lmao. and yeah, most of them are friends.

What OC has, like, one friend?

so, which one of them is more of a loner type? Gabriel, lmao. it's really hard for people to find points of connection with Gabriel because he intentionally makes it difficult. befriending Gabriel is the Dark Souls of bonding

What OC really needs the Mom Friend around?

Ishan is pretty bad at taking care of himself without external motivation. so is Adrian Shepard. I'm assuming a lot off the top of my head about what "Mom Friend" means because I've never actually used this term, lol. (the fuck do I know about moms?)

What is your favorite romantic relationship between your OCs?

oh, that's really unfair. I think aside from Noah/Preston (my previous gold standard when it came to relationships, before Dayir happened), I'd have to pick a Dayir relationship, because I just love Dayir's dynamic with everyone. except I have no idea which relationship I'd choose. so I guess we'll stick with Noah/Preston for now

Which OCs complement each other the best?

I literally wrote Ishan and Dayir to complement each other, that's their whole thing lol. I'd also say Noah and Gideon and Gabriel, who are just three sides of one die.

Which OCs don’t know each other, but would hate each other if they did?

nope, can't say this would ever happen, lmao. not to be boring but all my OCs would love each other. maybe not right away, and maybe it'd be a bit of a trial (*looks at Gabriel*) but they've all just got far too much in common to really be opposed to each other (and none of them are that disconnected from themselves that they'd hate the bits of themselves that they find in others or whatever the platitude is)

What’s the strangest way two (or more) OCs have met?

I'm drawing the hugest blank for this one. maybe how Talan and Dayir met, which was basically in todash space?

Which OCs have fought with each other the most?

Gideon and Gabriel, I guess, because Gabriel's a fighty type.

How did OC meet their significant other? If OC does not have a SO, do they want one?

okay, so after #25 or so the questions are specifically for one OC, so I guess I'll just choose one myself. and considering how difficult this question is when all your characters are poly, I'll go with Noah who has a far more simplified number of partners (for now) lol

Noah Kingfisher met his pre-War wife Zora at a bar where he literally ran into her and spilled her drink. he met Preston Garvey when he wandered into the ruins of Concord shortly after being de-popsicled, and Preston Garvey took one gay look at him and thought, "*chuckles* I'm in danger". he met High Rise by working for the Railroad. he met Ulysses when he and Gabriel dragged themselves into the Commonwealth with the skull of Ulysses' dead mailman lover in tow. (idk, Gabriel likes keeping people's skulls. let him live)

Does OC have siblings? Do they get along if they do? Do they wish they had some if they don’t?

Noah was Marie Kingfisher's only child, but certainly not Atom's. he didn't learn about Gabriel and Sam Toren until way later, but of course as a bighearted boy who never had siblings, he latched onto them immediately. .....annnnd both of them immediately tried to run away, lmfao. but over time they become inseparable -- quietly but surely, it happens. and it's their greatest shield against their father.

How has OC been affected by their family relationships?

ha! I mean... well, his relationship with his mother (and grandmother) was probably the best thing to happen to a child like him -- to be loved unconditionally, despite how (and by whom) he'd been sired? it's a blessing, truly. it really set the tone for his life. he treats the people he chooses for his family with that same unconditional fondness, that same "I'll always keep the light on for you" vibe. no matter what sheer madness happens to Sam and Gabriel (or Preston, or Ulysses), he'll always be there for them.

his relationship with Atom is extremely fraught because while logically he knows he should hate Atom, he can't. it's just not in his nature. he wishes Atom were anything else but an interdimensional eldritch agent of chaos because those are really hard to win over with love and friendship

Who would OC do anything for?

I think you can pretty much infer the answer to this from the previous answers lmaooo I would also add in Shaun, of course

How does OC meet most people?

pre-War, he met people through his community or through his job. the standard boring ways of meeting people, you know. in the Commonwealth, he usually meets people by coming to their aid in some way -- by helping a settlement, or doing a job for a faction, or whatever. after a while, he's well-known enough that he wishes he could meet less people sometimes, lmao. man needs a break

Who is OC’s favorite person?

he would hate this question because why would he choose???

[collecting-stories]

Mine - Racetrack Higgins

A/N: Finally wrote a newsie’s piece that’s time period specific. Also...based on Ben Cook’s Racetrack cause sorry it’s my favorite.

\\\

You hardly ever did runs for your brother. At least not anymore. You looked far too much like a proper lady to be trudging around Lower Manhattan with your pockets full. There were a million reasons why he didn’t want you making the trek but the usual boy was sick and you were not above groveling to take on the position.  

It wasn’t that runs were particularly exciting. There was the odd character who thought they could get off without paying what they owed but most everyone knew your brother’s muscle and didn’t have the balls to make him mad. So runs were easy, drops were easy, they weren’t the same kind of dangerous they had been when you were a kid and turf wars were still a part of your brother’s business. But it wasn’t the fresh air and the change of scenery that you craved the most. It was one stop on your run, the one you saved for last.  

The Newsboy’s Lodging House of Lower Manhattan was lit when you arrived, just passed night fall. Specs answered the door, grinning at the sight of you. Aside from the odd chance encounter on the street you hardly saw the boys the way you had back when you were still a runner.  

“Well what brings you here?” Specs asked, drawing the attention of both Elmer and Henry who were by the door.  

“I’m running tonight, Billy’s caught something-“

“Probably from that girlfriend a his.” Henry pointed out.  

You frowned and raised your eyebrows at the newsie in front of you, he’d heard about Back-Alley too. “News travels fast.”  

“Yous forgetting where ya is.”  

“So what can we do for ya?” Specs drew the conversation back from senseless gossip.  

“I’m here to see Racetrack.” You explained.  

“Hey Racer! Ya girlfriend is here ta see ya!” Specs shouted, laughing at the end when you smacked his arm.  

Footsteps bounded down the stairs until Race came into view, button down and vest gone with just his striped undershirt on and suspenders hanging off his waistband. His usual cigar was hanging from his lips but he took it in his hand the moment he saw you at the door.  

“Good news?” He asked, eager blue eyes waiting for the announcement. He’d bet more than he should’ve on the horses and he knew he’d be in deep if he lost. He couldn’t afford to pay your brother back and interest was high.  

“Ulysses’ War won. Three seconds faster than Sunday.” You confirmed.  

In an instant Race had pushed Specs and Henry aside, lifting you off your feet in excitement and spinning you around. You laughed, holding on to him as he turned. As he slowed and your feet found the ground again he pressed his forehead against your shoulder. You’d known Racetrack since he started in betting on the horses at Sheepshead. Your brother was a bookie, a well known one, and Race primarily hedged bets with him. You’d known him so long you remembered when he was just Anthony Higgins, scrawny and barely twelve, trying to convince your brother that he was old enough to be betting.  

When you were younger, still doing runs for your brother, you would hang out with Racetrack. The two of you would cling to the fences, watching the horses race and pretend you were announcers, calling out the movements of the horses with faux deep voices. As you both got older the friendship didn’t fade but the feelings you had toward him changed. Suddenly you noticed all the things about him that you hadn’t before. At the same time your brother started to notice the attention you were paying Racetrack and he was determined to put an end to it. Being friends with a newsie was one thing but your brother had higher aspirations for you than spending your life trapped in the lower working class of New York City.  

Race finally let you go, stepping away with a grin still on his face. “I got a extra,” he offered, waving his cigar at you, “ya wanna go outside?”  

“Alright.” You let him take your hand and lead you outside to the alley that ran between the Newsboy Lodging and the tenement building next door.  

“I can’t believe ya brother let ya out.” He remarked, sitting on an overturned wooden crate. You stood between his legs, his knees pressing against your thighs, while he lit the extra cigar that he had.  

“Billy’s sick, he didn’t have a choice,” you replied, taking the newsboy cap off of Race’s head and placing it on your own. His curls were damp with sweat but that didn’t stop you from running your fingers through his hair.  

“Still yous got guts, he ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout ya coming down here.”  

“I’ll be eighteen soon,” you mentioned, “and I’m going to Vassar...I’ll be a teacher.”  

“Ya won’t be in Manhattan.”

“I will, once I get my training. Then my brother doesn’t have any say in it.”  

“That don’t make me feel better.” Racetrack replied. You took the cigar from his mouth and placed it in yours, smiling and stepping back when he made a grab for you. “That’s my cigar! Give it here!”  

“You’ve got a whole ‘nother one right there.” You laughed, pointing to the cigar that he had tucked into his plaid shirt.  

“This one’s ta keep. ‘Sides, ya don’t even like ‘em.” He said, voice cracking in a whine at the end. “Give it here.”

“I think I’m developing a taste for them.” You joked, continuing to back up.  

Race stood, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him. With one hand he plucked the cigar out of your mouth and with the other he released your wrist, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing your cheek. “Got it.”

“Race!” You held onto one of his suspenders to steady yourself against him. You had teased him before about his inclination toward improper behavior when the two of you were alone, joking that he was ruining your prospects of marriage though you had little intention of ever settling on anyone other than Race.  

He smiled, eyes meeting yours as he leaned forward and kissed you again, this time not simply on the cheek. Regardless of worrying about improper behavior or anyone catching the two of you out passed dark in the alley. He was careful to keep the lit cigar away from you as he kissed you, though you pulled away when you felt a flicker of ash on your shoulder.  

“I’m not kissing you while that thing is still light.”

“Yous no fun.” Race joked, stepping back to sit down and pulling you with him. You landed in his lap, arm around his shoulders to hold yourself steady.  

“Will you write to me, when I go to Vassar?” You asked, “I take the entrance exams next week.”

“Course,” Race replied, kissing your cheek. “If ya brother couldn’t keep me away then there’s no way a fancy school can.”  

“Speaking of, I should go before my brother gets suspicious. He already didn’t want me to go out on this run.” You said, kissing him once more before you stood up. Race followed you around the building to the front door, dropping the nub of his cigar on the ground and stomping it out with his boot.  

“Alright, give me my hat back thief.” He grinned, pulling the newsboy cap from your head and covering his blond curls back up.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked, taking his hand in yours.  

“The corner near Jacobi’s.” The smile that spread on his face was mischievous, “I’ll buy ya a water.”  

You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before running off.  

-

my broadway kick continues. 

[xtruss]

The Forgotten Tale of the Confederate Spies Who Invaded Vermont

In 1864, Southern soldiers plotted to take tiny St. Albans, rob its banks, and change the course of the Civil War.

— By Michael Tougias | July 16, 2021 | Boston Globe Magazine

Captives, including students from St. Albans Academy, under guard by Confederate raiders. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

ON OCTOBER 10, 1864, Bennett Young stepped off the train from Canada, and into the train depot at St. Albans, Vermont, 15 miles south of the border. Young, a handsome, clean-shaven 21-year-old divinity student, took a room at the Tremont House on Main Street and spent the next few days familiarizing himself with the town. But Young was not what he seemed. He was a native of Kentucky, not Canada, and a Confederate officer recently escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp. He was here in this bustling railroad center of about 4,000 residents to change the course of the war.

It had been fewer than five days since Young received a message from C.C. Clay Jr., a former US senator from Alabama. Clay, sent to Canada in 1864 by Confederate President Jefferson Davis to build a network of secret agents, had written: “Your suggestion for a raid upon the most accessible towns in Vermont, commencing with St. Albans, is approved, and you are authorized and required to act in conformity with that suggestion.”

Davis himself had approved the bold series of raids. The South was clearly losing the Civil War. Atlanta had fallen to General William T. Sherman a month earlier. General Ulysses S. Grant’s forces were hounding Robert E. Lee’s Army of Virginia. The port of Mobile, Alabama, had been blockaded by Rear Admiral David Farragut. The hope was that several dramatic raids from Canada into the North would at the least force Union troops north to defend the border, easing pressure on Lee. If Union troops chased the raiders into Canada, it might help draw neutral Canada and Great Britain into the war on the side of the Confederates. And if things went really well, it might demoralize Northern voters so much that they would elect a Democrat as president instead of the Republican incumbent, Abraham Lincoln. Plus, the Confederacy needed cash.

Over the next nine days, some 20 more men from Canada arrived in groups of twos and threes. Like Young, they were also Confederate soldiers posing as Canadian civilians in St. Albans for business or relaxation. These men, only two of whom were older than 30, made polite inquiries about horses they could rent and guns they could borrow for a bit of hunting. Some took day trips to nearby towns, to play out the ruse and scout other targets to raid. Others wandered into the town’s banks, striking up conversations with the locals or inquiring about the price of gold. Their real interest was determining how many employees each bank had. Some occasionally met with Young clandestinely at his hotel, to share information and discuss the outlines of their mission.

Young, meanwhile, played his part with flair. He courted a woman staying at his hotel, impressed the villagers with his conspicuous Bible reading, and visited the home of the governor of Vermont, railroad magnate J. Gregory Smith. Smith was in Montpelier at the time, so his wife, Ann Eliza Smith, showed Young around the grounds. She thought Young “a nice mannered man,” not realizing he intended to burn the mansion down as retribution for the burning of Southern governors’ mansions.

Young had determined two potential escape routes for the bold plan, which would turn out to be the northernmost action of the Civil War. But he also saw a threat: Just a couple of blocks west of Main Street was a busy railway station and foundry, employing dozens of men who might leap into action. Still, he was confident — the raiders were going to need 30 minutes, at most, to rob several banks, torch the town with bottles of an incendiary liquid called Greek fire, and run. In the commotion, Young hoped to also set fire to the governor’s mansion, then raid Swanton, another town, on the way back to Canada.

He fixed Wednesday, October 19, as the day of the attack.

A Confederate raider shoots at E.J. Morrison outside Miss Beattie’s Millinery on Main Street in St. Albans.FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

AT 3 P.M. ON THE 19th, St. Albans’ church bells rang to mark the hour. Under leaden skies that threatened rain, Young strolled down Main Street, then climbed a couple of steps onto a hotel porch. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out his Navy Colt revolver and raised it over his head. “I’m an officer of the Confederate Service,” he shouted. “I am going to take this town and shoot the first person that resists!”

At first, St. Albans residents within earshot thought Young was joking. They stared at him until he pointed his gun at them and other raiders herded them onto the village green. Other Confederates went to get horses, and three groups of them headed to the town’s banks: Franklin County Bank on Main Street, St. Albans Bank at the corner of Main and Kingman, and the First National Bank on Fairfield. They were barely more than a block apart, all near the town common.

Young climbed on a horse and trotted up and down Main Street, overseeing the roundup of prisoners and monitoring his men’s assault on the banks. He knew his two revolvers had only six shots each, and would be difficult to reload while on horseback. So whenever he saw someone emerge from a building, he’d point his gun at them and tell them to get back inside, intimidating them before they made trouble.

Collins Huntington, though, on his way to pick up his children from school, ignored Young’s threats, thinking he was drunk. Young leveled his revolver and shot at him, inflicting a glancing wound along Huntington’s rib cage.

Inside the Franklin County Bank, a cashier saw a neatly dressed man named William Hutchinson approach the counter. Assuming Hutchinson was a customer, the cashier, Marcus Beardsley, asked how he could help. Hutchinson pulled a revolver from his coat. “We are Confederate soldiers,” he said. “We have come to rob your banks and burn your town. There are a hundred of us here. You must keep quiet and hand over all your money.”

A customer nearby made a run for the door but stopped when the raiders threatened to shoot. Two raiders pushed him into the vault, then began filling their haversacks with bills. Hutchinson, meanwhile, told Beardsley to give him the money from the counter, then locked Beardsley in the vault, too. The four raiders left the bank with approximately $70,000, the equivalent of about $1.2 million today.

Down the street in the St. Albans Bank, Cyrus Bishop stood, terrified, as raiders on either side of him pointed revolvers at his head. “If you make any resistance or give any further alarm, we’ll blow your brains out,” one told him. One of the raiders pointed his pistol at an assistant cashier and told him, “Not a word out of you. We are Confederate soldiers, we have come to take your town, we shall have your money.”

Then the raiders took the time to do something unexpected: They made Bishop and the assistant cashier swear allegiance to the Confederate States of America. While three more raiders entered the bank and stuffed as much money as they could fit in their pockets and satchels, one of the Confederates guarding the two bank employees lectured them on the destruction of the South by Generals Sheridan and Sherman.

The cashier was having none of it. He said if the robbery was an act of war, he should be allowed to take an inventory so that the bank could be reimbursed by the federal government. “Damn your government, hold up your hands,” hissed the raider.

At that point, someone knocked on the bank’s front door, which the rebels had locked behind them. One of the raiders opened it. In walked Samuel Breck, a merchant looking to make a deposit. A rebel grabbed him by the collar with one hand, pressed a revolver to his head with the other, and said, “I take deposits.” He took $393 from Breck and shoved him in the room with the two bank employees.

Suddenly, the sounds of gunfire erupted outside the bank, and three of the raiders ran out. The last two raiders left the bank more slowly, walking backward with their guns raised. They had been in St. Albans Bank for 12 minutes.

Inside the St. Albans Bank, a clerk is threatened at gunpoint by a group of Confederate raiders. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

YOUNG DIDN’T KNOW where the shots were coming from. There was at least one St. Albans local, possibly more, firing at his raiders from buildings on Main Street. No one had been hit, but Young hadn’t planned for armed resistance.

He had already fired his revolvers three times — at Collins Huntington; at stable owner Sylvester Field, who’d objected to the theft of his horses (the ball passed through Field’s hat); and at Leonard Bingham, a local who had tried to charge him when Young was climbing onto a horse. Young had hit Bingham, but the ball had been stopped by Bingham’s heavy silver watch, and Bingham had escaped. Young had only nine bullets left, but he was going to have to do something to regain control of a situation that was spiraling out of control.

Leonard Cross heard the commotion and stepped out of his photography studio. “What are you trying to celebrate here?” he asked Young.

“I’ll let you know,” Young said, and shot at Cross, barely missing his head. Eight bullets left.

It was time, he thought, to start setting the town on fire. His raiders began throwing their bottles of Greek fire at buildings.

An old editorial illustration depicts William H. Blaisdell of St. Albans accost a raider outside of the First National Bank as another Confederate raced toward them. Blaisdell, like others that day, was taken at gunpoint into what today is Taylor Park. The First National sat at the southeast corner of Main and Fairfield streets, across the street from what is now Taylor Park. CREDIT: VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY (these images originally appeared in Frank Leslie's magazine)

Over at the First National Bank, the third group of robbers had gathered $58,000 (nearly $1 million in current dollars). The four of them left the bank, escorting an employee toward the common, where they were going to put him with the other captives. As they were leaving, they saw a local business owner, William Blaisdell, approaching the bank. Blaisdell quickly realized what was happening and grabbed a raider, throwing him down onto the boardwalk. But other raiders pointed their pistols at Blaisdell’s head, forcing him to surrender.

Buildings should have been burning by now, Young must have realized. But they weren’t — the bottles of Greek fire had hit their targets, but they merely smoldered. Nothing was burning.

More townspeople had realized St. Albans was under attack. Nearby, at the governor’s residence, a neighbor’s servant girl rushed in to tell Vermont’s first lady, Ann Smith: “The rebels are in town, robbing the banks, burning the houses and killing the people,” the girl exclaimed. “They are on their way up the hill, intending to burn your house.”

Smith and a Scottish servant girl sprung into action, calmly closing the blinds and shades of the house and bolting the doors. Then, Smith found one of her husband’s pistols. It wasn’t loaded, but she hoped the raiders wouldn’t realize that. She carried the gun to the front steps, to stand and wait. She wished she had raised an American flag, so if they went down it would be with colors flying.

The Confederate raiders set fire to the bridge over Sheldon Creek, but it did not fully burn. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

BACK IN THE CENTER of town, Erasmus Fuller, a livery owner, grabbed an old six-shooter, pointed it at one of the raiders, and pulled the trigger. Click. Young burst out laughing. “Fetch me some spurs!” he yelled.

Fuller had other ideas. He ducked into Bedard’s Harness Shop and ran to the back door. He started shouting that the town was being attacked, hoping the men who were building a large hotel nearby would come and help him. E.J. Morrison, a Manchester, New Hampshire, man overseeing the hotel’s construction, heard Fuller’s shouts and ran to the stable owner.

Fuller, with Morrison now trailing behind, returned to Main Street. He saw Young, lifted his pistol again, and took aim.

“Look out Cap’n!” shouted one of the raiders. Then he and Young both fired at Fuller. Fuller ducked behind an elm tree, evading their shots.

Not so Morrison, who dropped to the ground, mortally wounded. He would be the raid’s sole fatality, leaving behind a widow and five children. (What the raiders didn’t know is that he was also likely the only man in town sympathetic to the Confederate cause.)

George Conger had heard the gunshots and come running. Young saw him, and asked, “Are you a soldier?”

“I am,” Conger replied. He had been a captain in the Union Army and had been wounded at the Second Battle of Bull Run.

“Then you are my prisoner,” Young said. But Conger dashed into the American House hotel, next to the Franklin County Bank, ran through the back and then down Lake Street toward the foundry, yelling, “There is a regular raid on St. Albans. Bring out your guns and fight!” Workers at the foundry and at the railroad grabbed weapons and followed Conger back to the center of town.

Young realized his plot was quickly unraveling. He began to move his men north, shouting, “Keep cool boys, keep cool!”

An old editorial illustration depicts cashier Marcas W. Beardsley and Jackson Clark, a woodsawyer who happened to be in the Franklin County Bank, being freed from the vault where they had been imprisoned, even though Beardsley had pleaded with the robbers explaining it was airtight. The men, who understood the Confederates planned to burn the town, feared for their lives either by suffocation or fire. J. Russell Armington and Dana R. Bailey heard their shouts and came to their rescue, however. CREDIT: VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY (these images originally appeared in Frank Leslie's magazine)

Conger, gun in hand, tried to shoot at the raiders, but his gun would not fire. The Confederates started firing on him and yelling the rebel yell, but this riled up their horses, which were not used to battle. Over the din, Young was hollering, “There is too great a crowd gathering round here!” He knew they had to get out of town, and quickly.

Spurring his horse around those of his men, he told them to throw their remaining bottles of Greek fire at the closest buildings. Again, they failed to ignite. It was time to go. Once Young was sure his men were all accounted for, they were off at a gallop, occasionally turning to fire pistols behind them.

Conger shouted to all those nearby, “Bring on your horses, men, and arms and we will follow them. If you can’t get arms there is no use, they are going to fight hard!”

On the steps of the governor’s residence, Ann Smith saw a man galloping to her. The hour has come, she thought, the invaders have arrived. But the man on horseback turned out to be her brother-in-law, Stewart Stranahan, who was home on sick leave from the Army of the Potomac. Stranahan told her the raiders had robbed the banks and killed a man, but failed to set St. Albans ablaze. He had come for any weapons he could scrounge.

“Here, take this pistol, it is all I have yet found,” Smith said, feeling rage build inside her. “And, Stewart,” she added, “if you come up with them, kill them! Kill them!”

Soon, Conger and a posse of some 50 men were in pursuit of the raiders, followed quickly by 40 more men led by Stranahan. The Confederate party split up before it reached Canada, to increase the odds of escape. Conger’s militia reached the border and kept going, joining with some Canadian constables. They were able to capture about 13 raiders, including Young, and some of the $208,000 ($3.5 million in today’s money) that was later determined missing.

THE PLAN OF THE St. Albans group was to bring their prisoners back to town to face charges of murder. But as they neared the border, more Canadian authorities arrived at the scene and demanded charge of the rebels. Conger reluctantly agreed. The prisoners were first brought to St. Johns and then transferred to Montreal on October 27. The raiders were well received by a contingent of Canadian Confederate sympathizers, cheered as they were brought to jail.

They gave Young and his men food, clothing, and even liquor. Some of Montreal’s finer restaurants sent over meals and scores of citizens visited them at the jail, where they had been given a large room rather than cells. A relaxed Young wrote to the St. Albans Messenger requesting two copies of the paper be delivered each day. “Your editorials are quite interesting and will furnish considerable amusement to myself and comrades,” he wrote.

Young’s taunting infuriated many Vermonters, and for a short period of time it appeared that the Confederates might succeed in dragging Canada into the war against the Union. The St. Albans Messenger editorial page stated that if the prisoners were not handed over, “The sooner we declare war on our neighbors to the north, the better.” Lincoln’s secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, later called the St. Albans Raid “one of the most important events of the war,” with the potential to draw both Canada and Britain into hostilities.

But over the next few months, a series of contentious court proceedings went against extradition, as Canadian judges ruled that the raid was an act of war, not murder and robbery. All the raiders were eventually freed.

Some of the Confederates in jail in Montreal. Bennett Young is seated at right, William Hutchinson is at left. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

But Bennett Young’s gambit had failed. Perhaps if the Greek fire had worked and more damage had been done, it would have enraged Vermonters more. Or if there had been follow-up raids on Swanton or other towns. But the St. Albans citizens had forced them to abandon those plans. No Union troops were diverted to the border, Canada and Great Britain did not enter the war, Lincoln was reelected, Sherman reached the sea in late December 1864, and on April 9, 1865, Lee surrendered at Appomattox Court House. The Canadian government even reimbursed the Vermont banks for the amount of money it found on the raiders, approximately $88,000. The other $120,000 was not accounted for.

After the war, Young was specifically excluded from an amnesty for Confederates. He fled to the United Kingdom, where he studied law. He returned to the United States after a full amnesty was granted in1868, becoming a successful lawyer in Louisville, Kentucky, and was regularly applauded at Confederate reunions and parades.

In 1911, when he was 68, Young took his wife on vacation to Montreal. He contacted the people of St. Albans, saying he would like to meet with them. The town sent a four-man delegation to the Ritz-Carlton, where he was staying. Young put on a Confederate uniform for the session, and told his visitors that “the raid was only the reckless escapade of a flaming youth of 21 years, steeped in patriotism for the South.” Perhaps it was something like an apology. The get-together was friendly and lasted well into the night.

— Michael Tougias is the author of more than 30 books for adults, most recently “The Waters Between Us,” and five for middle readers. He is currently working on a book about the St. Albans Raid. Send comments to magazine@globe.com. In addition to reporting and eyewitness accounts from the St. Albans Messenger and other periodicals, significant sources for this story include materials from the St. Albans Historical Society and The St. Albans Raid, Complete and Authentic Report by L.N. Benjamin.

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Sunday Morning Session

Press Forward Saints

If the Savior Stood Beside Me

 M. Russell Ballard

Right to peacefully protest

Pray for your country and national leaders

This is not about politics or policy, this is about peace and the healing that can come to your souls

No matter how you pray, or to whom you pray, please exercise your faith

The best way to help the current situation is to come closer to God and pray

Christs prayer in scriptures is appropriate to use to ask questions from God

Pray for those who are against you

Father forgive them for they know not what they do

The Savior taught us to not limit who we pray for. . . sincerely praying for those who may be considered our enemies demonstrates our belief that God can change our heart and the hearts of others

God hears and answers you in His own way in His own time

Pray for the poor, the sick. . . then get up and do more than pray

Prayer will lift us and draw us together as individuals, families, a church and the world

Prayer will end this pandemic

Redouble your commitment to prayer

Prayer can change our own lives. Motivated by sincere prayer we can improve and help others to do the same.

Pray always – for peace, comfort, focus

Lisa L. Harkness – Primary 1st counselor

“Help me” “Master carest thou not that we parish?”

Why are ye so fearful? Where is your faith?

In me ye might have peace

How am I focusing on the moment in fear??

Perspective may be shortsighted and out of focus

A time to be tried and our faith fortified

Experiment on the word of God with hope and diligence

Faith is not a perfect knowledge but it brings a faith in God whose knowledge is perfect

You can ask for relief

“We do not need to let our fears displace our faith”

“I know he loves me. And he also loves grownups” “He helps me when I’m sad or grumpy. He also helps me when I’m sinking”

Our current challenging circumstances are not our final destination

He is in our boat

Ulysses Soares

We can walk in His light and receive His guidance

Yielding to temptation is like bringing a magnet close to a metal object – the magnets power is higher the closer the metal object is. When the object is far away the magnets power is no more

The Lord knows our entire soul, every facet. And he asks to follow him with our entire souls.

Fighting against temptation takes a lifetime of diligence and persistence – but Christ is there to help us whenever we need

Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly 121:45

As we rely on the rock of our salvation, the Savior of our souls, we will be able to control our thoughts

Even a single bad/intrusive thought can lead to more (intrusive thoughts can also come from satan, not just ourselves. And as we turn toward Christ we become more resilient against them)

Say NO/GET THEE HENCE SATAN (NOT TODAY SATAN) to those things

What would happen if you derived strength and courage from the Savior??

All who are willing to hear Him will be helped

Through Him we may triumph

 We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet

 Carlos A. Gadoy - Seventy

Some of God’s angels walk with us today

The angels that walk with us today are an example of God’s love

How have you seen angels in your life??

All members need a friend, responsibility, and nurturing with the good word of God

Yeah I need friends

Do not give up on your efforts to be part of this big family

When it comes to your happiness and salvation it is always worth the effort to keep trying

The Lord is aware of the challenges you face. He knows you, He loves you, and He will send Angels to help you

Maybe you are the angel for someone else!

We are a giant army of angels set apart in these latter days to administer to others

God will give us opportunities to be ministering angels

Neil L. Anderson

While we endure a season of socially distancing ourselves from those we love, we need never endure a season of spiritually distancing ourselves from He who constantly calls “come unto me”

We revere the right of each to choose

(revere means feel deep respect or admiration for something)

We have taken upon ourselves the name of the Savior. What more are we to do?

Study the names of Jesus Christ

If the prophet still can improve then I definitely can

As we focus on the Savior we are drawn to Him

In our worship services, let us focus on Jesus Christ. . . Everything in our worship should point to our Lord Jesus Christ

Stand out, Speak up, and Be Different

Have conversations about Christ everywhere

Let the Lord guide  them as they are willing while we focus on being a voice for Him

We need to care more about being HIS followers instead of being liked by our followers

As the world speaks less of Jesus Christ, let us speak more of Him

 God Is Love

 President Russell M. Nelson

Has been an apostle for more than 36 years wow

Israel = let God prevail (a Hebrew meaning)

Willing is crucial to this interpretation

We can choose God and to follow Him. . . or not

Are you willing to let God prevail in your life??

Isaiah 54:7

Myopic – nearsighted, blind as a bat, etc.

Each of us has a divine potential because we each are children of god

God does not love one race more than another. His doctrine on this matter is clear. He invites ALL to come unto Him, “black and white, bond and free, male and female” (2 Nephi 26:33)

YOUR STANDING WITH GOD IS NOT DETERMIND BY THE COLOR OF YOUR SKIN

Abandon the attitudes and actions of prejudice.

Promote respect for ALL of God’s children

Are you willing to let God prevail in your life??

You do not need to wander or wonder

It takes faith and courage to let God prevail. It takes work

Satan is no longer even trying to hide his attacks on God’s children

The only way to survive is to be determined to let God prevail in your lives

The Lord loveth those who let Him become their God

The Lord has pledged that He will fight our battles, and our childrens battles

Study your scriptures and make a list of all the promises God has made of what He will do for the children of Israel

God is a God of Miracles

 For I am Called by Thy Name

[radramblog]

Begin Again- Fallout New Vegas DLC analysis Pt.2

Last time I discussed this I went on about the themes of letting go and beginning again in Fallout: New Vegas, specifically the first two expansions, Dead Money and Honest Hearts. This time, I’m continuing that into the other two- Old World Blues and Lonesome Road.

As before, spoilers abound.

Old World Blues

The silliest of the 4 DLCs, Old World Blues takes heavy inspiration from the more fantastical, mad science elements of Fallout’s basis, taking place in a giant research facility filled with robots, lobotomised people, and brains in jars. It has some of the most hilarious dialogue in the entire series, between the kooky scientists in the Think Tank, Dr. Mobius himself, and literally having a chat with your own brain.

The thematics of Old World Blues, excepting its entire plot referencing the Wizard of Oz (much like Dead Money references the Legend of the Sierra Madre), largely requires being fully spoiled to appreciate. Essentially, the old world scientists of the Big MT have been doing ScienceTM for a very long time, without any Old World for their creations to benefit. They’re unable to let go of the past- literally, in fact, due to the actions of the supposed villain, Dr. Mobius. Mobius has locked his former compatriots in some sort of mental loop, forcing them to constantly repeat (begin again, hmmmmmmm?????) the same experiments, while menacing them to keep them and their creations out of the greater wasteland, seeing as they’ve already done quite a lot of damage to the Mojave as it is.

In a way, then, the ending of Old World Blues (assuming you don’t just kill the Think Tank off) has the Big MT begin again, with your character making sure they don’t go as off the rails as before- the requirement for this being convincing four of the scientists to let go of their hangups, or embrace and move past their mistakes or flaws. The actual details of this are pretty silly- 0 has to get over his nomenclature problem, Borous has to realise what a shit he’s been, especially to his dog, Dala has to…well the less said the better, and 8 is pretty well adjusted actually you just have to be mates with him. Either way, you’re have to help them move on as people, beyond the mad science loops they’ve been stuck in for centuries and onto more fruitful pursuits.

 Lonesome Road

Lonesome Road is the final DLC of the game, and the one the other four have been building up to. It’s a journey through the deadliest region in the Mojave, and it’s villain is the background villain for most of the other DLCs.

It was Ulysses who led Elijah, and later Christine, to the Sierra Madre. It was Ulysses who taught the White Legs their ways, leading to the sacking of New Canaan. It was Ulysses who broke the Think Tank, leading them to the dangerous position they currently pose. And it was Ulysses who, seeing the Courier’s name next on the list, turned down the Platinum Chip job, leading to the Courier getting ambushed and shot at the beginning of the game.

Ulysses, despite appearances of being smarter, wiser than the other villains, has his own things he needs to let go of. The past, revenge, and his plan.

Ulysses is obsessed with America, wearing its flag on his back, taking his name from one of its generals. Symbology, of Old World America, of his former tribe, and of the new factions of the Mojave, are incredibly important- part of his hatred for the NCR stems from their use of American symbolism and government without truly understanding their meaning or place. Understanding history, ultimately, is one of the ways to talk him down, either through his own trail or that of ED-E, drawing a line between his obsession and that of the Enclave. He is not the only one carrying America on his back, and reminding him of such can help him let go of his plotting.

The Divide in which Lonesome Road takes place was once a bustling community, a city built from the wreckage of humanity that was truly thriving. The Courier, however, unknowingly delivered a package that would lead to the detonation of leftover nuclear warheads in the region, annihilating the region and leaving it the hellscape it now is, with Ulysses as the sole survivor. Ulysses blames the Courier for this, with much of his goal being to inflict on the courier the pain he felt when the Divide fell- his ultimate plan being to wipe out the Mojave with the same weapon that brought down his new home. Of course, the Courier might have delivered the gun, but they didn’t pull the trigger. While the Divide wouldn’t have detonated without them, it isn’t really their fault that it did- Ulysses’s revenge plot, therefore, is misguided. An option to talk him down is to remind him that he’s done very similar- his scouting the White Legs led to the fall of New Canaan and the situation in Zion, his leading Elijah to the Madre caused dozens of deaths, and even his attempt to get the Courier killed can possibly directly lead to their taking over the Mojave, should they go down the Independent route. If the Courier is guilty of the destruction of the Divide, then Ulysses is responsible for all of that, and neither of them intended things to go down that exact path.

Ulysses ultimately plans to fire missiles from the remaining Divide silos to wipe out the NCR, Legion, and the Mojave, wiping the slate clean of those posing as America and Rome and Vegas, once again forcing civilisation in the region to begin again. He despises the NCR, uncritically carrying old world ideals into a world hostile to them, spreading eastward much as the States spread westward, without regard for those in the way. He begrudgingly respects the Legion he deserted, but recognises that without Caesar, the whole thing will collapse in on itself. And he sees New Vegas as proof that House isn’t the answer either, jealously shielding his empire while watching the rest of the world burn, holding on to a part of the old world that really should have been left behind. Ulysses criticises the Courier no matter which faction they are siding with in the main story, seeing none of them as a correct answer, leading to his decision to restart the region once again. It’s only through talking him down that he cedes his position- the nukes have to be stopped even if you kill him- and only then will he leave his goals behind him.

If Ulysses is talked down rather than killed, he essentially begins again, having let go of his omnicidal ambitions. Letting the Courier he once hated, but now sees as an equal, decide what to do with the Mojave, but giving advice and discussing philosophy and politics in his own way. He finally finds a form of peace, protecting the Mojave from the horrors of the Divide (Tunnelers, mostly) and putting Marked Men out of their misery from a distance. It’s an interesting end for such a complex character, but in a way, it’s some sort of ultimate zen- having all the power in the world and sacrificing it for a solitary existence, and maybe that’s what he needs.

While the themes of Begin Again/Let Go are extremely prominent in the DLCs of Fallout: New Vegas, the main game also presents some of these themes- particularly the latter. It turns out, in a world rocked by calamity and built from the ashes, many hold on to the past. But that’s a story for another time.

[lovewriting-5]

Rules:

*gif credit goes to @angelshizuka*

9. Confessions

11. Breaking Free

10. Screeching Tires:

We carefully enter the house, I call “Hello! Hello? Claire? Stephen?” When there is no answer, Daniel says “Looks like grandma and grandpa haven’t come back from church yet.” Sean looks at us with a little smile, “Well. At least they won’t yell at us for going out...” He says “That was so cool to spend time with Chris at the market! Did you know Chris’ mom was an artist?”

Sean says “We...didn’t...How so?” He says “She drew comics! You guys should see her drawings, they’re so cool. Just like yours!” Sean tells him “Thanks, dude.” Daniel looks around, “Hey! Uh...” I ask, suspiciously “What? What is it?” He says “Sean, (Y/N)...I wanna go check on the room...upstairs. I know it’s mom’s. Please...”

Sean and I look at each other. I tell him “Daniel, you heard Claire. They will freak out if they know we went inside. We promised them.” “We won’t tell them! We’ll be in total stealth mode! They won’t know anything if we make it quick...” he contradicts.

He also throws in “It’s just...I really want to know what’s inside. What kind of stuff she had. Chris had tons of things that belonged to his mom. And I have nothing! Come on...You guys don’t even have to come with me...if you don’t want to...”

“Fuck it. We’ll come with you...So you don’t make a mess and get us caught.” Sean tell him. The three of us head upstairs and go straight to the locked bedroom door. Daniel tries the knob. Frustrated, he says “The door is still locked! I just...Don’t get why they lock the room. What’s the big deal?” Sean says “We’ll find a way to open it.”

Mischievously, Daniel says “This is super easy! I can just break the lock with powers!” I say “Yeah, we could do that with a hammer...” “Let’s try and find the key instead, right?” Sean says. He says “I’m just gonna clean up real quick.” As soon as he went into the bathroom, I tell Sean “Sean, I’ll keep watch while you and Daniel search for the key.”

They begin searching all around the second floor. I was starting to get a little nervous that Claire and Stephen were going to return any moment. I tell them “Hurry up! They might come back any minute!” Sean says “Yes, we know. I can’t find the fucking key! We just need five minutes.”

I was sitting at the top step, keeping an eye on the front door. After five minutes, Sean sits down next to me. Frustrated, he says “I give up. This is impossible.” He then says “DANIEL!” Daniel comes walking over to us. Sean asks “You really think you could open this door...without doing too much damage?” A smile shot across his face, he says “Yes! I know I can.”

We stand up and follow him to the door. Cautiously, I tell him “Go for it.” He says “Yes!” Sean reminds him “And don’t blow apart the whole house...” Daniel holds out his hand and uses his power. There was a blast. I holds my arms in front of my face to block it from the debris. We see the damage. Sean asks, annoyed “Really?” He says “Oops...”

The two of them walk in the room. I stay in the doorway to still keep watch. I figured the two of them need to do this together. Daniel says “Wow. There’s not that much left. Where do you think they put the rest of her stuff?” Sean tells him “It’s her teenage room, I’m sure she...sorted through her things before leaving for Seattle. The rest is probably packed in these boxes.”

I could see that there were boxes stacked in the corner near the closet. The rest of the room looked like it hasn’t been touched in years. Daniel asked “Sean...What do you think happened to all the stuff in my room? When we left...” Sean says with sadness in his voice, “I don’t know, enano...I wish I could answer that.” All he says is “Okay...”

I see Daniel picks up a book and goes to sit down in the armchair in the far corner. From the doorway, I say “Okay, you guys seen everything, you wanted to see? Claire and Stephen will be home soon now.” Daniel says “Just...Five more minutes.” He sets the book down and starts looking at the other items in the room.

Daniel asks “Sean...Are you really mad at mom for leaving us with dad?” I know it’s a topic he doesn’t like to talk about. For Daniel’s sake, he says “It’s a bit more complicated than that, man...” Sean picks up a teddy bear that is sitting on the dresser. He shows it to me. I smile and say “Cute.”

Sean says “Hey Daniel, check this out. His name is Ulysses.” He asks “Like...the hero?!” Sean says “I guess.” He says “So cool!” Daniel takes the teddy bear and sits on the ground, “Hi Ulysses! So...You were a friend of my mommy’s? I hope she took good care of you. Did she take you with her when she went on trips? I wonder why mom loved it so much. You’re not that fluffy anymore, little bear...”

Underneath Ulysses there was a folded piece of paper. Sean picks it up and examines it. He asks “Why would Claire lock these up in here?” He goes and sits on the bed. Daniel sets the teddy bear down and follows.

Curiously, Daniel asks “Is that from mom? Huh? Let me see...” as he tries to grab the piece of paper. Sean blocks him, “Daniel...Come on...” As he tries to grab the paper again, “What’s it say? Read it!” Sean blocks him again, “Seriously, stop!” He moves the paper slightly so Daniel can read it. Daniel begins to read, “I’ve heard the news about Seattle. Please help my boys and their friend if they come to you...” I walk into the room further as he reads the letter.

He asks “What? Why did they hide this from us?” Unsure, Sean says “I don’t know...” Daniel continues “You can reach me at this address, it’s a PO Box I use sometimes.” He looks back and forth between Sean and I. Asking no one in particular, “What’s a PO Box?” Sounding disapproved, Sean tells him “Well, a cop out...in this case...” Daniel finishes reading the letter, “I...beg you...please...help my sons.”

“Oh yeah, right...Total bullshit.” Sean says a little angry. “What do you mean? She cares about us!” Daniel says. He says “Well...I don’t...” Trying to sound hopeful, Daniel says “Maybe she...changed her mind! We could try and contact her!”

He says “You don’t even know her, okay?! Don’t get any wrong ideas. We should just...stick to our plan. For now...” Daniel asks “Can I read it again...?” Handing the letter to him, Sean says “Yeah...Then we gotta go...”

Distracted by the letter, we never heard Claire and Stephen coming up the stairs. We knew they were there when Claire says, shocked “My goodness. What happened...?” I say “Shit!” She asks “Excuse me, what are you three doing in here?! Except, visibly...ransacking our house while we’re at church?” Sean and Daniel stand up from the bed with the letter in hand.

I try to explain “Claire...We’re sorry...But we just wanted to - -“ Sean interrupts “We were just looking...for answers...and...uh...” Looking at the door, Claire asks “Were they really worth breaking my door open?!” Calmly, Stephen says “Claire, please. Calm down...” She tells him “No Stephen! They went way out of line here!” She turns back to us, “We specifically told you to stay out of this room!”

Daniel tells her “Uh...I just wanted to see my mom’s stuff!” Claire tells him “This isn’t her room anymore! There is nothing to see in here! It’s time you learn to respect some rules!”

“What’s the problem, then? If there’s nothing to see, why lock us out? Or get mad? It’s like you’re in denial...I know that mom left us...and yeah, it made me mad...but at least we moved on...” Sean says, angrily. Pointing a finger at him, she says “Don’t you dare lecture me, Sean. You don’t know anything about how I feel!” She grabs the letter from his hand, “One letter doesn’t change what she did to me...all of us! She is not welcome back.”

Sean tells her “Just don’t blame us...for being curious about her...” Claire says “But I know her better than anybody! She hasn’t changed! She just feels guilty!” “I can’t hear that.” Stephen says. He then leaves the room.

She was going to go after him but turns back to Sean, “Listen, Sean...I know life has been tough on you the past month...Bless your souls. And...and we put up with a lot of things...But...that...Breaking our door to sneak in the room...That shows you don’t respect us. Then act like I’m the bad guy! After what we’ve done for you! I knew something like this might happen...maybe you three staying here wasn’t such a good idea...” I thought After all you have done for us. We appreciate it but they just want answers.

Having a realization, Sean says “Man! I think I see why mom left now...She couldn’t put up with your stupid rules anymore!” Claire says “Oh...So that’s what you think? Then let me tell you something - -“

There was a loud thump and then Stephen’s screams could be heard from downstairs. Claire yells “STEPHEN!”

We hurry down the stairs to his workshop and find him trapped beneath a cupboard. Frightened, I say “Oh, shit!” Stephen shouts “Get...this...god damn thing off me!” In terror, Claire says “Stephen! No! Hold on, honey! We’ll get it off...” The four of us try and lift it. He says in pain, “NO...stop! My legs!”

Daniel steps back away from the cupboard. I was still trying to think of ways to get Stephen out. Sean must have given him a signal because he yells, “Do it, Daniel! Now!” She asks, confused “Do what? What’s going on? Oh, Lord! What...What are you doing, Daniel?”

Claire and I step out of the way. Daniel holds his hand out and concentrates on the cupboard. The cupboard begins to lift just enough for Sean to pull Stephen out. Daniel falls to the floor in exhaustion. I catch him just before he hits the floor.

She rushes to Stephen’s side, “Oh, my baby...Stephen, are you okay?” Exhausted, Stephen says “Now I am...Thanks to Daniel...You were right, Claire. I should have fixed that cupboard months ago. I guess my laziness will get me someday...” Bewildered, Claire says “What in the name of God was that all about? That’s impossible...What are you, Daniel?” Sean says “Claire...Listen...” Stephen says “They saved me, Claire. That’s all that matters...” Finally accepting what happened, she says “Maybe...It was a miracle...Thank you, Lord...”

All of a sudden the doorbell rings. Claire stands up and looks out the window. She says “It’s the sheriff...” Muffled, the sheriff says “Stephen? Claire?” Claire says “I didn’t...” The sheriff says “It’s about your grandsons and their friend.” She says “We didn’t call them.” Sean tells her “I know, grandma...” It was the first time, I ever heard him call her that since we arrived.

The sheriff tells them “They were spotted at the Christmas market, earlier today...” Still standing close to me, Daniel asks “What are we gonna do?” Stephen says “Go hide in the garage!” Sean says “No...No! No way!” I add “If the police search the house, that makes the two of you accomplices.” She tells us “Get your bags and go out the back door...I will distract him...” I ask “Really?” Stephen says “Yes. Now...”

The sheriff asks again “Stephen?” He says “Get the hell out of here!” The sheriff says “I know you’re in here, your car is in the driveway...” Sounding very caring, Claire says “I’m so sorry...For everything...I wish we could have helped you more...I wish you could stay here with us...Watch out for Daniel.” I tell them “Thanks for helping us...Both of you...” She tells us “Oh, we love you. Now hurry up!”

The three of us sneak into the hallway. Sean says “(Y/N), Daniel, wait for me while I go upstairs and grab our bags!” He runs upstairs. Daniel and I crouch as we run to the back. We hear Claire slightly open the front door and begin talking to the sheriff. Daniel and I have our winter gear on when Sean joins us with our backpacks in hand. Daniel and I throw our backpacks on. I open the back door and quietly say “Hurry!” Sean says “Move your ass, bro...Shit!”

We are in the backyard. We see another cop car pull up. I look around and decide the Eriksen’s yard. I tell them “This way!” We run towards their yard and climb the fence.

We run to the front yard of the Eriksen’s house. We are stopped in our tracks when a third cop car pulls up. We hold for a second and wait. The cop car put on its siren and pulls back out in our direction. All of a sudden Chris runs out into the middle of the road. He holds out his hand. Daniel yells “Chris!”

Daniel then thrusts his hand out and throws the cop car off the road into a tree. Chris turns to face us and is disappointed at the sight. Sean and I pull Daniel away. We run off in the opposite direction.

We came to a clearing up on top of a hill overlooking railroad tracks. We take a rest on a rock.