#inFAMOUS Erosion

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Forty-Four — Repertoire

“They’re all working for someone Dad knew before. Like, Seattle-before. Some woman that escaped Curdun Cay and gave him a hard time before disappearing.” “She wants Conduits to be free,” I explained. “She doesn’t like what’s happening right now and wants it to change, and she’s sure it’s not gonna unless…unless she starts making moves herself.”

8.6k words | 45-50 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of: death, kidnapping, hostage situations. Xenophobia mentions in anti-conduit terms (political climate also mentioned). Mild transphobia reference.

No one spoke after we left. 

No one spoke. Not as we got on the highway and left Portland behind, not as we crossed the border into Washington. The most speaking anyone did was Zeke, who only did so to confirm Mei’s car was still following us whenever Dad asked, Dr. Sims at the helm of the Honda to ‘protect the kids.’ 

We followed the highway into the Evergreen state, only veering off at a familiar exit—Battle Ground State Lake State Park. Dad used to take us camping here during the summers, a lifetime ago, experiences that only existed in my memory as flashes of early morning fishing and trapping fireflies in plastic water bottles. 

Dad was in the passenger’s seat, the unfolded dove in his unmoving hands. He didn't move at all, actually; he stared straight as a board and still as a statue in the front seat, staring down at the letter Celia had left behind. 

Put your nose to the ground, Delsin. Sniff out the blood in the water, and come learn everything you’ve missed. 

The van eventually pulled in at the parking lot just by the lake, Zeke immediately throwing it into park as Dad got out without waiting to see if it was. He only paused long enough to open the rear doors for Brent and I to get out before making a beeline for Mei’s Honda, Dr. Sims barely able to get out of the driver’s seat before Dad was accosting him. 

“We need to get into this link,” he immediately said, holding up Celia’s dove. 

A trilling motor cried out and Aunt Sia burst through the trees, skidding to a stop on the gravel of the lake access lot. She pulled off her helmet, shaking her head to get her bangs out of her face. “I think we’re in the clear,” she said, dropping the kickstand and getting off the bike. “I didn’t see anyone following you two at all. 

Dr. Sims frowned. “That’s…good,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced of the fact. “But I can’t guarantee they didn’t get any live footage from the drone before…”

Before Cat used her powers to destroy it. 

Her powers. 

Brent and I stood side-by-side as she rose from the backseat of the Accord way slower than Dom and Mei did, taking forever to work her way towards us as she avoided our curious stares. Cat was a Conduit. Cat was a Conduit. 

How many times was I going to get hoodwinked like this? 

Dad cursed, looking seconds away from trying to solve his issues through either drinking or violence. “Okay, let’s—” he sucked his teeth, trying to gather his thoughts. “Let’s just try to get online first. We need to find what Celia wants us to find.”

“Delsin—” Dr. Sims began, exhaustion in his voice. 

Dad, though, immediately cut him off. “There’s two kids in danger here, Eugene. She’s threatening my kids. ‘New players enter the game’?” He motioned to Zeke’s van. “Grab your laptops.”

“I can’t believe it,” Dom murmured under his breath as Dr. Sims relented, opening the back of Zeke’s van to retrieve his bags. Dom looked between Brent and I with wide eyes. “Your dad really is Delsin Rowe.”

“Yeah, it was kinda the same when we found out, too,” Brent muttered as Mei slotted between us. Cat was still taking far too long to join our group, staring down at her feet and kicking rocks as she walked. 

“Did you know?” I asked, glancing at Mei. She and Cat…I wouldn’t say they were closer, as we all were pretty close—but even in friend groups, you have favorites. And she and Cat were close, just like Reese and I were. 

Apparently, though, not close enough. “No, I—none of us knew,” she insisted, Dom nodding vehemently in agreement. “She never told me, at least.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt there’s no reason she’s kept it a secret for this long,” Brent muttered, crossing his arms.

Cat finally crossed the threshold of being within earshot—and for that reason, none of us spoke. There was a long, possibly multi-minute pause where we all looked at Cat, and she refused to meet our eyes, looking at the grit on the ground instead. 

Finally, I cracked first, asking a simple question: “How long?”

Cat inhaled deeply Three years, she admitted, hands falling back to her sides in defeat. 

“Does Tommy know?” Dom immediately asked. 

Cat’s hands seemed to become lead at that. 

Brent scoffed. “‘Course he doesn’t,” he said, sardonic. “Because you know your cousin’s the type to leave people for dead in alleyways and tell the world about it instead of not be a prick.”

“Brent,” I hissed. I get it, he was upset with Tommy and everything he’s done—but now wasn’t the time to use Cat as the emotional punching bag for his issues with Tommy. 

“He is!” Brent said instead, glaring at me before turning his eyes back on Cat. “That’s why you never told him, huh?”

Tommy’s been through a lot— Cat began trying to defend, Brent speaking over her. 

“Please,” he scoffed. “His parents dying to a Conduit doesn’t excuse any of this shit—him or your grandfather. You haven’t told anyone because you know exactly what they would’ve said if you told them you were a Conduit.”

You saw how my grandfather reacted when I told him I was a girl, Cat signed, scowling in offense. He barely accepted me then. Why would I tell him about this?

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Brent retorted in turn, swinging out an arm to motion towards me. “Jean and I wouldn’t have cared!” 

“Brent, that’s enough,” I snapped. Brent clamped his mouth shut but stayed scowling; he hated being lied to, and this omittance counted—in his eyes, at least. 

And while I knew Cat was entitled to keep her secrets her own, I felt a bit hurt that she kept this from us for three years. “We’re not your grandfather,” I reminded her. “You could’ve told us. We would’ve kept it a secret from him—”

And Tommy? She asked, face deadpan. You think we would have been able to keep it secret from him?

I didn’t have a good response to that. No, we wouldn’t have; Tommy probably would’ve found out very quickly, and would’ve been pissed we kept it from him. But that wasn’t my biggest concern with this whole situation. “You shouldn’t have been alone,” I murmured sympathetically.

Cat’s expression wavered, and for the briefest moment, I saw everything she must’ve felt in those three years where she had to lie to us about who she was; the sadness and pain and grief of having to shove yet another part of herself into a closet out of fear of how people would react. 

And I did the only thing I could think to do; I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug before she could try to protest. 

Cat, admittedly, froze the moment I yanked her forward, and there were another two or three seconds where she didn’t move at all. But then her arms came to wrap around my shoulders in turn, her cheek resting on my forehead as I felt the air escape from her lungs in exhale and her whole body relax in relief—finally, someone knew. Finally, she wasn’t alone. 

There was another hand on my back and soon Mei joined, the same girl group hug we’d do in the bathrooms or after a breakup. The close sisterhood, the love, the caring reminder that we’d all be there for each other. 

Only there was a gap on my left where my best friend should have been. 

We pulled back, Mei murmuring words of encouragement to Cat—though she didn’t seem to be paying attention. At some point she must have felt the press of my cast’s lattice on her because now she was looking down at my right arm like it was an enigma. Something strange and incorrect—and now that I knew she was a Conduit, and she knew I was, too—I realized to her, it was. A broken bone on a Conduit was wrong in her eyes. 

Which is why I avoided them when she looked up at me, instead pulling the sleeve of my jacket further over my arm. 

Mei returned to Brent’s side and tucked herself in as Dom looked down at Cat, a ghost of a smile on his face. “So what is your power, anyways?” He asked her.

Now that there was an alleviation to the tension here, Cat began to tell us all about her power: wax. She wasn’t sure what kind, since it didn’t exactly seem to be something like regular candle wax, but also didn’t seem like tallow or something like beeswax. It’s just…wax, she said with a simple shrug. Burns like it, smells like it, but I can’t tell you how it becomes…different after I drain something to use. 

Brent, who seemed to let go of most of his upset now that he was being involved and informed, asked, “So what, you can drain any wax?”

Cat nodded, adding for emphasis, Why do you think I own so much chapstick? 

That also explained why I caught her eating the end of one in secret in the bathroom one time, though I wasn’t going to mention it. I just thought she really liked cherry flavoring.

Mei looked up at Brent, whose face was beginning to turn pink from exposure to the elements. All those powers and he wasn’t saved from his eczema. “And you’re steel?” She asked. 

Brent seemed a bit proud of the fact when, instead of outright answering, his pink nose dipped lighter and lighter till becoming grey, the color spreading across his face and down his neck as he showed off his steel abilities. 

Cat gasped in surprise as Dom said, “Dude, that’s fucking sick,” with a disbelieving laugh while Mei stood on her toes to reach up and touch a strand of his needle thin, cable-like hair in fascination. I just rolled my eyes. What a show-off.

Okay, that’s way cooler than what I can do, Cat signed, nodding like she was impressed. 

And then she looked at me, and asked the worst thing she possibly could. What can you do with your water powers?

Oh, nothing, bestie! I just get sicker if I use them too often. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this? Especially when Mei settled down on her boots to turn towards me, Dom crossing his arms and doing that lopsided, aloof grin. 

“I—” I stumbled awkwardly. “I mean, nothing like Brent’s steel skin.”

Dom huffed out a chuckle. “Yeah, but you can make a whole whirlpool in the ocean,” he pointed out. “Seriously, that thing was huge. Someone online said it was, like, five stories high.”

“And you did that tidal wave too,” Mei added, too cheerful for the damage that mentioned tsunami caused. I killed hundreds, I ruined Christmas, and she had her eyes alight like it was a sick party trick I pulled at her family’s pool. 

What else can you do? Cat asked, quickly adding, my powers become viscous but not liquid—I’ve always wondered how liquid powers work!

“Yeah, you’ve got to show us something,” Mei agreed, Dom nodding in agreement behind her. 

Oh, god, this could not be happening right now. 

I felt the weight of their gaze, of their expectations; I should’ve been able to show off my power with ease, it should’ve been simple! I could’ve evaporated on the spot or swirled some water around my fingers and call it a day. But I wasn’t even allowed to do that—a fact that I definitely didn’t wanna bring up now. Hey, guys, on top of Tommy and Reese being kidnapped, guess who’s got a failing conduit organ?

I wasn’t gonna say that

So instead I chuckled nervously, saying, “I don’t know, guys—it’s late, those people could still be after us and we really don’t need to be showing off right now—“ 

“Oh come on, Jean!” Mei interrupted, playfully stomping a foot. “I want to see what you can do! There has to be something simple.” 

“I really—“ I struggled to find a new rung on the ladder of bullshit to climb up to try to get out of this. “I’m pretty low on my power, too, I’d rather hold off—“ 

Dom looked at me like I was an idiot. “There’s a lake behind you.” He deadpanned. 

I glanced back at the lake. Right. Shit. 

I looked at Brent, trying to use that twin telepathy people were so sure existed to scream at him get me the hell out of this! but he just stood there with a dumb, deer-in-headlights expression. 

God, brothers are useless. 

Mei was still looking at me in excitement, Dom raising a brow—but it was Cat’s slightly suspicious glare that had me on edge, the stroma seeming to darken a bit like she was looking for a twitch in my facade. Not that she needed one; the proof of my hesitance lay in the arms I crossed, the cast pressing against my chest as a nice, firm reminder of why exactly they were all eyeing me in the silence. 

I was in the middle of debating telling them the truth or doing a little party trick when Dad gave me the grace of a distraction in the noise of a long, drawn out slew of curse words as he hit the hood of Zeke’s van. 

Dad, Dr. Sims, Zeke and Aunt Sia were perched around the hood, watching Dr. Sims as he switched between two of his laptops like a frantic animal trying to find an out—or, in this case, a way in. Into whatever little hole Celia had carved out to lead us to…well, hopefully Reese and Tommy, though at this rate I wasn’t sure what to believe. 

“Your dad really is Delsin Rowe,” Dom repeated his statement from earlier, awe and something akin to distrust in his expression, like he was waiting for Brent and I to yell sike and say this was all a ruse. Neither of us did. “And that’s—that’s Eugene Sims. And you said the other guy was Cole MacGrath’s friend?”

I sighed, just thankful the attention wasn’t on me anymore. “Yeah, that’s Zeke Dunbar,” I said. “He was there when Cole got his powers and all that stuff in Empire City. And Aunt Sia was apparently Dr. Sims’ friend in high school.”

Cat hummed some disbelieving sound. Wow, so you’re connected to everyone from the Seattle Uprisings in some way, she said, looking at me. That must be crazy.

Brent scoffed. “Understatement of the fucking century,” he muttered. 

Mei kept her eyes on Dad, squinting in analysis like she was dissecting him under a microscope. “Who were those people who came to the school?” She asked, finally peeling her eyes from Dad to look between us. 

Brent and I glanced at each other, silently debating whether we should even tell them anything—would it be okay to? Would it be safe to? He raised a brow and I shrugged—they were already involved in some way. It was too late to keep them out of the bullshit that followed our family name. 

Brent gave the smallest nod before looking down at his girlfriend—God, that was still weird to think about, looking at them two so close and not standing on other sides of the group and making googoo eyes at each other—and beginning to explain. “They’re all working for someone Dad knew before. Like, Seattle-before. Some woman that escaped Curdun Cay and gave him a hard time before disappearing.”

“She wants Conduits to be free,” I explained. I had been in her mind, felt that hunger. Her betrayal at the mere idea of letting go of her own freedoms, her powers, to have a chance at Conduits being accepted into society was enough to make her betray Augustine, someone I could feel she had the same love I felt when I was with Dad. “She doesn’t like what’s happening right now and wants it to change, and she’s sure it’s not gonna unless…unless she starts making moves herself.”

If she followed her convictions enough to do that, she was dangerous. 

Dom huffed. “But Conduits are free,” he said, rolling his eyes like it was stupid simple. Like it was obvious. 

He became very sheepish when Brent, Cat and I all turned in place to look at him like he was an idiot. 

“Seriously, dude?” Brent asked, almost offended that he’d even say anything like that.

“What?” He asked, throwing up a hand when he saw how we all were looking at him. “It’s true! Conduits haven’t had to be in Curdun for years now.” 

“Yeah, okay, and there were a hundred years between the slavery being abolished and the Civil Rights act,” Brent pointed out, something Dom scowled at—especially as a Black man. 

“What Brent is saying,” I interrupted before Brent’s deadpanned matter-of-factism could end with a foot in his mouth and a fist in his face. “Is that…well, yeah, we’re out here, but things aren’t exactly going well, you know? They’re trying to force Conduits to sign up in registries and everything.”

There’s a dude running for president this year who’s whole campaign is that we should be locked up like before, Cat added. 

“Or shipped off,” Brent added, crossing his arms. He was all skin once more, but the ends of his hair were going grey the more he thought about it, revealed by his lack of beanie. “Seriously, who the hell thinks bringing segregation back is going to do anything?”

“I don’t know if I would call it segregation when they’re trying to make camps like the ones my hii-oji was sent to when he was a child,” Mei corrected. “They’re talking about that 990-something executive order. That’s internment camps.”

“Not to mention the states that’re requiring ID for Conduits,” Brent added in agreement, looking down at Mei. “They’re trying to make that a federal law. All it’s missing is an arm ba–”

“Alright, I get it, damn,” Dom said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I knew things were bad but—I mean, I never really thought that would happen,” He defended. “It—it all sounds so ridiculous that I never thought they’d actually do it, you know?”

I rubbed my own arm; that was fair, I suppose, if this was something that was simply rumor. But there was one issue. “It’s already happening,” I pointed out. Dom was about twenty years too late on hoping it was too insane. 

Because it happened once already. 

Our conversation didn’t get to continue; Dad exclaimed, “Oh thank God,” as he immediately commandeered one of Dr. Sims’ computers from him, scrolling. Zeke disappeared into the driver's side of his van and came out with a yellow notepad and a pen, nodding along as Dad narrated something for him to jot down. They all looked serious, but more so now; instead of being confronted by the puzzle that was getting in, now they were debating some sort of solution to whatever was presenting itself. 

“That seems good,” Brent hummed, looking at me. “Think they finally got an answer?”

“That, or at least something to start with,” I agreed. 

Cat glanced at the group, eyes hovering on Dad before she offhandedly signed, So what happens now? 

I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?” 

This, she replied vaguely. This random group that stole Tommy and Theresa, the demands they had for your dad. What happens now?

I hesitated. What did happen now that we were here? Dad seemed fully intent on saving them, and that meant hunting down Celia. Not to mention he looked like he needed no motivation to do that when I told him of the fleeting visions I had of Celia there for every moment. At Mom’s labor, at the marina, there answering a message about me in the back of a van. Regardless of what was going to happen here, he was going to hunt Celia down—Tommy and Reese were just secondary objectives to the real goal. 

“I…guess we try to find where these people took Reese and Tommy,” I said, looking at Cat. “The person Dad’s trying to find leaves behind clues, makes this sort of…a scavenger hunt for him. He’s gotta follow the pieces.”

“Sorry—she kidnapped Theresa and Tommy and is making your dad play hide and seek?” Mei asked, holding up a hand. That same hand tossed up in disbelief. “Who the hell does something like that?”

A monster. 

I watched Dad throw his head back and groan aloud, exhausted from whatever search Celia had him on. Truthfully, we all were tired; I don’t think I got much sleep in the back of the van—at least not anything substantial—and I doubted Dad even slept at all. “She’s using them to get to Dad,” I said, finally answering Mei. “It’s not about finding them, it’s about using them to lead him to her.” I looked between my friends. “And showing him something along the way. Whatever she has to show him is more important than—than the safety of a bunch of kids in school or anything.” 

Cat frowned. That’s insane, she said. Her power could have fried any one of us if she wanted.

Her power? 

Celia’s power was…well, it was paper, which, while it apparently was enough to kill someone by a thousand paper cuts, wasn’t something that could fry someone. Not by a long shot. 

I didn’t get to ask the question, though; instead, off to the side, Aunt Sia asked, “Did you say fried?”

Everyone turned to look at Aunt Sia—she had somehow approached us without a single one realizing in spite of the gravel at our feet that crunched with the slightest shift in posture. I hadn’t realized she was so light on her feet—or maybe that’s a talent she’s kept to herself from her days in Project Sanctuary.

Regardless, she glanced between us all, eyes especially hovering on Dom, Cat and Mei as she said, “I need you all to tell me everything you can about the attack on the school.”

My brow rose. “Is everything okay?”

Aunt Sia weighed her responses in her mind, head tilting back and forth until she found her answer. “Sort of. We need to pinpoint something and I just want to make sure all of our bases are covered, so we’re not missing something crucial.” She crossed her arms. “So I need you three to tell me everything you remember.”

Dom went first. 

Period change between second and third had just happened, and he was still drying off from the showers when he heard screaming in the lockers after gym. Some people from the halls had managed to book it down to the Phys Ed wing and tuck away—he had barely left before he turned back around and hid in the supply closet in the gym with a bunch of other students, herding them in before bracing against the door to make sure it couldn’t swing in. 

Mei seemed more shaken than I originally thought as she started her account; her eyes immediately went downward when Aunt Sia looked at her, and she began to fidget with the bottom hem of her jacket as she recounted how she hid away in the library. She didn’t have much of a plan, she said; she was going to listen out for the attacker and pray she could outmaneuver them by hiding at the ends of the bookshelves. She stumbled through her retelling so much that Brent had to throw an arm around her in support. 

“You were in the library?” I asked. “I thought third period was your Econ class.”

Mei swallowed back whatever bile the thought had brought up. “I, yeah—it is. I was sent to get copies before class started and left to grab a book while Ms. Adler did that for me.”

Aunt Sia kept her steely analytical eyes on Mei for a moment before humming—something Mei said registered in her mind, though she didn’t say anything aloud. 

Cat, though, had it the worst, as she was there the moment they took Tommy. 

We hid in the stairwell, she told us. We didn’t see when they came in but we heard it—they were loud, and there was a lot of banging. Tommy, he—you know he knows what that sounds like, she said, looking between Brent and I so we could vouch for her. He knew it wasn’t guns, but wasn’t sure what it was, so we hid until we could make sense of what was happening. 

Aunt Sia nodded. “Smart,” she murmured. I couldn’t help but agree—Tommy hiding them but keeping them where they could hear what was happening could’ve been the difference between life and death. 

Something he must’ve carried within himself from last time.

We were hiding, waiting to see if we needed to go into the science wing or run downstairs, when we heard the woman tell the others to look for him, she said, eyes faraway. Another person that mattered to me, another haunted look. I kept telling him we needed to go, we needed to hide, but he wouldn’t move. At first I was worried he was frozen, you know, because of his PTSD—but after a moment when we heard more—more crashes and screaming, he stood and told me to go hide. 

Brent blinked. “He gave himself up?” He asked incredulously. 

Cat nodded. He did, she said. I tried to stop him, tried to tell him that it was dangerous, but he said he didn’t want anything worse to happen because of him. Cat looked down at the gravel, shoulders sagging with the weight of what happened—and the subsequent choices she made. I didn’t…I watched him go down the stairs, and a few seconds later, heard him call out to the people. He told them his name, and said that he was there, so they could leave. He was demanding they leave. I didn’t know they already had Theresa until I heard him say her name and ask them to not hurt her. That’s when I finally moved to peek over the third floor breezeway and watched them be dragged away. She chewed on her inner cheek, eyes brimming with tears in the pale moonlight. I just watched them get carried away and I…I froze. I did nothing. I should have done something.

My heart broke, the shatter making me take a step forward. “Kitty, no, you couldn’t have done—”

I should have done something, she insisted with a huff through her nose, the movements of her signing firm enough to enunciate even through the language barrier. I have powers, I could have done something! Instead I froze and let those assholes take my cousin, she threw a hand up in punctuation. 

Brent started to speak, “Cat, you did what was best—” before he was interrupted by Aunt Sia. 

“It’s traumatizing, watching someone you care about get taken away like that,” she said empathetically, taking a step forward. “You sort of…spiral, and begin to think about things that could’ve been different. You could’ve said something different, or insisted hard enough, or if you had just convinced them to go somewhere that, in hindsight, would’ve been the perfect hiding spot—”

She cut off, throwing a glance back over her shoulder, eyes hovering on her best friend, Dr. Sims. All this chaos, and I forgot she knew Dr. Sims before he even developed powers; was she there the day he did? Was she there the day he was taken? 

She righted her eyes once more, a hand going over her leather-wrapped heart. “I get it, okay? And I need you to understand there is nothing you could have done to change this. Realistically, the people that attacked your school would have kept attacking, if they stayed. They would’ve kept searching for him, and—well, there’s a chance your cousin saved lives by giving himself up, including yours. Definitely yours, if you had made your power known at all. We still don’t know a lot about Archangel, but we know enough about its leader to know it would’ve ended badly for you if you intervened.

“And we’re not going to stop until we find him, okay? That’s why I need you to tell me everything that happened.” She lowered her hand from her heart, letting Cat take a moment to calm herself before asking, “What happened after you raised yourself enough to see them taking your friends?”

Cat inhaled deeply before raising her hands.  I didn’t actually move until I heard the woman yell about leaving, that they had ‘their targets.’ They dragged Tommy and Theresa through the front gate. The woman who was telling everyone what to do was on the second story breezeway across from me—

Aunt Sia immediately straightened at that. “You saw the woman?” She asked. “Can you tell me more about her?” This was different; seeing someone use a power was one thing, sure, but the woman who outright threatened Dad with that message on the courtyard being seen? Maybe we could use that. We could confirm it was Celia. 

She was blonde, Cat said. Had a hat on, one of those….I can only describe it as French? What are those called—

“Beret?” Mei asked. 

Cat nodded. Yeah, kind of like those. More slouchy. She had a brown coat, a long one, scarf around her neck. The weird thing though was that she was hard to look at. Like, she was surrounded by this light that was way too bright.

I looked at Aunt Sia, who was already looking at me like she was waiting for confirmation from someone else, someone that knew…“That’s not Celia,” I said.

She nodded in thought, hand absentmindedly fiddling with her braid. “It’s not,” she agreed. 

Brent sighed hard. “So there’s more than just the crazy suicidal lady,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Dom’s eyes widened—for someone who was usually aloof, he was quick to figure things out when he was paying attention. “Wait, so—the person you all were sure had something to do with this, that woman’s not her?”

Aunt Sia held up a placating hand. “We know she’s still involved,” she reassured him—especially when his words seemed to make Cat’s hackles raise in alarm.  “She’s the cause of this in some capacity. More than likely, she sent someone trusted to kidnap your friends.”

Okay, but who? Cat demanded. If you guys don’t know who took my cousin, then how are you even supposed to find him? Or Theresa?

Aunt Sia watched Cat’s hands for a moment, that hand on her own braid paused as I watched her eyes seemingly flash in the moonlight as the thoughts behind them ran like pistons, trying to connect dots. 

Which is why it was no surprise when Aunt Sia, instead of continuing to calm everyone down, asked, “What else happened?” 

Cat blinked, looking at Aunt Sia like she hadn’t heard her correctly at first—but something settled in the fugue of her panic and she exhaled shakily, raising her hands once more. She was—I told you she was on the second balcony, right? She asked, everyone nodding in confirmation. Okay. She was there, and that weird light around her flashed and she disappeared. I didn’t realize she was on the rooftop until there was a huge light ray that was carving that message into the courtyard.

Mei was the first to voice it. “She teleported?” She asked, looking up at Brent. “Conduits can teleport?” 

“Not usually. Not unless their power allows it.” Aunt Sia answered instead. 

Cat, though, shook her head. I wouldn’t say she teleported. Well, she sorta did, but it wasn’t just her disappearing. It was the bright light–like you said, her power. She had someone standing beside her on the rooftop, a man, and once she was done with the message, instead of disappearing, there was this weird… 

Cat struggled to find the word, instead taking a moment to broaden in a wide circle with her hands before going back to signing. This huge circle was behind her. Blue. It appeared behind them when they were talking and then they turned and walked into it and disappeared. 

Blue circle. 

My eyes traveled away from the group, looking out at the gray lake in the pale moonlight, and suddenly I was there, back in the Puget Sound watching something on the other end of the waters widen further and further until those soldiers came out of it, ice at their fingertips. The same person that attacked the school, took Tommy and Theresa, was the same person who helped Augustine and those soldiers attack the Akomish reservation. 

Attacked me. 

Nearly killed me. 

I had really only used it once, but I became very used to the idea that I could breathe underwater. Especially after the first time I used the ability, when everything seemed so peaceful and bright and exciting. But now? I was reminded of what it felt like to drown. Between the numbers and the abilities, I felt like we were all in over our heads. Because if they could kidnap me, Tommy and Reese, if they could bomb COLE, if they could nearly kill me….

What else could they do?

Aunt Sia’s voice brought me back to the current conversation, asking, “Did you happen to hear any of their conversation before she disappeared? Anything about a location, or somewhere to fall back to?” Cat shook her head, and Aunt Sia tried her best to not seem disappointed. “Thank you for telling me all of this,” she said instead with that gently placating sincerity in her tone that always brought a bit of calm to you when you were upset, like a mother’s gentle hum. She smiled, though the action seemed a bit stressed, and then turned to leave, heading back towards the others by the van. 

We watched her leave in silence, everyone paused with bated breath like they were scared to be the first to break it—though mine wasn’t out of fear. I waited until Aunt Sia was far out of hearing range before turning to look at Cat. “The portal—did it look like those solar flares that come off of the sun?” I asked. “Sorta wispy, a bit purple at the edges?”

She blinked, surprised I even knew that, before nodding. It did. How do you—

I turned before she even finished the question to head towards Dad. 

I held up a hand, signaling for them to just wait a minute when Brent asked me what the hell I was doing as I was two steps behind Aunt Sia. Zeke was looking down at the long list on his notepad as Dr. Sims was trying to calm Dad down, a placating hand out. 

Not that it was doing much. I caught the tail end of Dad’s rant the closer we approached: “—impossible to figure this out without it taking days,” he insisted, hand running through his hair. That same hand motioned off both abruptly and vaguely as he added, “Those kids don’t have that sort of time!”

“They’ve put up a ton of firewalls and heuristic scans,” Dr. Sims told Dad. “I can try to use a recursive backdoor exploit, but I’d have to map out the subnet first. It’ll take some time—”

“We don’t have time,” Dad stressed again, a bit more forceful. 

Aunt Sia finally joined the group, starting with, “I don’t think anything they told me will help—” before a particular patch of gravel crunched under my feet and they all paused to look up and see who was approaching—something Dad especially didn’t seem to want to deal as he sighed, trying to keep his tone level to keep me from worrying, like he always did. And always failed to. “Jean, go—go hang out with your friends for a while while we figure this out—”

“The person that attacked the school helped attack Salmon Bay,” I said, getting straight to the point. “And I don’t think it’s Celia.”

That at least got his attention. 

Aunt Sia told the men what Cat had explained to her, and I waited till the end of the conversation to add that those portals were near-exactly like what I saw when I was fighting Augustine in the Puget Sound. By the time I was done, Zeke was nodding slowly while Dad stared off at the paint of the van, Dr. Sims too busy typing to really commit to a look of thoughtfulness. 

“So that confirms it,” Zeke said, looking at Dad. “Celia’s got a second-in-command.”

Dad hummed—or, it sounded more like a badly disguised groan—while he chewed on his inner cheek. “One that’s doing the dirty work while she works behind the scenes,” he huffed. “Glad to see not much has changed.”

“Whoever it is, Celia trusts,” Aunt Sia said. 

“And that’s hard to come by,” Dr. Sims added. “I’ll look into finding local footage, see if we can get a start on figuring out who this person is.” He was typing like a madman on his computer, not even pausing in the strikes as he looked up at Aunt Sia. “But we don’t know where they could have gone?”

Aunt Sia shook her head. “No,” she confirmed. “The tall one, D….Don?” She asked, looking at me. 

“Dom,” I told her. I tacked on uselessly, “Short for Dominic.”

“Dom—he was in the lockers,” she told Dad. “Brent’s girlfriend says she was in the library, and while Tommy’s cousin could see him being taken away, she didn’t hear anything that’d help us.”

Dad groaned. “So we’re no closer to finding out which one of these places they could be.”

I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

There was this brief moment where Dad looked at me, opened his mouth, and I could practically see the insistence that I not worry about it on the edge of his chapped lips—but then he froze. He paused, snapped his mouth shut, and after a beat, the insistence floated away on the frosted air of his exhale. “We’re having trouble finding where your friends are,” he admitted. 

The chill that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the winter air. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, moving to lean against the grill of the van, “That I think Celia had this all planned to where I was supposed to use the mobile command center, to directly access their records. But since your friend triggered the alarms, it shut everything down.”

My chest felt like lead. “So you…you have no idea where they are?”

Zeke held up a hand. “We’ve got some ideas,” he reassured me, motioning towards the hood of the van where the dove lay unfolded and on its front, revealing the letter Celia wrote Dad. “We figured the crazy lady is using some sort of old DUP facility based on the letter, and Eugene managed to use the old DUP stuff he had to pinpoint a secret file of locations. But it’s not exactly a short list,” he said, flipping his hand to show me the other side of the pad. 

Oh, that was….a lot of locations. 

‘Locations’ was a loose term. Some were obvious—Curdun Cay, stations in other cities. The big major holding cell on the East Coast that was destroyed a while ago in a hurricane. But there were a lot of other things, words and phrases and even simple acronyms that just didn’t make sense, things only those that’ve worked with the DUP in the past would’ve even had a chance at cracking. Lowcountry. ABDA. Newbrant, Chilling, JST, Purcell, Fa—

Purcell. 

Zeke kept talking, but it didn’t really register to my ears; that one word seemed to peel off of the pad and float in my vision, the word repeated again and again in my head but not my tone of voice. No, the voice was more authoritative, cooler and firmer like the concrete she had wielded. 

“Which is why I’m giving approval for the detainee to be sent to our research facility in Purcell. If we can find a way to harness that ability? The DUP would never fall.”

“—trying our best to find them—” Dad said when I came back to earth, taking my silence for fear and rushing to reassure me. Instead, I interrupted him. 

“It’s Purcell.”

Dad faltered as everyone else raised their heads to look at me, confusion on their faces. “What?”

I tried to keep up with my thoughts and outline them in a way that would make sense, despite how insane it all seemed—but I told Dad the story once and I assumed he told the others, considering they were still here. “I—when Garrett was showing me things, the memories they had of what Celia had shown them—there was the moment Celia defected. Augustine was telling her about this—this Conduit that she found that could ‘negate’ another Conduit’s powers if he was near them. She sent the Conduit to this place called Purcell to find a power to go with his ability so that she could use it to turn off Conduits so they could ‘reenter’ society. It’s why Celia left her, Dad.” I told him, watching his eyes widen with every word. All I told him, and somehow I missed telling him all this to instead inform him about what Celia did to Mom. “They wanted to give this Conduit a physical power to make the implants like Garrett had actually work, so Conduits didn’t have powers and could live in society. And Celia didn’t like that, so she left Augustine alone when you fought her in the Sea6News tower.”

Zeke slowly lowered the notepad as I rambled on, glancing to meet Dad’s eyes when I paused. “If Dr. Hutch was correct and the signatures on Garrett and Jean matched—” He began.

“That means they found a compatible power,” Dad finished in agreement. “Probably sped everything up that they could while we were all on trial, threw the implant in Garrett as a minimum, and Celia managed to recruit them after the DUP lost all funding a year later.” He spun around, zeroing in on Dr. Sims. “Do you know if they found this Purcell place like the others?” 

“I can look,” Dr. Sims acquiesced, moving to the passenger’s side door of the van to grab another one of his laptops. He booted it up, moving to go through the plethora of file’s he had stored on it and began working away. 

Meanwhile, Dad had gone digging for his phone in his pocket as Aunt Sia moved to give Dr. Sims room to work, settling in beside Dad and putting a hand on his arm. “Do you want me to go get a description of the man with Celia’s lieutenant? He might be the tar Conduit,” she said, keeping her voice low. 

Dad nodded absentmindedly, only glancing up to watch her leave before beginning to type away at his phone. Dr. Sims shifted to another computer and we all fell into silence for a bit as he worked until he said, “I’m not pulling up anything with the Purcell moniker. Maybe it went by another name? But we don’t even know what Purcell means.”

Zeke was scribbling on the notepad in his hands now, frowning. “Purcell,” he hummed, like he was testing out the word. “Ain’t that some sort of mountain?”

“It’s either a mountain range, or a composer,” Dad quipped, scrolling past the latter to click on a wikipedia link for the former. “‘The Purcell Mountains are a mountain range in southeastern British Columbia.’” He read off of the screen before looking up. “How the hell are we supposed to get to British Columbia?” 

“Assuming it has anything to do with the area,” Dr. Sims added offhandedly. 

“I might still have some contacts,” Aunt Sia returned, moving to stand beside Dr. Sims. She motioned for the note pad Zeke had and flipped to the next page, beginning to make her own notes. “I had a lot of different ways of getting Conduits into Canada—there has to be something I can still do.” She jotted down something before holding it out for Dad to take. “This is what Jean’s friend remembers of the lieutenant and the man with her.”

She silently held out her other hand and the two traded, Dad reading her notes as she began to search for a way into Canada via Maps instead. “Blonde…short build with a skirt…man with brown buzzed hair,” he huffed, looking up at Aunt Sia with a raised brow. “The woman was ‘surrounded by light?’”

Aunt Sia shrugged. “That’s what she said,” she defended. “That she seemed to be surrounded by some kind of shifting light source.”

Dad seemed to watch Sia’s face for a lie before sighing hard, holding the notepad out for Zeke to take back. “I don’t know these people,” he said. “They don’t ring a bell at least.”

Dr. Sims sighed. “I don’t have a lead on this Purcell place,” he said. “Which, on one hand, means the lab was never found and is probably where Celia is stationed. But we don’t have a direct location. If we continue with the assumption that ‘Purcell’ means this mountain range, it’s still a mountain range. That’s a wide area to search. If we make it up to Canada, I can deploy some angels, try to zero in on it based on activity—especially any kind of radio waves—but I’d need time to pinpoint—”

Dad groaned, letting his head fall back. “We don’t have time to search a whole mountain range. Those kids don’t have time.”

I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry; there it was again. Dad’s urgent insistence that we were running out of time, that Tommy and Reese were running out of time. They were in danger, that much I knew, but Dad was so sure that something horrible was going to happen. That spark of anxiety behind his eyes?

He was scared of them dying. 

And that terrified me, because I knew the idea wasn’t above the realm of possibilities where Celia was involved. 

I glanced back at my friends, the ones from my group remaining; Cat had cracked under her own worry and began to pace, Dom and Mei watching her footsteps with concern. Brent’s eyes met mine and he just barely raised his brows, asking for an answer I didn’t have. Was this what it felt like, to be Dad? To see all the people you cared about stressed and have no way to fix it? No answers, no ideas. No location to a place my best friend was dragged to and no idea if we could even get there. Sure, we had an idea, a concept of a possibility of an answer. A mountain range that, in the conversation Dad, Dr. Sims and Zeke were currently having, was 300 miles wide and nearly triple that in height. It would take forever to search the area, far longer than we had to spare. This wasn’t something we could solve with an address and Google Maps—hell, I couldn’t even do what Mei did and stalk a bitmoji on the prayer that I’d even be able to find her—

Wait. 

Wait. 

My eyes widened and I broke away from Brent’s stare to fumble in my pocket for my phone, managing to drop it in the process. The crunch from my phone hitting gravel grabbed everyone’s attention and I suddenly felt a dozen eyes on me as Dad asked, “You alright?”

I didn’t respond, not yet; there was some terrible part of me that was terrified that this wouldn’t work. That somehow the time away had taken away from the life I knew had taken this too. Not to mention my last phone took a swim in the Sound. 

But for once in my goddamn life, I was lucky; I signed into my phone’s account that turned it from a burner into mine, and with it came the influx of everything else that belonged to me. The missed calls, the plethora of voicemails. The previews to emails with accusations that felt like they stabbed me in my chest even as I swiped them away. 

None of that mattered right now. Not when I could possibly help.

The gravel shifted beside me as Dad walked over to join me as I clicked through apps and opened the one I was looking for, cursing at how long it took to load in this area with terrible reception. I smacked the screen of the phone and it prompted Dad to ask again, “Jean, what are you doing?”

But just then, the location map of the Find My Phone app loaded, and oh, how I could’ve cried; every desperate search for my missing phone, every joking message I’d send to her when she was off doing something far from home, all led to a circular dot I centered in the screen, Reese’s last location pinged somewhere in Canada. 

I held up my phone, screen facing outward. “Would you be able to figure out where she is with this?” I asked Dr. Sims. 

He cocked his head. “What is that?”

Dad stepped forward, motioning for me to hand my phone over as he huffed—despite the stress of it all, he almost seemed amused. “Find My Phone, saving the day again,” he murmured as he turned around, walking to Dr. Sims’ side. “Last online yesterday. What’s the likelihood that that was her phone dying?” 

Dr. Sims took my phone, holding it in one hand as his other reached out to the map on his mini-computer and using the touch screen to zoom in. “It looks like it’s here,” he said, motioning to the screen. “Eyebrow Peak, or around that area.”

Dad sighed. “So we’re definitely going to Canada,” he said, rubbing the overgrown stubble that had turned scruff on his jawline. “Alessia—”

“Already on it,” she said, motioning for Zeke to follow her. “Mind helping?”

“Sure,” Zeke said, pushing off of the side of his van. “Think I’ve got some old favors I could try calling in.”

They left as Dr. Sims muttered something to Dad, who nodded before turning to face me. “We’ll give you your phone back when we get what we need off of it, okay?” He asked me. 

He looked so tired; I hadn’t realized his eyebags had gotten so dark until they were illuminated by the moonlight, nearly black, and with his unkempt beard and hair that had turned tangled with how many times he’s run his hands through it…he just looked haggard. 

I recognized the dismissal. His statement had an unsaid ending, go somewhere until we’re done, an expectation to let them do what they needed to do. But between the way his shoulders sagged and the tension in my own, I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Instead I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him in a much-needed hug. 

He froze—for someone who looked so run down, his lower back sure was stiff—but then his arm came around to hold me, hand rubbing across that spot in my back that was now becoming sore to the touch. There was a softness to the movement and the way he subsequently melted, like he too needed this small moment.

And for a blissful two minutes, we were given a reprieve. 

At least until somewhere by the lake’s shoreline, Aunt Sia called, “Delsin! I think I have a way there!”

Dad sighed, patting my back—and as I looked up at him, he managed to give me a genuine—albeit tired—smile. “Let’s go get your friends back,” he murmured.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Streamer Boyfriend//////

Rules | Kofi | Masterlist

Streamer boyfriend who on the first date is really upfront about what he does. What seemed like a preview of transparency turns out to be a warning for the erosion of your privacy. As you begin to spend more time with your Streamer Boyfriend you’ll find just how much it’s beginning to bother you.

“Chat you guys are so mean! Their bathroom is a little messy but it’s not a red flag!”

Off-screen and whispering you ask, “Why are you filming in my bathroom?”

“Because chat wanted to take a look at your place? Why what’s the matter?”

“I don’t want these random people knowing the layout of my house!”

“Oh….well you can stay at mine if you want...for safety!”

If it weren’t for his impossibly good looks and otherwise male wife behavior you would have left him then and organizing your schedules so that you’re not forced to be a part of his vlogging. It’s a little tiring because sometimes he ‘forgets’ or ‘slips up’ putting more of yourself on the internet than you were ever okay with doing. 

“Everyone be sure to tune in four hours by then I’ll have eaten, slept, and finally get to tear up that cute jumper my baby’s got on.”

“Wrath!?”

“Sorry guys signing off! See y’all later!”

You give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s his livelihood, his business, his community, his hobby—you wouldn’t want to take that away just cause it occasionally makes you uncomfortable. So you excuse them all. His mistakes, his overreaching. It doesn’t really hit you in the face until something terrible has happened.

“Are you (Y/n) (L/n)?”

“Is there a problem officer?”

“I’ve been told to inform you…about your cousin's passing.”

“Oh my gosh!? No!”

“We’d also like to know when’s the last time you spoke to them…we suspect this is likely a homicide.”

Your poor cousin who you recently reconnected with has violently perished. Unfortunately because the majority of your family is out of the country or otherwise indisposed, it’s up to you to handle most of their investigation. Identifying her mutilated body and telling the detectives what you knew about each of their friends. For a while, the investigating officers are relieved to know you have a loving boyfriend to support you during this rough time only for that relief to turn into disgust when your boyfriend whips his phone out in the morgue….

“I’m going back to mine. I’ll have my friends come pick anything else I need.”

“B-but babe weren’t you worried about your place getting exposed? I-I’m okay if we take the break at mine–”

“No. I’ll be staying with a friend.”

 “Who?”

“None of your business. Thanks for the…memories.”

It's a shame you are no longer dating the infamous WrathWarrior according to your more distant friends who ignore the reason you left in the first place. Thankfully a few good friends are all you need, you take on the funeral preparations, and the rest of the homicide investigation smoothly. When you aren’t crying your eyes out, brainstorming with a detective, or crying in your bed you occasionally venture to your ex-streamer boyfriend’s stream. 

“Hey everyone it is Day 11 of being without the love of my life….Let’s have fun, with this game today.”

There he is still smiling and streaming as if he didn’t do this to himself.  You figure it’s better off this way. If he had the camera in your face during moments of crisis, he may have never come to respect your desire for privacy and would one day cross a line that would change everything forever. It really was better off this way.

‘Go back to him. You don’t want anyone else to die.’

The cryptic message on your social media came a month after your breakup. Still recovering from your loss and suffering the sting of an unsolved investigation, you are puzzled over the message from what looks like a newly created account. Knowing better than to click on some scammer's link, you blocked the message, thinking that would be the end of whatever weird new scam this was. But alas, a newer account sent the same thing on everything, including your direct messages.

“See detective? Isn’t this weird? It wouldn’t let me take a screenshot but it’s in every app!”

SNAP

“Well, we’ve got a record of it now. Don’t click the link until I can get the team to hook up to this. Go home stay safe.”

Doing as you're told, you return to your temporary home. Waiting for your friend to return you end up looking at the message again, filling the hours with your theorizing at the mysterious link and the ominous tone of the words itself. Narrowing down who it could be there’s only one man you can think of needing to ‘go back to’ is none other than Wrath. When you think about it that way this makes sense that it’s some dedicated and deluded fan probably some mining link to get more of your private info. You sighed exiting the app and attempting to relax again while waiting for your friend to return…they should of got off work hours ago…

Ring. Ding. 

Your phone rings with a new message and reading it makes your blood run cold.

‘You need to see this. It’s about your friend.’

It feels voyeuristic that this unknown person would have the answers to your creeping anxiety. The urgency of the message makes it that much easier to ignore the detective’s warnings, finally clicking on the link. Expecting to see your phone flash with a threat for your information you aren’t prepared for the video that loads. Seeing a blurry video of some incredibly familiar pixels squirming in a chair slowly becoming clearer.

“This is Day 34 of being without the love of my life and we’re getting ready for a very special night where we break-in some of our new arrivals. Especially this one.” 

It’s Wrath unmasked and pulling at the hair of what is definitely your friend crying behind a ball of cloth. It’s horrifying and you almost don’t believe what your seeing is even real. The continued ramblings of Wrath fogging your brain as you try and piece everything together. The controls to interact were darker than the streams you’d looked at before, the url for the website was different, and most glaringly different was the oddly opulent room with furniture restraining your friend. 

“On top of this thing,” he poked at them aggressively–no doubt puncturing with his nail.”We’ve also got an entire group. Silly little investigators looks like they’ve never heard of Wrath’s Colloseum! Guess we’ll have to show all of them what kind of fun we get down to chat!”

The familiar officers and the detective being wheeled in on chairs matching that of your friend’s. It looked like a row of electric chairs attached to one another, wood and dotted with the blood of what you guess must be from past ‘guests’.

Your phone rings again. It’s the anonymous user.

‘It’s up to you. If they live.’

The message was your last wake-up call. Wrath had pulled out a tray of tools, showing them off to the camera as he spoke about what gruesome bloody acts he could do. He kept turning back to your friend who wiggled in protest everytime, he decided to model what the tool would do. It’s then that you were finally able to do something about this. 

RING–

“Hello?”

“...Hey, I really missed you and I was wondering if you could come over. Like right now.”

You tried to silence your trembling breath. Watching the man on his stream kick his foot up. 

“Awww so cute! Are you drunk calling me? Ugh you’re just as precious as before!” You let out a relieved sigh, thankfully you could save your friend and the investigators tied on screen. “But Daddy’s got a wrap something up so I’m going to make it as soon as I get finished okay?”

No that was not okay! If he finished what he wanted to you wouldn’t have a friend or any local police dedicated to solving your case. So with bated breath you reveal your only card.

“Wait! Please don’t kill them! I’ll get back with you! I’ll do anything just don’t hurt them!”

You watched the wistful kicking from your streamer boyfriend stop slowly turning to the camera. Completely unmasked and wearing a leaver trenchcoat stained with dried crimson spots, he saunters over to the camera lens. Staring into your soul through the lens he smiles. Just like he used to when you’d chat from your alt account, or when you agreed to hold the camera for a cooking stream or when you told him you loved him even though he was a streamer. But it turns out that was the least of your worries when it came to your exboyfriend. In truth, your ex-boyfriend was the worst kind of monster–an untouchable one. A monster that can abduct and torture people without needing to cover his face. An entertainer who was so coonsumed by his career that he had no problem letting the talons of his lifestyle suffocate anyone who tried to impede it. 

“So your watching, huh?”

The voice echoes from your phone and the stream playing on your computer. You barely have half a mind to see what the chat says firing off so incredibly fast. 

‘Is that them?’

‘ is honey bun back’

‘KILL THEM ALREADY’

‘aw is this the end of the series’

Your exboyfriend giggles at chat’s messages, turning to look over his shoulder openly sneering at all of his victims. He quickly snaps back

“Alright sweetie, I’ll save one just for you. Even better I’ll give them the antidote to a little concoction of mine if you come and join us on stream!”

“But I don’t know where you are and–”

“I’ll come pick you up in a bit, after chat votes on what we’ll be doing to the unclaimed meat. Like that chat? A big bang to wrap up the worst series of my life? I think that sounds like a great idea, chat!”

[globalnewscollective]

The U.S. Is Now Sending Nonviolent Migrants to Guantanamo Bay—This Should Alarm You

What’s Happening?

It’s happening. The United States is no longer just sending violent criminals to Guantanamo Bay—low-risk, nonviolent migrants are now being detained there as well.

Despite publicly claiming that only the “worst of the worst” would be held in Guantanamo, the Trump administration has quietly begun transferring nonviolent asylum seekers and undocumented immigrants to the facility. According to CBS News, AP News, and The New York Times, many of these migrants have little to no criminal history. Some don’t even have any legal offenses beyond simply being undocumented—which, under U.S. law, is a civil violation, not a crime.

Guantanamo Bay, infamous for housing alleged 9/11 conspirators and suspected terrorists, is now being repurposed as a detention center for innocent people fleeing violence and poverty. And this is only the beginning—more transfers are already scheduled.

Why This Should Terrify You

The detention of nonviolent migrants in Guantanamo Bay is a dangerous escalation of anti-immigration policies, and here’s why:

A Legal and Ethical Nightmare: Guantanamo Bay operates under different legal standards than the mainland U.S., meaning detained migrants may face indefinite detention without due process.

A Dark Expansion of Executive Power: This sets a precedent for mass detention of vulnerable populations under the guise of “national security.” If migrants can be sent to Guantanamo today, who will be next?

A Humanitarian Crisis in the Making: Guantanamo Bay is notorious for human rights abuses, and keeping asylum seekers in such a facility is both cruel and unnecessary.

A Step Toward Normalizing Mass Incarceration of Migrants: The U.S. already detains thousands of asylum seekers in ICE facilities—now, the government is pushing the boundaries even further.

This isn’t just about immigration. It’s about human rights, unchecked government power, and the erosion of democratic values.

Why This Matters to You

If you’re a young person, a woman, or part of a marginalized community, you should pay attention. This isn’t just about “border control”—this is about setting legal precedents that could affect all of us.

Today, it’s migrants. Tomorrow, it could be activists, journalists, or political opponents. Expanding detention policies under the banner of “security” historically leads to broader repression.

This is a test run for more authoritarian policies. The government is seeing how far it can go without public backlash. If we don’t push back, they’ll keep going.

Your tax dollars are funding human rights violations. The U.S. is spending millions to expand Guantanamo’s detention capabilities instead of investing in humane immigration solutions.

The Bigger Picture

The detention of nonviolent migrants in Guantanamo is part of a much larger trend: the global rise of authoritarian policies disguised as national security measures. This is not just about Trump—it’s about the broader shift towards an America where human rights and civil liberties are secondary to political power.

Internationally, we’ve seen this playbook before. Governments begin with demonizing a vulnerable group, then expand repression tactics under the guise of “keeping the country safe.” It’s happening here, now.

What Can You Do?

Spread the word. Most Americans don’t even know this is happening. Share this information, talk about it, and demand media coverage.

Pressure lawmakers. Contact your representatives and demand action against the inhumane detention of migrants.

Support organizations fighting for migrant rights. Groups like the ACLU, RAICES, and Human Rights Watch are actively working to hold the government accountable.

Stay informed. The situation is evolving, and silence only helps those in power. Follow updates from trusted sources and keep the conversation going.

We are witnessing history, and not the kind we want to tell future generations about. If we don’t act now, we risk normalizing an era where Guantanamo Bay isn’t just for accused terrorists—it’s for anyone the government deems inconvenient.

The time to speak out is now.

[hyvyinjie]

CHANCE.

TW! implications of death.

bittersweet! melancholic

t. muichiro x f. reader

graciously requested by @muuumuiiii ! thank you so much for requesting, you sweet lovely lad<3

who would have anticipated it? the mist hashira, of all individuals, displaying a concern that surpassed anyone else's for you—the spirit pillar; a warrior whose technique came at the steep cost of a gradual erosion of your life.

THE MOON; THE BRIGHTEST PEARL SUSPENDED IN OUR VELVET SKY THAT FLOODED THE INKY DARKNESS WITH ITS SILVER GLOW.

a radiant disc it was. casting its ethereal glow upon the shadows of the night, while also heralding the relentless onslaught of a few infamous entities—demons.

a symbol of hope, this pale sentinel embodied a goddess-like presence, standing as a timeless guardian, observing the earth with an unwavering gaze as warriors valiantly battled the monstrous creatures scattered throughout.

above, the luminous orb commanded the vast expanse of stars, illuminating them all. yet, even in this peaceful night, two particular slayers found themselves immersed in the serenity, although one seemed burdened by a more pressing concern, far beyond the tranquility itself.

in a world where such creatures roamed, the perfect harmony would remain elusive.

thus, what purpose did survival serve if death constantly loomed, a persistent visitor at one's very doorstep?

well, the purpose of life is to be happy. or at least, that's what this young man believed.

said boy possessed an acute understanding of this belief, as if it had become ingrained in the very fabric of his being—an awareness that, perhaps, bordered on the excessive.

the sheer ecstasy of savoring every moment of existence, embracing its essence in its entirety, was undeniably a remarkable achievement—a feat that deserved to be celebrated with fervor.

thus, he found himself utterly incapable of comprehending—indeed, he never had—how she could nonchalantly dismiss the imminent cessation of her own existence, as if it were a trifling matter. the weight of her disregard for her own life gnawed at him, like a persistent ache that defied understanding.

..then again, had he been any different?

"—and…now you’re spacing out, again.”

ah, the sound of that melodious voice; both longed for and dreaded, resonated within him and snapped him out of his reverie. even though he had incessantly poured out his thoughts to her since he awakened from his coma, with her faithfully by his side, deep in slumber—despite her own exhaustion—she had remained.

as your words echoed in his ears, he shifted his gaze to meet your own—and oh, those eyes.

he would give anything to forever witness his own reflection in the depths of your eyes.

in a mesmerizing dance, your gazes intertwined; an exquisite tapestry woven with delicate threads of connection.

he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnificence of your irises—their majesty akin to rare crystalline treasures, gleaming beneath the majestic canopy of the nocturnal sky.

as a gentle zephyr whispered sweet nothings, its delicate touch caressed their beings, a tender embrace from the invisible hands of nature. he watched, his eyelids descending to a half-closed state, surrendering to the enchanting symphony of the night.

the breeze, like a playful sprite, felt as if it alone, could carry away his worries and sorrows, dispersing them into the velvety darkness.

yet, amidst this reposeful tranquility, a question lingered in the depths of his soul, an enigma that remained elusive and enigmatic.

it was one of the few riddles that continued to elude his grasp, an enigmatic puzzle that defied comprehension, regardless of whether he had regained his former self or not.

why, he pondered ever so deeply, did your well-being hold such profound significance to him?

why did his heart ache with an inexplicable yearning to protect you, to ensure the radiance within you remained untouched by the shadows of the world? it was as if his very purpose revolved around safeguarding your light, shielding it from the encroaching darkness threatening to dim its brilliance.

no, he never intended to diminish your worth in any way.

on the contrary—he understood, with a profound certainty, that you’re fully capable of caring for yourself alone.

yet, despite his awareness, a veil of mystery draped over his consciousness—that of a delicate wisp of mist teasing the boundaries of his understanding. it remained tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of his reach, an enigma that eluded his grasp.

similarly elusive was the faint, almost imperceptible yet weighty pang in his heart each time his gaze flickered to your bandages that dressed your wounds.

he struggled to fathom its origins, to decipher the emotions that coursed through him with every glance. was it concern, fear, or something different altogether?

of course, he chastised himself for overreacting. after all, you were healing, weren't you?

...right?

at least, that was the relentless mantra he repeated to himself, like a haunting melody, a lullaby of self-deception.

perhaps it was a lie he constructed, a defense mechanism to shield himself from the harsh reality. deep down, he knew all too well that you were pushing yourself to the brink, sacrificing fragments of your own well-being to save countless others from the clutches of death.

how he yearned to tell you—to implore you—to cease using the very essence that slowly, yet inexorably, eroded your own vitality. the desire to shield you from the self-inflicted harm, consumed him.

yet, who was he to stand in your way?

who was he to dictate how you should pursue your purpose—your solemn vow? who had the right to demand that you discard the only technique you knew, as if acquiring a new skill were a trivial matter?

perhaps, for you, it had maybe once been a tangible option—a plausible alternative.

however, it clashed with the very reason why you chose to persist in wielding the power of spirit breathing, despite its unfortunate and devastating toll on your own being.

it was a conundrum that weighed heavily upon his soul, yet another conflict that tugged at the frayed edges of his limited understanding.

then, abruptly—his consciousness snapped back to reality, like a fragile dream shattered by the gentle sweep of a waving hand.

in that instant, the symphony of your voice, a sweet and melodious tune, graced his senses once more, stirring his spirit from its slumber.

"hello? earth to tokito?"

your words danced in the air, adorned with a delicate blend of amusement and genuine concern—whilst he, silently observed your actions. his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment, as if capturing the essence of your graceful movements.

soon enough, his eyes blinked, like a dormant star awakening to illuminate the night sky, as he finally stirred from his reverie.

with a subtle tilt of his head, he emitted a soft hum—a melodic expression that intertwined intrigue and acknowledgment in response to your beckoning. the notes of his hum danced through the air, a secretive melody that conveyed both his curiosity and the recognition of your presence.

meanwhile, you watched him with an internal sigh of relief.

the young man, whom you had believed to be forever lost in the bewitching realm of his perpetual daydreams, had returned to the realm of the present. the transformation within him, from introspective to effervescent, had you spellbound, never failing to leave you even in but a speck of awe, of these rare moments of clarity that graced his being.

"seems like someone's finally awake."

a faint smile blossoming upon your lips, akin to the first delicate bloom of a spring flower. lowering your hand with graceful grace,

you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position beside him on the edge of the engawa outside the butterfly manor—a perch where you and him had been leisurely spending time together, without a care in the world, rambling on about. relishing in the comfort in one another’s presence—like a normal pair of souls basking in the way of life.

"you’ve been staring at me for quite a while.”

pausing for a breath, you tilted your head—the radiance of your irises blooming with an enchanting glow, as if the secrets of the universe were hidden within their depths.

"what's wrong?"

in the midst of an enchanting moment, a subtle hint of wounded innocence played across your seductive countenance, evoking a mysterious allure.

"do i look that bad?"

your voice, though as mellow and gentle as always, carried an underlying touch of vulnerability.

in an instant, he reacted, tilting his head with a subtle mixture of surprise and denial.

"what? no."

aa he blinked, his words slipped out absent-mindedly, like a whisper from a dreamer's lips.

"far from it, actually."

he confessed, his sincerity palpable.

with a gaze that held a painter's eye for detail, he saw your flaws not as imperfections, but as intricate brush strokes that added depth to the masterpiece of your being. inexplicably, he adored you, to the point where it practically pained him.

and who could blame him? for you were way more than a mere beauty that could be captured in words. you were a tapestry of emotions, a symphony of sensations that defied description.

to him, you are everything.

your brows raised slightly, captivated by his ever-unpredictable nature. truly, like the wind, he embraced the freedom to wander in any direction he pleased.

reminiscent of an owl, you blinked a plenty amount of times, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his flattery. it seeped into the recesses of your heart, stirring a delicate blend of bashfulness and gratitude.

"then..."

unintentionally mimicking his gestures, as if dancing in synchrony with his spirit, you then asked, avidly yearning to explore the depths of his thoughts.

"mind sharing what's got you so..distant?"

although it was not deemed uncommon for him, of all individuals, to maintain a silent disposition, you possessed a deeper understanding—having witnessed something greater, something more.

despite the mere span of a few days, you stood as a crucial observer to the sudden shift in his demeanor. having been privy to a bewildering yet endearingly interactive side of the boy since his awakening, it became slightly disconcerting to witness him potentially regress into his characteristic, distant, and dazed state.

the memory of those extraordinary moments lingered, and it was disheartening to question whether they were mere illusions or if they held the promise of something genuine.

as of now, the male in question pressed his lips together, creating a slender line as his gaze wandered away from yours, as though searching for a brief respite from reality.

seeing this, you reassured him. carefully observing these subtle occurrences with your keen irises.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

responding with a weary shake of his head and a sigh escaping his lips, his gaze flickered back to you, and as his eyes connected with yours once more, a subtle softness overcame them.

truly breathtaking were his eyes. they possessed a hue reminiscent of emerald, yet they gleamed like the replesdent glow of the moon above.

however, what truly captured your attention was the way his brows furrowed just as the corner of his lips downturned, for internally—a cascade of emotions crashed upon him all at once. moreover, a despairing layer seemed to coat his eyes, a poignant sorrow that caught you off guard.

"i don't like it."

he stated firmly, his words hanging in the air, leaving you perplexed.

your head tilted slightly further, eyes widening as you regarded him with curiosity and intrigue.

in response, he raised a hand to the area where his heart resided, his gaze lowering and narrowing towards the ground beneath you both.

"this feeling..."

his voice carried a weight of uncertainty, gaze delicately shifted back to meet yours—and in that moment, you could have sworn you saw his frown deepen as the hint of sorrow on his features became even more pronounced.

"and knowing you could..."

he trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete his sentence. yet, the unfinished words were enough for you to grasp the essence of his meaning.

your brows upturned, sensing the profound depth of emotions he struggled to express fully through words. you had a hunch that it might be something like this, but witnessing his reaction with such intensity was, without a doubt, enough to evoke a painful ache in anyone's heart.

the desire to comfort him welled up within you, an overwhelming longing to ease his burdens. yet, you couldn't help but question how you could possibly offer reassurance.

would it be by telling a blatant lie about something that was inevitable?

now, that would be nothing short of cruelty, no?

to suggest that you would overcome it would only exacerbate the pain. moreover, you were uncertain how to approach the situation without inadvertently triggering a devastating chain of events in the unavoidable future.

truth be told, if he were anyone else, you might have dismissed the matter with a casual remark, wouldn't you?

but with him, it was different.

you couldn't bring yourself to say so.

unable to find the right words in that moment, your gaze somberly shifted away from his, fixating on a distant point ahead. yet, in a sudden and unexpected instant, you were taken aback as you felt the weight of something new but vaguely familiar resting upon your shoulder—soft strands of supple hair gently brushing against you. along with it came a delicate warmth, enveloping you in an oddly soothing sensation.

"you don't have to say anything."

he quietly uttered, his honeyed voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and reassurance. he simply needed to release his thoughts into the open, to let them be heard, even if it was just a single sentence.

there had been no intention to pressurize or burden you, but rather a desire to be the one offering reassurance while subtly seeking comfort himself.

in a silent plea to convince himself that he wasn't caught in a dream, he gingerly leaned his head against your shoulder, and though was making sure not to add any more damage to your wounds, he did so without a hint of regret.

your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his actions. turning your attention back to him, you found solace in this unspoken gesture of support. that tender gesture conveyed a profound understanding, a connection that surpassed the boundaries of words. it was a silent reassurance; of ones comforting presence for the other, especially in the face of uncertainty.

a sentimental smile graced your features as you felt immense gratitude for his selfless deeds. even in this moment, he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, going above and beyond to provide solace. the warmth of his actions filled you with a deep sense of appreciation and reinforced the unmatched bond between you.

"..thank you,"

you whispered in a hushed breath, your voice carrying the weight of profound appreciation.

though the words seemed simple, they held within them an entire universe of gratitude—a universe that bloomed with vivid colors, dreamlike aspirations, and meaningful connections.

with a delicate grace, you lifted your hand and allowed your fingertips to dance upon the canvas of his raven tresses. each strand, like a silken thread, wove a tapestry of sensations beneath your touch.

the texture was soft and supple, akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. as your fingers glided through the ebony strands, you embarked on a journey of intricate care, smoothing out the knots that dared to disrupt the harmony.

in this intimate act, time seemed to suspend, creating a space where the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a transcendent moment. your touch, as mindful as the brushstrokes of an artist, traced a path of tenderness and care. each movement held intention, a pledge to protect and cherish him, ensuring no harm would befall his vulnerable spirit.

It was a silent symphony, where the language of trust and gratitude flowed effortlessly through the whispers of your fingertips.

as you continued this tender ministration, a vibrant tapestry of emotions unfurled within the depths of your heart. gratitude, like a delicate fragrance, mingled with a sense of wonder, weaving a spellbinding combination.

the tenderness you shared painted a tableau, akin to a cherished memory, where hues of warmth, understanding, and appreciation blended harmoniously.

pleased by your touch, a contented hum escaped your companion's lips, his eyes finding solace in the comfortable embrace of closed lids.

a smile, brimming with emotions, blossomed upon his visage, a testament to the profound impact of your presence.

his heart fluttered with a bittersweet ache, caught between the beauty of the present and the uncertainty of the future.

yet, even in the face of daunting odds, a glimmer of hope persisted within him. it discreetly clung to his being, refusing to be extinguished.

it was undeniably a childlike hope, both fragile and resilient; to yearn for the possibility of a miraculous turn of events.

still, muichiro wanted to embrace that chance, to patiently wait for the magic of a future with you.

[ladybugmania]

Trump's Promises vs. Performance:

Evaluating Donald Trump’s 2024 Campaign Agenda in 2025

When Donald Trump launched his 2024 campaign under the banner of Agenda 47, he reignited the fiery populist rhetoric that defined his first term, this time with even more urgency and sweeping declarations. Pledging to “save America,” Trump’s platform was centered on hard-hitting immigration reform, economic protectionism, aggressive federal purges, and bold foreign policy goals. Now, as the calendar turns to 2025, the realities of his presidency reveal a mixed bag of rapid execution, political resistance, and unsettling unfulfilled ambition.

Immigration: Rapid Action Meets Legal Resistance

Trump wasted no time in pushing for significant immigration changes. Within his first 100 days, he ramped up deportation efforts and sought to bypass judicial review for undocumented immigrants, an initiative that was quickly challenged by civil rights organizations and the Supreme Court. While his crackdown has energized his base, it has also reignited heated constitutional debates and sparked widespread humanitarian outcry. Despite swift action, the legal resistance suggests his policies may be more contentious than initially promised.

Many legal experts now argue that Trump's rapid immigration policies are both unconstitutional and counterproductive. The legal battles unfolding in the courts not only delay his plans but also demonstrate the pushback against what many see as an authoritarian overreach. The public discourse around his hardline approach has only deepened the polarization, as opponents argue that this rhetoric plays to the fears of the American public rather than offering long-term solutions.

Economic Policy: Tariffs, But at What Cost?

True to his campaign pledge, Trump enacted a blanket 10% tariff on all imports, with higher penalties for Chinese goods. The policy aimed to reshore manufacturing and protect American industries, but economists have warned of inflationary effects and retaliatory trade barriers. Some U.S. factories have reported slight gains, but the broader economic picture is less clear. Trump’s attempts to shield American industries have raised the risk of sparking a deeper economic downturn, with some analysts suggesting that his protectionist approach may be pushing the country closer to recession.

The mounting tension between Trump’s protectionism and global trade has resulted in stagnation in key industries, with consumers bearing the brunt of higher prices. In some sectors, American businesses are caught in the crossfire of trade wars, with retaliatory tariffs on U.S. exports leading to further job losses and a decline in international competitiveness. Despite his promises of bringing manufacturing back to the U.S., the long-term outlook remains uncertain.

Additionally, his focus on isolationist policies has left America with fewer global partnerships, forcing the nation to contend with more limited economic avenues. As the recession looms, critics argue that Trump's economic policies have not only failed to meet his promises but may be deepening America's financial woes.

'Drain the Swamp' 2.0: Loyalty Over Legacy

Trump's infamous “drain the swamp” mantra resurfaced with vengeance as he removed career officials he deemed disloyal and filled federal agencies with his political allies. This sweeping restructuring has raised concerns over the erosion of institutional independence and the growing weaponization of government. Critics argue that his appointments of loyalists are undermining democratic norms, further consolidating power and diminishing the checks and balances that are fundamental to the system.

This “loyalty over competence” approach has drawn ire from both political sides, as it threatens the foundation of a balanced, functioning government. Trump's supporters see these moves as necessary to dismantle what they view as a bureaucratic deep state, while his detractors argue that this focus on loyalty has led to incompetence and a lack of accountability within critical institutions.

Many believe that this restructuring of federal agencies and courts reflects an alarming shift toward autocracy. As Trump continues to consolidate power in the executive branch, there are increasing fears that checks on presidential authority are being removed, potentially paving the way for future abuses.

Foreign Policy: Unfulfilled Peace Promises

Among the most dramatic promises from Trump’s 2024 campaign was his vow to end the war in Ukraine “within 24 hours.” As 2025 unfolds, the conflict continues unabated, with Trump admitting that peace negotiations are more complex than anticipated. Similarly, his promises to broker peace in Gaza and strike a new nuclear deal with Iran have made little headway, hindered by entrenched regional tensions and international skepticism.

His foreign policy, which was once driven by bold promises of reshaping global dynamics, has foundered on the harsh realities of diplomacy. Trump's attempts to bypass international protocols and negotiate from a position of strength have alienated traditional allies, and his desire to prioritize unilateral action has left the U.S. isolated on the global stage. Whether his “America First” foreign policy will prove effective in the long run remains to be seen, but so far, many of his promises have failed to come to fruition.

Energy & Environment: Turning Back the Clock

Trump’s administration has moved aggressively to reverse environmental policies, consistent with his “America First” energy vision. Major offshore wind projects, like Empire Wind off the coast of New York, were halted in the name of protecting the environment. However, critics argue that this is less about conservation and more about rolling back clean energy initiatives to favor fossil fuel industries. These moves have led to growing concerns about the future of renewable energy in the U.S.

His decision to prioritize fossil fuel industries over renewable energy comes at a time when climate change remains a pressing global issue. Trump’s rollback of environmental protections not only contradicts global sustainability goals but also threatens the country’s future energy security. Many are left wondering if his short-term focus on reviving coal and oil industries is worth the long-term damage to the planet.

Domestic Economy: Uneven Gains, Growing Pains

While Trump promised to bring back jobs and revitalize American manufacturing, states like Michigan—once central to his base—are experiencing significant economic challenges. Rising unemployment and sluggish industrial recovery have prompted many to question the effectiveness of his economic policies. The strategy of placing tariffs and pushing for protectionism has contributed to a growing sense that the U.S. may be on the verge of a recession, despite Trump’s frequent claims of economic success.

The discrepancy between Trump's promises and economic realities has raised serious concerns. While his administration has touted job growth in certain sectors, the broader impact on the average American worker has been uneven at best. In many rust belt states, industries continue to struggle, and Trump’s economic vision has left some working-class communities feeling abandoned.

Moreover, Trump's economic policies have increased the national debt significantly, and critics argue that his reckless fiscal decisions will have lasting negative effects on future generations.

Big Promises, Bigger Questions

Several of Trump’s most ambitious campaign goals, like revitalizing infrastructure, balancing the federal budget, and protecting entitlement programs, remain largely untouched. With the national debt continuing to climb and infrastructure bills stalled in Congress, voters are left wondering whether these promises were ever truly prioritized, or if they were simply a means of rallying support.

Trump’s failure to address long-term fiscal issues, such as the deficit and public debt, signals a troubling disregard for America’s financial future. The promises made during his 2024 campaign have begun to feel more like empty rhetoric than actionable goals, and many are now questioning his commitment to tackling the pressing issues that continue to affect everyday Americans.

Rhetoric vs. Reality: A Dangerous Shift?

Trump’s rhetoric has become increasingly erratic in 2025, fueling concerns that he is steering the country toward authoritarianism. His aggressive political purges, inflammatory language, and attacks on the media and judiciary have drawn comparisons to the rise of dictatorial regimes. As his administration moves forward, it is becoming clear that Trump’s promises may not only be falling short, they are pushing the country toward a deeper, more dangerous divide.

Many are questioning whether his actions reflect an attempt to consolidate power at the expense of democratic institutions, with some arguing that his base of loyalists is following him blindly, like “muts” under his command. As America grapples with rising inflation, unemployment, and political instability, it’s evident that Trump’s “America First” vision might be steering the country into a dangerous ideological direction. His unhinged rhetoric, while appealing to his supporters, has alienated moderates and centrist voters, increasing the likelihood of deepened societal fractures.

Conclusion: Bold Moves, Broken Dreams

Donald Trump’s return to the presidency has been marked by bold rhetoric and sweeping actions that have deeply polarized the nation. While some promises have been swiftly acted upon, like the crackdown on immigration and the purging of federal agencies, many of his larger goals, such as peace deals abroad and a revitalized domestic economy, remain unrealized. As the country moves forward into 2025, the growing gap between Trump’s promises and the reality of his administration raises significant concerns about the future direction of the United States. With his increasingly authoritarian tone and failure to steer the economy away from recession, the question remains: will Trump’s campaign agenda truly save America, or push it into a dangerous new era of division and unrest?

[wachinyeya]

Kudzu is infamous in the Southeast, where it covers an estimated 7.4 million acres. The invasive species has a reputation of being aggressively damaging to biodiversity, economies, and ecosystems. After decades of being a thorn in the side of U.S. cities, rural towns, as well as the agriculture, lumber and forest product industries, kudzu’s uses are expanding — now including building materials, cooking, healing, climate action, and even cultural advocacy.

Kudzu was initially introduced to the U.S. at the 1876 World Fair in Philadelphia. Native to Japan, it was heralded as a decorative vine that could be used to shade a home. That positive perception carried on through 1935, when it was first widely planted in the U.S. as a way to mitigate natural soil erosion. The “Big Kudzu Push” meant that millions of kudzu seedlings were planted and grown across the nation over decades; the Kudzu Club of America concentrated its efforts in the South, setting lofty goals that included planting eight million acres. As people moved from rural to urban areas and abandoned farmland, the vine grew unchecked. 

“‘Now it’s, ‘The vine that ate the South.’ But if you look at what people were saying [about kudzu] in the 30s, and the 40s, they called it the ‘Savior of the South,”’ said Justin Holt, co-founder of Kudzu Culture, an organization that hosts workshops on how to harvest and use kudzu in art, cooking, textiles and holistic medicine.  

The USDA removed the vine from its list of plants permissible under the Agricultural Conservation Program in 1953, and named it a common weed in 1970. With the ability to grow anywhere, up to a foot per day and sixty feet during the growing season, kudzu uses its vines to choke out trees and other plants. It can impact not just the soil where it invades, but the nitrogen cycle of air around it. Studies have shown that it affects atmospheric chemistry on a larger scale, too — even contributing to surface ozone pollution. Rising temperatures driven by climate change mean longer growing seasons, a warming climate, and plenty of rainfall — all ripe conditions for its spread.

It’s also harmful to local economies: Paulina Harron, an environmental scientist at engineering firm AECOM, led a 2020 study with Oklahoma State University showing that over the next five years, kudzu’s spread in Oklahoma could result in a loss of $167.9 million and impact up to 780 jobs in the forest product industry. Kudzu is already costing the forest product industry $500 per hectare per year to control the infestation. 

“I think these economic impacts definitely serve as an incentive for governments, at different levels, to look into control strategies,” Harron said. The key to managing kudzu is early detection and rapid response, she added. It can be done by eradicating small kudzu populations and aggressive management procedures used on larger infestations.

In lieu of policies to control the spread of the invasive plant, artists, chefs, and designers are finding creative ways to harvest and repurpose the plant. When Katie MacDonald and Kyle Schumann were associate professors at the University of Tennessee in 2020, the leafy vine was everywhere. “It’s hard to avoid it, and you see it blanketing just about everything. It becomes a real presence in the landscape,” MacDonald said. “Kudzu is kind of the poster child of invasive plant species.” 

As designers, they saw this overabundance as a possibility. “To us there seems to be an opportunity space where we might be able to incentivize something that’s good for the environment, like remediation, by making it a useful act of building material,” MacDonald said. 

The two founded design firm After Architecture in 2012 and started building a supply chain of building materials from invasive plants like kudzu.The stems of kudzu are a hard fibrous material, which they say makes it tough, flexible, and easy to build with. MacDonald and Schumann hope the building industry can one day replace carbon-intensive building materials such as concrete, steel, and aluminum, with materials like invasive species. 

“In specifically targeting kudzu as one of the species to use, we’re trying to question preconceptions about what architecture is or what architectural materials could be,” said Schumann. 

Building and construction make up nearly 40% of global carbon emissions and one third of global energy use have been attributed to building and construction. “We’re interested in how the materials we work with engage the efforts to mitigate climate change,” said MacDonald. “Proving out a productive use for kudzu in the built environment could transform it into a resource and incentivize its harvesting and the subsequent restoration of native ecosystems.” 

Another quickly expanding market for kudzu is in restaurants: Fried kudzu chips, kudzu sorbet, kudzu tea, and kudzu chicken soup are on the menu. Conservation biologist Joe Roman is the founder of Eat the Invaders, a website that shares kudzu recipes, among others, encouraging readers to take the fight to reduce invasive species to the kitchen. His interest in eating invasive species was born out of a conservation biologist’s desire to protect and preserve the planet.

“Kudzu actually lends flavor. It’s the flavor enhancer,” said Roman. The root is reminiscent of a grape-scented flower, he said, and is used to make jams, syrups and the like, especially in countries like Japan, where the vine is native. In the U.S., however, you’re a lot less likely to come across it on a menu. 

Some restaurants are starting to experiment, though. The chips are a staple at a coastal-themed Macon, Georgia restaurant called Kudzu Seafood Company, founded by Lee Clack and Kelley Wrigley six years ago. The collection of plants, berries, and nuts has been around as a source of survival since as long as humans have. But a 2017 John Hopkins study found that foraging in urban cities is becoming more popular because of the human need to connect with nature. 

“I think it’s because people are more aware that they can go out and eat all these incredible products made from these incredible species, whether it’s plants or animals out there, and that has really changed in the past five years,” said Roman. 

Roman has a go-to kudzu sorbet recipe — shared with him by Tennessee chef Jose Gutierrez — which mixes kudzu blossoms with white wine, licorice root, cayenne pepper, sugar and water to produce the dish. Of course, cooking kudzu and other invasive plants can’t solve the problem. “Eating a couple of kudzu blossoms is fun, and it tastes good,” Roman said. “And I hope it will expand awareness.” 

Harron, the researcher who led the study on the plant’s economic impact, said that these are important steps towards the bigger goal of increasing the public’s knowledge of and participation in invasive species management. “Alone, eating kudzu is not going to solve the infestation problem or halt their spread — there is simply way too much kudzu already established in many ecosystems,” she said. “But I do think that using a combination of management methods is useful in controlling their populations.”

[stvlti]

The book Lump keeps his sheets of LSD in is A Clockwork Orange, which is famously about the erosion of free will in a dystopian, increasingly authoritarian Britain. But more specifically, he keeps it between the pages of this scene from Part Two of the novel:

‘Now,’ said the prison charlie, 'listen to the Word of the Lord.’ Then he picked up the big book and flipped over the pages, keeping on wetting his fingers to do this by licking them splurge splurge. He was a bolshy great burly bastard with a very red litso, but he was very fond of myself, me being young and also now very interested in the big book. It had been arranged as part of my like further education to read in the book and even have music on the chapel stereo while I was reading.

If you've read the book, you'll know that this is the scene where a sermon is being given in the prison that Alex, the protagonist, is kept in. After the sermon, the preacher speaks to Alex in private, and says this about the Ludovico Technique reprogramming (the infamous scene where his eyelids are peeled back in That torture scene) that Alex is about to undergo:

‘It's not been used yet,’ he said, ‘not in this prison, 6655321. Himself has grave doubts about it. I must confess I share those doubts. The question is whether such a technique can really make a man good. Goodness comes from within, 6655321. Goodness is something chosen. When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man.'

Considering that Plaything deals with themes of the inherent goodness and capacity for violence and evilness in humans, as well as the ending where the Throng reprogrammes every human being on the planet and literally rips away the free will to choose goodness for themselves, I'd say the choice of the novel AND the exact page they inserted the LSD sheets into is pretty intentional and thematically relevant.

[archivist-crow]

Odds and ends:

HIDDEN PYRAMIDS

In 1912, an adventurous trader and gun runner, Fred Schroder; was making his way through China's Forbidden Zone when he was dazzled to see an immense white pyramid. It was higher than those of Egypt, but had a flat top like Mayan structures had. Several smaller structures were nearby. Questioning the monks of the area, he learned that their monastery records, which went back five thousand years, called the pyramids ancient. In 1945, while flying over China's Shensi Province, pilot James Gaussman experienced engine trouble and was forced to fly at a lower altitude. He saw and photographed the edifice and later wrote: "I flew around a mountain ... directly below us was a gigantic white pyramid. It looked as if it were from a fairy tale... draped in shimmering white."

Since 1945, researchers have identified over a hundred of the monoliths. Researcher Hartwig Hausdorf discovered that the pyramids were made of clay with no adornments, though occasionally carved stones were nearby. Astronauts on an Apollo space mission noticed nine "dots" in a different location in China, and these dots proved to be more pyramids, evenly fanned out over the landscape. They are believed to be the graves of nine emperors and to date from 2,300 years ago. They are as high as a forty-story building. Research in China is difficult, but Hausdorf did take a photo showing that quick-growing conifer trees had been planted on the slopes of the Shensi pyramids, whether to hide the structures or to prevent erosion is unknown.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[justinspoliticalcorner]

At the behest of Julia Serano, LGBTQ+ people and their allies, including me, will publish and amplify pieces called “LGBTQ+ people are not going back”.

As Democratic allies and members of the LGBTQ+ community, we urge Democrats to stand strong to protect our LGBTQ+ (and especially our trans, nonbinary, intersex, and gender nonconforming) folk and not jettison them like what Rep. Seth Moulton (D-MA) would like to do.

In the wake of bigot-elect Donald Trump’s return to the White House, there is justified concern about the erosion of hard-won LGBTQ+ rights (and especially trans rights), such as nationwide policies that erase trans existence by designating male and female as the only legal genders, forced outing and forced misgendering policies in school settings that endanger student safety, bans on gender-affirming care on trans minors (and possibly adults), nationwide Don’t Say Gay or Trans laws mimicking Florida’s infamous law, and a whole host of harmful anti-LGBTQ+/anti-trans/anti-drag policies.

[...]

Contact your state legislators and Congress folk to remind them that protecting our LGBTQ+ folk is paramount, regardless of what party they belong to:

State legislators: https://5calls.org/issue/transgender-state-legislation/ Congress: https://www.congress.gov/members/find-your-member

- Justin Gibson (he/him/his), cis LGBTQ+ ally 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ Granite City, IL

Read the full post on my Substack.

[mariacallous]

U.S. President Donald Trump is accused of having started a global trade war. That’s wrong. The U.S. Congress is responsible for it, and only the U.S. Congress can stop it. If the core institution of American democracy cannot reassert its clear constitutional authority over U.S. trade policy, then the chaos of the past two months will continue for the next four years. Indeed, trade may be the best opportunity the world has for American democracy to reassert itself against the unfettered power being wielded by the current occupant of the White House.

Amid Trump’s sweeping claims of authority to slap tariffs on any country for whatever reason he chooses, it is easy to lose sight of what the law says: Tariffs are the responsibility of Congress, not the president. As the late trade scholar I. M. Destler put it, “[I]n no sphere of government policy can the primacy of the legislative branch be clearer: Congress reigns supreme on trade, unless and until it decides otherwise.” Unfortunately, giving up its authority over trade is exactly what Congress decided, beginning in the pre-Trump world. Decades of institutional self-flagellation on trade have left the 535-member Congress so weak that it cannot perform its core duties, even when the actions of the president are harming their constituents and will likely hurt their chances for reelection.

But trade also represents the best opportunity for Congress to find its voice. On the other issues where Trump is running roughshod over the U.S. Constitution—such as immigration and the destruction of federal agencies—the partisan divides are too deep. Republicans are cheering the president on both. But on trade, the divisions are less clear; until vanishingly recent times, Republicans were the party of free trade and Democrats the skeptics. Those old impulses remain, but the two parties are no longer cleaved ideologically on trade and may be able to find common ground against the most irresponsible of Trump’s tariffs.

The rollback efforts so far have found some bipartisan support, though far short of what would be needed. With four Republican votes, the Senate in early April passed a measure to revoke the tariffs on Canada. Other bills to claw back Trump’s tariff powers have been introduced with bipartisan sponsors. Trump’s 90-day pause of the worst of the tariffs will likely be just enough to discourage most Republicans from challenging him. But as the pain grows for consumers facing empty shelves, workers experiencing layoffs, and businesses large and small watching profits disappear, pressure on members will grow.

The erosion of Congress’s sovereignty over trade has been decades in the making. Under Article I of the Constitution, Congress has the sole power “to regulate commerce with foreign nations” and to “lay and collect … duties.” And for the first 150 years of U.S. history, Congress exercised that authority, sometimes to raise tariffs and sometimes to lower them. But since the 1930s, Congress has given away bigger and bigger pieces of tariff authority to the president, opening the door for an arch-protectionist like Trump to run away from any congressional oversight.

The abdication of power by Congress has three chapters. Each one did a little more to erode congressional authority for what seemed perfectly sound reasons at the time. But in total, they have left Congress neutered as Trump creates growing chaos in the global trading system.

The Bargaining Tariff

Until April 2 of this year, Congress’s passage of the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act in 1930 was the most infamous day in U.S. trade history. It raised tariffs to then-record levels, triggered retaliation from U.S. trade partners, and plunged the United States and the world even deeper into the Great Depression. What started out as a tariff bill focused on protecting U.S. farmers ended up raising tariffs on over 20,000 items, increasing average duties by more than 20 percent, and contributing to a 40 percent fall in U.S. trade by 1932.

As the Depression ground on, Congress began to look for a way out of the mess it had made. The result was the Reciprocal Tariff Act of 1934—no, Trump did not invent the concept of “reciprocity”—which for the first time handed significant congressional tariff authority to the president. The bill authorized presidents to cut U.S. tariffs as long as other countries agreed to do the same.

The 1934 act launched the era of modern free trade negotiations. Destler, in his definitive book, American Trade Politics, called it the “bargaining tariff”—a system in which the president was empowered to negotiate tariff reductions with other nations under an explicit grant of authority from Congress. That authority eventually led to the most ambitious trade liberalization in human history; U.S. companies exporting aircraft, construction equipment, and other globally competitive goods would urge the president to agree to tariff cuts at home as the price of gaining new markets abroad. But the system has been weakening for years as Americans faced more pressure from imports; Congress has not reauthorized the Trade Promotion Authority, a follow-on law first passed in 1974 that empowers the president to cut tariffs and other trade barriers, since it expired in 2021.

For all its virtues, the “bargaining tariff” regime was premised on a division of labor that no longer holds: a president who wanted lower tariffs and a Congress that would delegate that authority sparingly and with strict conditions. The system had no capacity to accommodate a president determined to impose some of the highest tariffs in U.S. history.

The Retaliatory Tariff

The 1934 Reciprocal Tariff Act was the first great abdication of congressional trade authority, but the goal was to expand trade, not restrict it. Starting in the late 1960s and 1970s, however, as U.S. imports from Japan and Germany began to rise and the trade deficit widened, Congress gave the president brand-new powers to fight back with tariffs. Section 301, a provision of the Trade Act of 1974, as well as subsequent trade bills, gave the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative (USTR) authority to threaten tariffs against countries with “unjustifiable” and “unreasonable” trade practices deemed harmful to U.S. economic interests. In most cases, those practices were other countries’ restrictions on U.S. goods. The purpose of Section 301 was to launch negotiations to end those harmful practices; again, reciprocity was a vehicle for opening trade, not closing it. But recalcitrant countries could be hit with retaliatory tariffs.

The biggest actions involved Japan and the European Union. Section 301 investigations were launched over supercomputers, semiconductors, tobacco, cars, and other products with Japan; most cases with the EU involved agricultural goods, but tariffs were imposed as part of the long-running feud over subsidies to Airbus, the pan-European aircraft maker. Most cases resulted in negotiated agreements without tariffs being imposed. Since 1974, the provision has been invoked 130 times. In 1995, following the creation of the World Trade Organization and its long-paralyzed dispute settlement mechanism, the United States stopped retaliating unilaterally but then restarted during the first Trump administration.

Section 301 was the law that Robert Lighthizer, Trump’s first-term USTR, deployed to go after China. The resulting Phase One deal marked a partial victory, with China agreeing to make some modest changes to trade-restricting regulations and increase purchases of U.S.-made goods, though Beijing’s pledges were never carried out. But most of the tariffs remained in place and were not removed by the Biden administration.

The second Trump administration recently levied new sanctions against Chinese shipbuilders under a Section 301 investigation initiated under former President Joe Biden and is considering a new case against foreign seafood producers.

Much like the bargaining tariff, Section 301 granted significant power to the executive branch under highly specific conditions. A detailed investigation must be conducted under the leadership of the USTR and an interagency staff committee, negotiations with the foreign country are required, public hearings must be held, and the tariffs expire after four years unless explicitly reviewed and renewed.

The National Security Tariff

The biggest loophole exploited by Trump in his frenzy of new tariffs is the variety of emergency powers granted to the president by Congress over many decades. Some were intended to be used for tariffs, but in much narrower ways than the administration has acted; others stretch existing emergency powers beyond recognition and may be struck down by the courts. The Trump administration has used two core statutes—Section 232 of the 1962 Trade Expansion Act and the 1977 International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA)—in unprecedented ways.

Section 232 was used sparingly for decades following its passage. There were just 26 cases in the half-century before the first Trump administration; nearly two-thirds of the investigations resulted in negative findings that U.S. security was not threatened, and the only two actions ever implemented involved oil embargos against Iran and Libya. But under Trump, “national security” has become the umbrella power for most of the new tariffs. He used 232 as the basis for tariffs on steel and aluminum in his first term and for reimposing them in the second. He has added tariffs on automobiles and auto parts, based on a first-term 232 investigation, and has launched new investigations that could lead to tariffs on semiconductors, pharmaceuticals, critical minerals, trucks, lumber, and copper.

Like Section 301, Section 232 has legal investigation, public notice, and public comment requirements. But unlike 301, there is no requirement to seek a negotiated resolution with another country before employing tariffs, and there are few constraints on the president’s ability to claim a national security threat. In the auto investigation, for example, the Trump administration found that auto imports threatened national security under the incredibly expansive claim that imports were causing a “weakening of our internal economy [that] may impair the national security.” Finding the national security threat from lumber imports will require even more creativity.

IEEPA is even broader; it gives power specifically to the president to declare an emergency in the event of an “unusual and extraordinary threat” from outside the United States. Historically, the authority has been used against enemies of the United States, primarily to authorize sanctions; it has never before been used to impose tariffs against most of the world, as Trump has done. But President Richard Nixon used a precursor to IEEPA—the 1917 Trading with the Enemy Act (TWEA)—to impose a 10 percent tariff on most trading partners in 1971; the courts upheld Nixon’s use of the authority as part of the TWEA power to “regulate” imports.

The Trump administration now faces four lawsuits on the use of IEEPA for tariffs, most recently from the state of California. The legal debates will hinge on how broadly the courts interpret presidential powers to declare such emergencies, and whether the use of tariffs reads powers into the IEEPA that were not explicitly granted by Congress. The emergency basis for the April 2 reciprocal tariffs, for example, is the “large and persistent” trade deficit; this may be seen by the courts as a weak claim of an “unusual and extraordinary threat” given that the United States has run a trade deficit every year for half a century.

Can Congress Fight Back?

Barring a temporary injunction, the court cases will likely take many months or more to resolve, leaving the Trump administration unfettered in its use of tariffs. That leaves Congress as the only branch of the U.S. government with the ability to stop Trump before massive damage is done to the U.S. and global economies.

Congress has both the means and the motives. Tariffs fall so clearly within the legislators’ authority that powers that have been given away can be reclaimed. Republicans are loathe to challenge Trump, of course, but many remain free traders at heart, and growing cries of pain from small businesses, consumers, and other constituents could steel their spines. Many Democrats favor a more or less limited use of tariffs, but they are more than prepared to push back on Trump’s abuses of power.

There are no easy roads, to be sure. The April 2 “reciprocal” tariffs and those on Canada and Mexico may offer the best chance. The IEEPA allows Congress to hold privileged votes to overturn the president’s emergency declaration, although it will be enormously challenging to reach the two-thirds majorities effectively needed to override a presidential veto. House Speaker Mike Johnson has so far moved to block any vote in the House that might embarrass Trump. But expect to see many more efforts out of the Senate that could put mounting pressure on Trump if he continues to escalate the trade war.

Trade is not the politicized, emotional issue that most people expected would lead us to a constitutional showdown over the future of American democracy. But don’t forget that it was tariffs—specifically the onerous levies imposed by the British Parliament on tea shipped to the North American colonies—that helped trigger the American Revolution. And unlike immigration and government spending, where Trump is similarly trampling on the Constitution and congressionally enacted laws, there is enough wariness of tariffs among both parties that members of Congress may not give Trump a free hand for long. As the economic pain begins to rise across the country and Trump’s tariff reality sinks in, we can hope that Congress will be spurred to action. The fate of the republic rests on it.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Forty-One - Love Me Normally

“Impossible choices,” Garrett hummed, still looking down at the tile. “A soldier faced with terrible orders, the only Conduit who could prevent genocide…” They looked up to meet my eyes, stare pointed as they said, “A parent, trying to cure their child.”

9.6 k Words | 40 min - 1 hr read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, unreality, experimentation, child neglect/endangerment, mind...control? poisoning, torture, canon typical violence, erosion typical violence. Angst. Reveals :D

⚠ AUTHOR'S NOTE: the second half of the Garrett chapters and my excitement grows stronger, as now, I get to move on, finally, to what I imagined Erosion to always be—and that's thanks to Garrett and their amazing creator, @neverdewitt. Yet again I have to give credit where credit is due and thank him for the amazing character and the chance to let his OC be the one to pull the wool from Jean's eyes, and force her to stare the beast that is the past in its broken, bloody pupils. Thanks for letting me have Garrett, and again, sorry babes for having you wait this fucking long, love. I adore you!

Also....thank you @inhumanghostlight for the permissions. :) I love you as well!

“Dad!” I called out into the night, the sound bouncing back from the waters and ringing in my ears. No. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. I stood, rushing to the edge of the rooftop and trying to summon my water to help carry me down. Trying being the keyword.

But it never came.

And I couldn’t stop.

My feet skittered against the concrete of the rooftop, failing to find traction and instead making me slip, falling flat on my back and hitting my head against the hard floor. My legs flew past the edge and went further still, not giving me the grace of letting me get the stars out of my vision before the momentum dragged me off.

I shot out a hand and barely managed to grab the edge of the rooftop, slamming against the side as I held on for dear life. I choked, the hit knocking the wind out of me—but I couldn’t let go. I wasn’t enthused at the idea of plummeting 5 stories without my powers.

Hissing, I blinked back the tears from my pain, swinging my body to get my other hand to the ledge and try to pull myself up. But just as my hand came up, a black converse settled in the place I planned to grapple.

“Shit—“ I gasped; with nowhere to grab and no way to stop my momentum, I teetered hard, fingers on the hand that was holding me up beginning to slip. I wasn’t sure what Garrett was putting me through right now, but I knew I could feel. I knew pain was possible. And that drop was going to hurt a lot.

My fingers kept sliding, and I couldn’t find the advantage to get my other hand back up no matter how hard I tried. In fact, all thrashing around did was make me lose my grip further. I glanced up at whoever blocked me from grabbing the ledge with a scowl, blood freezing when I saw they were staring right back at me—and that wasn’t Garrett. Red pleated skirt, almost like the school uniform Linus Pauling used to make us wear before getting rid of the requirement. Ablazer, black hair pulled back into an immaculate bun and…a mask. A pure white, geometric mask of a rabbit.

I grunted, trying to keep a hold of the ledge as she just stared down at me. “Who—” I cut off, the weight of my entire body now on three fingers. “Who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, the words came with another breeze, their airy tone familiar. “Mother’s favorite child,” Garrett’s voice whispered in the back of my mind.

I didn’t have time to mull over the words—I felt the knuckles of my last three fingers sliding, and I choked out “Help me,” to the girl, who just stayed glaring down at me. “Help me!”

She didn’t. She watched the breeze take me, not even flinching when I screamed as I fell.

There’s this strange dilation that comes with freefalling; it felt like time both sped up and slowed down all at once. Everything became so concentrated until the blood pounding in my head roared in my ears like a seastorm, and all I could hear were the war drums of my own heart rate.

I should have known it was too loud to just be some internal beat.

The fall was far shorter than it should have been, and I wasn’t at all where I should have been; I didn’t meet the dock nor sidewalk, but concrete, slamming so hard into the epoxy coating on top that I half-expected it to crack under me. I writhed in pain as my spine lit up, taking a moment to blink through the tears and will oxygen back into my lungs as I registered that I was, once again, surrounded by concrete.

And that steady beeping became prolonged and harsh as it hit a crescendo, holding its last note.

I propped myself up on my elbows, looking around; this…I think it was Curdun? To be fair, I didn’t know enough about Curdun to safely say so—but the dark concrete on all four walls, the ceiling and floor suggested as much. But this wasn’t like that cell from before, not at all. Everything was too pristine.

I shifted to my stomach, trying to push myself up off the ground as the steady note stopped, some sort of doctor fiddling with a machine in the room. He was staring down at a body strapped to a metal table with disappointment on his face, like he was more inconvenienced that this person just died on his table instead of the horrifying fact that they just died on his table. I shakily got to my feet in time to see the doctor pull EKG pads off of the Conduit’s chest, his pale skin adorned with red blood oozing from every orifice in his face and dripping back into his stark white hair. He was riddled with holes and gaps, tubing being pulled from him one by one as the doctor scowled down at the patient.

The test subject.

I heard of testing done in Curdun Cay long before I knew Dad was Delsin. Everyone did. It was one of those blemishes the history teachers would breeze over in class and you’d have to learn after seeing a survivor’s interview on television or some post on social media. I learned about it from a Wikipedia rabbit hole when writing a report on Delsin Rowe’s tag art and importance of civilian empowerment. Before then, I hadn’t known more than them being locked up. Even then, it was something disconnected from reality, or it at least felt like it.

There was something different in seeing the doctor rip a catheter out of this man’s veins like it was nothing, meant nothing. Like deboning a chicken.

“Shame.” A voice behind me said, making me spin in place. Augustine stood  mere inches away in her classic Director uniform, staring through me at the corpse in disappointment. “I had hoped it would work this time.”

Being in front of her, so close to her, felt unnerving; every fiber in my being was telling me to attack first or suffer the consequences, and I would have had water already surrounding my hands if that was even a viable option here in…whatever this mental charade was. But she didn’t acknowledge how I bristled in place, how I backed up until I leaned against the same table the corpse was on—she acted like I wasn’t there. I guess, in some way, I wasn’t. If this was a memory, I was a spectre—like I was Ebenezer Scrooge and this was my fucked up A Christmas Carol.

It didn’t keep me from scooting sideways and away from her glare, though.

As I did, I realized Augustine wasn’t alone; just off to her right and three steps behind her, Garrett stood, just a year or two older than the last memory with them in it. Their hair was longer and the ends were colored in pink that stank of permanent marker, the closest they could get to a salon. They only glanced at the corpse before screwing their eyes shut and looking away, turning their head my way as their free hands clenched into fists at their sides.

 The one closest to me, though, reminded me of Mei; short black hair cropped just before it could touch the shoulder, high cheekbones that made her monolid eyes defined and deep. She looked down at the body of the young man with her head cocked to the side, face curious. Her hands were free as well and constantly moving, playing with her fingers as she stared on.

“Initial signs were promising,” the doctor said, looking at Augustine. She was nearly 6 inches taller than him and seemed even more so, with the way he withered under her critical gaze as he delivered the news. “The device was implanted successfully, and initially was suppressing the subject's powers within expected parameters—however, prolonged exposure to the inhibitor was deleterious to the Conduit’s condition. The body began to experience threatened homeostasis, which made its HPA axis respond. Lack of power expression makes the Conduit gene continue trying to develop rayacitin, which in turn is prohibited by the device. The extreme stress caused hemorrhaging and cardiac arrest in this subject, which—with our direction to not intervene to see the device’s effects on the Conduit’s physiology…”

The doctor motioned uselessly at the dead body, like that was enough to excuse killing someone in the name of science.

Augustine looked displeased. “That’s unfortunate. I trust I don’t have to stress to you how much is riding on the results of these trials, correct?” She asked the doctor, eyebrow raising on an otherwise cold face.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, Director, I’m aware—but I need you to grasp the gravity of the situation: attempting to ‘switch off’ the Conduit’s powers is like playing with the delicate balance of their entire body. It's not just about controlling abilities; there's a real risk of their entire body breaking down. No Conduit can survive long-term with this device even if we adjust the model’s RFI abilities.”

“She knew the risks then. Before.” Garrett hummed in their youthful body, standing still behind Augustine with their hands still clenched into fists as their eyes raised to meet mine. “There was no real way to disable a Conduit’s abilities without pain.”

“Without results, I'll lose everything I've built here.” Augustine hissed. “There’s too much pressure from above to find a long-term solution to Conduits. I lose funding and the government takes over, all because you can't do what I need you to.”

Solution to Conduits?

“I know,” The doctor promised. “But Dr. Wolfe’s preliminary notes are rudimentary at best. We’re having to build more on his assumption that a Conduit’s power can be controlled via manipulation to the corpus callosum, but this is a science we simply don’t have access to. There’s no possible way to exploit the channel without having severe effects on the subject.”

Augustine took a step forward. “I didn’t ask about impossibility. I am not scrubbing DUP files and handing you Conduits just for you to tell me you cannot commit to the challenge, Bennet. This implant is the only reason we haven’t heard calls from the defense branch to defund Curdun Cay. Without results, we’ll lose everything we have here and these Conduits will be left in the hands of the military.”

“She was trying to figure out a way to get rid of Conduits?” I asked, looking over at Garrett. RFI abilities in an implant? It sounded like she was trying to cure them of their abilities, or whatever she considered curing.

They sighed. “She was trying to find a way to make Conduits safe enough for other humans’ comfort. To find them a freedom the government wasn’t willing to hand over loosely. But,” Garrett drew off, stepping out of place in formation behind Augustine and turning to another table on the opposite wall. They walked across the floor and hopped up to sit on the metal, crossing their ankles. “Mother had another motivation.”

The room got brighter, the sudden shine making my head throb yet again, and I cringed, screwing my eyes shut. Was that all outside stimulus making my head hurt, or was that Garrett playing with my brain matter?

Guess it really didn’t matter either way.

What did matter is by the time the pain subsided and I could open my eyes without cringing, the entire room had changed save for Garrett; the girl with black hair was gone, the guy with white hair no longer laid out on the other table and the doctor, Bennet, no longer hanging over him. Garrett was a little bigger now, hair just past their shoulders and tucked behind their ears as they stared blankly at the floor, face a controlled, blank canvas. There was a new doctor at the end of the table, conversing with a much-less stoic Augustine.

“—trace aggregated forms of alpha-synuclein. It’s practically unheard of in someone of Jorrer’s age, but with the family’s history of degenerative brain diseases, there’s cause for concern—”

“If it’s not common in their age, then what is causing the issue?” Augustine said tersely, the last few words punctuated at each syllable. Her hand was on Garrett’s knee, shoulders back and tense, and I swear for a moment I caught a flash of Dad in the same position just an hour ago. A parent trying hard to keep it together as they heard something devastating regarding their child’s health.

The doctor swallowed thickly, nervously stumbling, “We need to consider the possibility that Jorrer’s abilities are having an adverse effect on their cognitive function. We’ve yet to figure out how they drain for their consciousness powers. There’s a chance it’s…taking from their own synapses.”

I couldn’t believe it. “The implant was…was to help you?”

“Impossible choices,” Garrett hummed, still looking down at the tile. “A soldier faced with terrible orders, the only Conduit who could prevent genocide…”

They looked up to meet my eyes, stare pointed as they said, “A parent, trying to cure their child.”

I did not like the comparison there. 

Garrett let me stew in the symmetry between our stories, continuing, “At some point, like all well-timed coincidences, the lines between the two blurred. The truth is, Jeanie—in a world like this, there are no heroes and villains. There never will be. Just impossible choices, and their effects.”

Garrett broke eye contact to instead look at Augustine, a strange sort of forlorn bleeding into their irises. “Her attempt to muzzle me was out of mercy as much as it was fear.” They said, and something in the corner of my eye moved. I spun around as screaming rang in the room, turning to see Augustine’s face go slack as Garrett glared at her, their gazes meeting. Blood began to trickle out of her nose as Garrett moves like they’re trying to sit up, one half of their head shaven and spliced, still bloody from the staples holding the skin together.

“Turn it on, turn the damned thing on and cover their eyes!” The doctor, Bennet, screamed, ripping off his facemask.

“Although, I think in my case, one fed into the other,” Garrett’s voice rang in my head as Augustine’s snapped back, a nurse using a face mask as an impromptu blindfold on Garrett. Augustine fell with the movement, dazed, collapsing on the ground before beginning to convulse as a seizure took hold of her. “The implant was insurance as well as treatment…but you heard the doctor. The hypothetical Wolfe explored in the past wasn’t a long-term solution.”

There was a scuffle behind me and I turned, instinctively raising my hands and waiting for the water that never came. Not that it mattered—the people there didn’t see me. “I don’t understand,” Augustine growled. Garrett was sitting slouched on the table, power cuffs on—and a black blindfold over their eyes. The metal of their cuffs chimed slightly with every small kick of their leg as they sat. “What do you mean the implant is failing?”

Bennet scowled, showing Augustine the screen of his small laptop. “It seems their powers go beyond mental. The device is showing degradation akin to someone who’s had an implant for decades. Attachment to the Substantia Nigra is nearly severed. With this sort of damage, it explains why the minuscule access they had to their powers has been augmented.”

“Augmented is an understatement,” Augustine hissed, “They managed to get three guards to kill each other.”

“The first time my mother tried to restrain me didn’t last,” Garrett uttered, head still hung. “Halfway through the second year, I’d managed to fix what she tried to break. I had nearly freed myself. Though…” Garrett trailed off, inhaling deep, “Not without paying a price.”

“The implant’s degradation may also be causing their worsening condition,” Bennet added. “Disruption of dopaminergic modulation is known to cause an increase in symptoms like theirs—the tremors, the seizures. Director, I’m advising immediate removal. We need to perform a thorough examination to figure out when exactly it stopped suppressing their powers, and why.”

Augustine looked displeased—and yet a hand reached out to run through Garrett’s hair. “Their disease worsens the more they use their power,” Augustine pointed out, sounding tense. Worried.

Bennet rolled his eyes as Augustine looked at Garrett, but tried to appear sympathetic when she glanced back up. “I’m aware.” He said. “But they’ll get worse if it stays in.”

“Impossible choices.” Garrett hummed yet again. Augustine’s hand left their hair and hovered by their blindfold for a moment before falling to her side. “Her attempt at mercy did nothing but make me worse. In some strange way, I like to imagine she carried guilt over her actions. That perhaps this was her sign that it wasn’t to be. That meddling with nature like this would cause more harm than good.”

Garrett’s head rose and turned towards me, seemingly able to see me through the blindfold. “She didn’t listen. Especially when the universe gave her the perfect opportunity.”

There was a loud and terrible grinding noise and fissures began to spread in the wall to my left, rocks clattering to the ground as the crevice extended, chipping away at the walls of Curdun Cay to reveal a hidden gem; the sight of Mount Rainier and the Seattle skyline outside of the clerestory window was just on the other side of a glass wall meeting room, the sort of ones that were in fancy office buildings where passerby could peek in as people gestured to the projector's images without disturbing the meeting. The concrete wall continued to collapse until there was a space large enough for me to climb through, and I glanced back to see if Garrett wanted me to go on when I realized I was alone in the room now.

Well. There really was nowhere else to go.

I moved over the concrete on the floor and up to the hole, ducking and stepping through the proverbial looking glass to whatever waited for me on the other side. The standstill of the office seemed to switch on from its frozen point; rain began to patter against the window to the meeting room, blurring the blue bruised sky of the settling nightfall. 

I stepped into the office and the motion sensor lights immediately flickered on, the bright buzzing from the fluorescent lighting searing my eyes. That’s all it needed to force the rest of the scene to change as everything in my mind pulled together, the pulsing of my throbbing head the worst one yet. God, it felt like something in there was going to burst. I audibly groaned, pressing my hands into my temples to try and counteract the migraine, pushing against the swell in my mind as I doubled over. My nose began to run, and nothing I did to sniff it back worked. It was only after the worst of the pain began to ebb away and I wiped it that I realized it was blood.

“We’re running out of time,” Garrett’s voice whispered in the back of my mind, making me shiver.

“—here in Seattle will ensure the DUP will be funded for the foreseeable future.” Augustine’s voice said. I rose from my place, looking around the room; the walls on either side, the same ones I could have sworn were empty seconds ago, were now covered in notes, print-outs and stickies and printer paper covered in sharpie all mapped out like a conspiracy theorists’ daydream, tied together with that same red string. Pictures, all things I knew. Some of things I had seen before; DUP memorandums, surveillance photos of people who definitely did not know the photographer was there. There was one that was more pink than anything else, Mom forming from the neon streaks to kick a drug dealer in the chest. The image shifted, warped around a bit with that shimmering magic of Garrett’s power until it was Mom in DUP pants and a white shirt, brown hair tied back as she positioned the same way over Garrett to try and strike them down. “This will allow me to expand our facilities abroad. We have made excellent headway on establishing a permanent science facility in Australia.” Augustine continued, her voice coming from somewhere behind me.

I tried to turn my head and found that…I couldn’t. I willed it to, tried to tense my muscles—but nothing happened. A bubble of panic rose in my chest as I heard the footfalls of Augustine’s steps behind me and yet my body wouldn’t fucking move. Everything about this suddenly made me feel like I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to do a thing as the monster approached and I was trapped in my body.

“The work we’ve already done there using Dr. Sebastian Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit are, well, awe inspiring. Even to me.” Augustine hummed into one hand as the other settled on my shoulder. Electricity shot up my spine that my body refused to heed, the flinch inside not translating to my stature as Augustine sighed, moving to stand beside me. She lowered her other hand from her mouth, pressing a small red button on the device in it before looking at the board. Half of me wanted to run, dash away from this memory or vision or whatever the hell it was Garrett was doing…but there was another half that was overpowering that one that felt content. Calmed by Augustine’s touch.

“With Delsin Rowe taken care of, and this newfound discovery, we have everything we need for restoring the DUP to its full power.” Augustine hummed.

Unassured. That’s how I felt, or some part of me did, at least. My mouth opened without my consent, the words forced through my throat not sounding like mine at all. “You’re sure he’s gone?”

That wasn’t Garrett’s voice, either. Whose head was I in?

“He fell with the rest of the island in Elliot Bay, and hasn’t been seen since.” Augustine said reassuringly. “He’s no longer going to be a thorn in our side.”

My head lowered, the feeling registering two seconds after the movement was already happening for me, like my brain was rushing to catch up to whatever my body was doing. Those hands crossed at my abdomen weren’t mine. This body wasn’t mine.

But it was hard to repress everything I felt when I was in it. Every sensation, every thought. I was slowly losing me the longer I marinated in this person’s mind, and it became we with a stipulation that I was in the passenger’s seat, nothing more than a witness.

“Dr. Mathis has been able to confirm the status of the Conduit.” Augustine continued. Her hand came up to play with the hair of whatever body I was trapped in, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “The ability to negate another’s powers’ effects. Merely being around a Conduit is enough to weaken their influence.”

My head raised as Augustine’s hand fell, a conscious effort going into correcting the posture of the body I was trapped in. “What are his attacks like?”

Augustine inhaled deeply. “Seems there are none. No physical ones, at least. His power extends to his being, and what he can touch. Nothing more.”

That doesn’t mean much of anything, I found myself thinking. Unsure whose thought it was as we melted into one. We didn’t voice that, though. “That’s a strong ability…” we drew off instead, leaving the end free floating and loose. Allowing Augustine to fill in the space, choose the narrative—as she always did.

She agreed, at least. “Which is why I’m giving approval for the detainee to be sent to our research facility in Purcell. If we can find a way to harness that ability? The DUP would never fall. We’d be a necessity for every government in the world to control their Conduit populations.”

Control. How we hated that word. “But the Conduit has no attacks—”

“Yet.” Augustine stressed. Her voice was sure enough to force us to look at her; she looked tired, a slice in her eyebrow healing steadily as we met her eyes. “I authorized compatibility testing to find a viable source to channel his power.”

Giving the Conduit attacks. Two powers. Not many were lucky enough to be given such a generous gift. “And if they find one?” We asked, looking up at Augustine. “What then?”

“Then the world knows nothing about this Conduit, and only sees results.” Augustine’s tone was set. Serious. Unwavering. “With no knowledge of how, they’ll be forced to accept our why. Why they need us, why the DUP cannot be unfunded.”

“You plan on using the ability on other Conduits.”

We weren’t asking. We were sure.

Augustine sighed. “It’s a necessity—”

Liar.

“A human would allow a wild animal into its home if it were defanged—”

Traitor.

“And it would be a stepping stone to ensure our kind’s safety.”

Our silence. Our extinction. They’d never be satisfied.

Our face stayed stoic as the angry thoughts rampaged through our head, screaming about how this was less fighting back and more complacency. Giving up our rights, our beings, to placate people who meant nothing. And eventually, those thoughts spilled over, and we spoke out of turn. “We’ve seen how dangerous suppressing a Conduit’s powers is. How can you be sure it wouldn’t lead to more instances like Jorrer?”

Augustine immediately bristled. “Do not mention them,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She never liked when anyone brought up her failures, and this was the brightest splashing of red in her ledger by far because of how deep the shortcomings ran.

We hung our head, staring down at our black and white shoes. Properly acted remorseful. “I’m sorry,” our lips uttered, holding the apology in the air like an offering. Waiting for her to take it.

Augustine’s exhale was shaky. “If this Conduit is able to give us a way to deactivate others without adverse side effects, then Garrett will be free from their burdens. So many others will be, too. This is vital to regaining control of the narrative. Giving the government proof that we have such capability now will buy us time.”

It would do more than that. It would lay down expectancies. Conduits would have to be disconnected from their abilities to gain a semblance of rights. To exist beyond four walls made of double-paned and bulletproof glass. There would be nothing beyond the announcement but the choice of imprisonment or inactivity, forced to mold into the ideal person, human, in order to earn the right to be alive. A right snuffed out. A gift thrown away.

“If we can find a physical element to match the ability,” Augustine continued, taking our seething silence as a cue to add to the conversation, “Garrett’s implant may hold merit. The aura of this Conduit is enough to mitigate abilities. Perhaps storing a piece of him in every Conduit would be enough to weaken their abilities.”

Every Conduit.

And we wouldn’t be spared.

Every second that passed without a response forced more tension into the room, against the dewy glass and the pinboard until something else, something louder, sliced through it: sirens. APC sirens that echoed loudly through the silence of curfewed Seattle, dozens of them. Augustine’s head snapped towards the foggy window as the siren sang its song, drawing her away from the conversation.

She wasn’t even three steps away before new footfalls echoed; the heavy stomps of boots. That familiar sound that would be followed by cuffs and commands and constraints. “Director,” The voice greeted. Augustine spun around to look at the DUP Soldier. “Rowe’s been spotted. He’s making his way through the north island and was last seen in Paramount.”

“What?” Augustine hissed. We turned to look at her, and caught the end of the glare she threw around the room before facing the soldier fully. “It’s been hours since he was last seen. That’s impossible.”

“We think he’s following Daughtry to the Marina,” the soldier continued.

Augustine inhaled deeply, clenching her fists. “Alright. Thank you,” she eventually growled, anything but thankful.

The soldier nodded and left, Augustine moving to the meeting table and leaning her palms against its flat surface, hanging her head. Her shoulders sagged, then tensed, and then she straightened, turning slowly to look at us. “I want you to track Rowe. See where he goes, what he does.”

“Do you want me to engage with him?” We asked, head tilting slightly.

“No.” Augustine interrupted before the sentence was fully out of our mouth. “Rowe is still a danger, and I don’t want to put you in his crosshairs.” She fixed the buttons on her jacket, trying to force her hands to still before looking back up at us, face softening.

Taking a step forward, her hand left her jacket to settle on our shoulder, squeezing it gently. A rush of discomfort blossomed from the touch as our mind ran a million miles a minute. “I need you to stay safe,” she reassured us. “We both know Rowe’s capabilities, but with his fury, he’ll also be a danger. After what happened in Elliott Bay, he’ll be on the warpath for revenge.”

She released us and stepped away towards the door, and we watched her with narrowing eyes. “Wh–where are you going?” We asked.

Augustine stopped in the doorframe, gripping it. “To prepare. He’s going to want a confrontation. I’m going to give it to him.”

That managed to calm the storm in our mind, everything sputtering to a stop. “What?” We balked. “You’re going to give him the chance to defeat you?”

Something flashed behind Augustine’s stare, and her jaw set. “You assume I’m going to lose to him,” She fumed, turning around to face us fully. “Rowe is a danger, but with this new Conduit? He could be an asset. We both understand what hangs in the balance if he’s allowed to continue.”

“You’ve seen what he can do,” We interjected, taking a step forward. Trying to be insistent towards that piece of her we hoped was still there, if it ever was more than an act. “If he overpowers you—”

“He’s strong in the abilities he’s gained,” Augustine agreed. “He’s not strong in mine.”

She must be joking. “You’re going to let him take your power?”

“You said yourself he’s incompetent as a Conduit with a new ability.” She stressed. “You’ve watched him fight for the most basic abilities. He’s unnatural in his source, and it’s that weakness that we need to exploit. If we can corner him, and use this other Conduit’s ability to control him further, we’d accomplish our mission. We need to create the perfect chance to capture him, he’s too dangerous to keep free.”

The way her shoulders squared, her face steeled, told us all we needed to know; she wasn’t going to change her mind. She was going to structure the ideal confrontation with Rowe, and try to take control of the situation once more. She could sense our hesitation, and added, “Follow him to me. Let me tire him with a fight, let him take my power, and be there as my lieutenant. Help me ensure we will accomplish this.”

We searched her face for a crack, a waver in the idea she’d already constructed in her mind—but she was too far gone. All we could do is nod and watch her rush off without farewells, knowing in our heart it would be the last time we saw her.

We had come to that crossroad the moment Rowe made himself known—and with this new risk, the threat of permanent impairment to placate the masses that would prefer our death, there was too much to lose. We could not idly wait for freedom. We could not win by painting ourselves the villain and inspiring distance. A road continued here would lead to our demise.

We couldn’t follow this path. Not anymore.

Opening an extension. Surpassing the log in requirements to access the DUP’s internal site. Typing in case file codes perfectly and setting their PDFs to download. Waiting until things were transferred to pull out the USB and pocket it, zipping the secrets against our hip like a loaded revolver to use against whatever forces chased for us after Augustine’s inevitable demise.

And just as she did, we turned and left the meeting room, leaving unspoken goodbyes hidden among the conspiracies. 

Every step down the hall echoed back softly on our well-trained light heels, the electricity to the building short-circuiting and plunging the hall into darkness. Thunder rumbled outside, the lightning that followed it illuminating the grout between the tile until it mimicked her concrete, the pores staring back like dozens of judgmental eyes as we abandoned her.

But she was looking for compromise while we needed freedom. And we would only find that by force.

Lightning struck again, the flash illuminating differences in our surroundings; the flooring was now vinyl, lined with a dark baseboard that snaked along with our steps, the hems of our blue scrubs almost black in the darkness. The walls looked different, less bright, and the whispers in the rumbling thunder seemed to grow until they had audible syllables. The sirens of the APC sang in beats until their siren song sank into staccato, the bass rising into even beats that trailed behind every one of our steps.

Lightning never strikes the same place again. A myth proven by centuries of steeples turned to ash and pyres made from the remains of home. It strikes, relentlessly, leaving markings like blooming scars in its wake. But do the bolts truly strike the same spot twice, if those very atoms are irrevocably changed by their first meeting?

Perhaps it was their first interaction with us all those years ago that caused our disillusionment. It felt fitting to come say goodbye.

The last flash of lightning stayed, the brightness temporarily blinding us as it stayed in the hall, shocking the rest of our surroundings to life as we walked down the melancholic halls. Past the nurses station, past the pictures up of patients and their nurses, praises of their care plastered against the hospital walls. The sterile smell of disinfectant and latex-free gloves made our skin itch, and the beeping of monitors was enough to make us want to rip out our cochlea as we briskly walked down the hall to their room. 

The sign on the door got a precursory glance, a warning we were all too used to—don’t peer into Medusa’s gaze or you’ll meet a fate worse than being turned to stone. We glanced back to ensure our lonesome before opening the door and slipping through it, ensuring it latched silently behind us. 

We didn’t raise our eyes—we learned our lesson last time, when the Dream Eater forced us to confront them on a stage they had power in. Our eyes stayed pointed down, hands rising into our vision as the edges of our palms vibrated, like the epidermis itself was trying to separate from the rest of our skeleton. And in a way, it did; our pale skin got paler, shreddings of it shaking off in large layers and fluttering around our wrists like birds dancing in murmuration before coming to conjoin where we directed, folding against each other into a masterpiece. Sharp corners and pristine edges that bent into cheekbones and tall ears, the mask a welcome sight after years of the persona hiding in its burrow. 

But there was no need to hide anymore, now that our plan was finally coming to fruition. 

We fixed the mask to our face before lifting our head to see Dream Eater resting in their bed, face blanked and empty as they stared off towards the window. Was this truly what they amounted to, in the end of it all? A shadow of everything they could have been, something barely even remarkable now? 

A shame. Baku would have made a formidable partner, if fate had written our stories differently. 

But they were a victim to Purotekutā and the lengths she would go to sell a thousand souls for her own goals, molding others into the cobblestone beneath her feet in order to take another step towards what she wanted. Forcing everyone but herself to sacrifice. 

We moved closer, footsteps calling back in echo despite how lightly we tread. They made no move to flinch, to even look in our direction, but ever so slightly their brow twitched, drawing closer as we paused next to their bedside. A part of them, possibly deep within their core, knew of our presence. 

“Hello, Baku,” We greeted. They’d grown to look more like her in their age—lines of stress cracking across their face like it had in Purotekutā’s hardened façade, their hair showed proof of relation now that they couldn’t dye it in protest of being the apple that did not fall far from the tree. We found our place in the chair at their bedside. “It’s been a long time.” 

We paused for a moment, searching Baku’s face for some kind of recognition, proof that they were still there, in some way. We didn’t receive it from their direct recognition, but by their brow twitching, the slight acknowledgement that they were processing something. Did they do the same studious glare she did, when they were still cognitive? Did their brow come together just enough to make an Eiffel Tower-shaped wrinkle reach up from the bottom of their forehead to the heavens? 

“I always wondered what became of you, in the end. For a while, I had watched before giving you the privacy you deserved,” We admitted to them, watching as their hand flexed and unflexed, like they were testing that they still had control over the appendage. We had seen them in those fleeting moments of mollified life between the point where her reign ended and the disease’s reign began, where the remains of everything before forced Garrett to grapple with the person they’d become, and the memories of who they were. Truthfully, there was no moment of peace for any of us, even long after the dust settled. “We all had things we were healing from—scars that were still rough and raw.”

We looked around the hospital room, adding, “Though, in your case, I suppose they’re still gaping.”

Our eyes scanned the room corner to corner, taking in the additions to the sterile white that made it feel liveable. Blush pinks and lush greens coming together to drown out the memories this smell brought them. Us. Anyone who had grabbed Purotekutā’s interest. 

Purotekutā. “I envied you, you know.” We hummed soft, like we were sharing a secret that could damn us. “Long ago, when I was still an ignorant child. First it was simply because of your relation. Though, later, I learned how little any of that meant to her—she wasn’t looking for a progeny, she was looking for a companion, she was looking for a spear. For something that would help her achieve her goals.” Our tone became bitter and dark as we thought about every bit of falsity that made us hope that somewhere, we would find love. That helped us play right into Augustine’s hands as she manipulated that yearn for family. 

We inhaled deeply, shaking our head. “You realized that far sooner than I did, and in my ignorance, I thought you were a fool. She called for you first, compared my actions to you. I truly thought you were throwing away your one chance to stand beside our mother and make her proud.” 

Baku’s hand clenched into a fist at that, the white knuckles far paler than we’d ever seen before. They had become a shell of themself because of what Purotekutā did to them. A shame, truly. 

Our hand snaked up from our lap, hovering over theirs for just a moment before taking it, trying to ignore how papery their skin felt against ours. “In a way, I have you to thank for showing me the truth,” we said sincerely, hoping they understood how deeply our thanks ran at their interference. Without the seed of doubt they had planted in us, we would have never blossomed into what we were now. “It was only because of you that I learned to take off those rose-colored glasses and see Purotekutā for who she really was—a coward. Bowing to the whims of the humans to placate them enough to allow us to live.” 

We hesitated, the flash of a strong nose and harsh gaze entered our mind. Our favorite plaything. “Well, you…and Fukushū.” 

Fukushū…our doubt was sewn deep by Baku’s warning, but it was Fukushū’s intervention that made that seed grow into more. Helped us realize life could not continue the way it had those seven years, if we ever hoped for more than morsels of understanding from those that weren’t like us. 

We moved, laid another hand over Baku’s until we were cupping their hand gently, like perhaps one with mercy would a baby bird. “I realized, a long time ago, that Conduits will always somehow be at fault for a life they didn’t choose. We will never know peace, will always have to pay for the circumstances we were a product of so long as they have a say. The humans, those people that see us as pests to be exterminated.

“I had hoped that these past few years would show promise.” We said mournfully, the sadness in our voice tinged with anger as we thought of how volatile the world was against Conduits still, all these years later. “That the world would’ve let go of theater hatred and allowed us to live as we are. I hoped I was wrong in my fears and that I was just carrying the remains of Purotekutā’s anger with me, what she raised me with. But I’ve come to see that Purotekutā was right. Nothing’s going to change if left to the humans. Nothing that will actually benefit Conduits—and it’s time to stop relying on hopes. Dreams. Fallacies.” 

Baku moved, shifted like they wanted to react, to say something that they couldn’t, being trapped in themselves as they were. A pang of pity shot through us and we gently patted their hand before releasing them, averting our sad gaze from their face and out of the window on the other side of the room—they would hate to have that pity concentrated on them, they always did. We instead moved to look at the sunset-illuminated skyline of this unfamiliar city from the windows, finding envy in the dozens of people below that simply meandered about their daily life like it was the easiest thing to do. Like there were not pressing issues at hand that needed their constant attention. 

But the likelihood was that they didn’t care. That no one did. “We can’t keep waiting for the world to decide when we’re allowed to live,” we said, our voice low as we shared our sentiments with a sibling who couldn’t respond, gripping the windowsill in an effort to contain our rage. “We cannot keep letting them decide how we’re allowed to live. Badges and borders and branding the entirety of our kind for a sin they didn’t commit, forcing them to carry the blame for a single man.”

Our gaze fell from the busy streets to the windowsill, to the various succulents and knickknacks that cluttered the space in an effort to cover up the sterile simplicity of being victim to fates worse than death. We reached out, gingerly taking the well-loved and very worn toy fox from its place, holding it gently in our hands. “I don’t think any of us will escape this world blameless,” we hummed, thumb running over the orb of the fox’s black eye to clear the fur from its sight. Baku had come to Curdun with this same toy, a token from a life far easier than what they lived now, inherited in some way by the parents that had raised them. “A life is made of wrongs we inherit, and the humans seem intent on bestowing these wrongs to us the moment we show we’re not like them. Maybe Purotekutā was right about one thing—the world needs someone to blame.”

Purotekutā had made herself infamous to the world in an effort to be the shield they bashed their swords against in anger. The point of contention to everyone, a dam to keep from either side spilling over too high for her own liking. But that stronghold came with a price—the cost of our people’s rights, their freedom. Baku was proof of everything she was willing to give up for that aforementioned peace. “I’ve spent the last eighteen years hoping things would change,” we told Baku, carefully replacing the fox in the corner of the windowsill, angling it so its back was basking in the warm sun as we scowled. Eighteen years. Eighteen spent hoping for a fate better than what Purotekutā saw for us, if Conduits were left without someone to intervene. Eighteen years spent preparing, holding our breath with our forefinger on a trigger, waiting to see if we needed to pull it. 

And unfortunately, between the world’s strife and our own, there was no longer a chance to wait. “But time has run out, and so has my patience.” The world had waited too long, and so had we—we had no choice but to move forward now, to put our plans into motion. Years of careful planning and deliberate secrets all amounted to the loaded gun now in our hands, and it was time to pull the trigger. “I’ll become that person for the world to blame, but I can’t stand by and watch our people suffer.” 

We turned to face them fully—they hadn’t shifted much in the time we were away from their bedside, but there was effort to how they were positioned now, like some part of them was yearning to connect in a way that was impossible for them now. We crossed to their bedside once more, grabbing both their hands in ours, surprised by the death grip Baku held us in. Despite it all, they were still a fighter, even as weakened and fragile as they were now. We gave them a squeeze back in the same manner, promise in the grip as two victims, two siblings, connected in a final goodbye. “Once the dominoes begin to fall, it will be too late to stop,” we told them. “In some way, the world will not be going back to how it was. I refuse to allow it to. It’s time we take what we deserve, and show the world it cannot keep pushing us aside. We are the product of eons of evolution, and cannot be ignored any longer.” 

Something on our side buzzed, and we released one of Baku’s hands to reach into the pocket of the scrub set we’d put on to sneak in here undetected, pulling out our phone. Right on time; the clock was closely approaching five in the afternoon on the other side of the country, and progress on our plan was due. 

‘Now we wait’ the message said, in full lowercase. An image followed soon after, a picture of the back of a gutted out van with a picture of her. 

Of me. 

The one way we were sure it would draw him out, so the rest of our plan could begin. 

Holy fuck, that’s me. Back in Portland! When those Russians tried kidnapping me!

Fukushū would stop at nothing to protect those he cared for, we learned as much before. 

That’s me.

“I’m not sure if I believe in any sort of god,” we—they—said, the voice sounding far away now. “But I hope, if there is one, that they can forgive me for what I must do.”

That’s me, that’s me, that’s me. 

This wasn’t me. 

Something in the illusion I was trapped in became harsh, my vision dilating and constricting as the edges became fuzzy like I was no longer recalling  a memory, but a dream. “We’re out of time,” a voice realized in the back of my head, and I wasn’t sure if it was Garrett’s or mine or whoever’s body I was in. The hand holding the phone lowered the device down on the bed, its movement stuttered with the most confusing motion trail that made one hand look like thirty. It hesitated for a moment before raising to place itself close enough to our—their, my, whoever’s—eyes to pull down the mask and set it aside before reaching out to Ba–Garrett, gently cusping their chin. 

And the person lifted Garrett’s head to meet their eyes. 

I wasn’t prepared for the situation to burn as everything rippled like a mirage, or the gross slimy feeling after as the perspective became wholly my own and I was freed from whatever mind I was passenger to. I wasn’t ready for that pain in the back of my head that followed every change Garrett implemented to throb like my mind was going to explode, or for me to suddenly be the one with my back pinned to a bed, Garrett cupping my face. Something about the entire room shook, edges of the room glistening with that magic Garrett could wield as they dematerialized, turning into nothing but burning white and absolute void. The Dream Eater’s kingdom was collapsing. 

They were the Garrett from before, when I first started this rabbit’s hole of a dreamscape—that green silky shirt, hair bright and pink and pulled back. “There’s no time,” Garrett said. They perched over me like a vulture, or maybe the Grim Reaper, eyes wide and wild and worried as they realized they couldn’t tell me more. 

Or that, they shouldn’t have been able to. But it seemed they weren’t going to let that stop them. 

They unceremoniously yanked my face closer, the entire room feeling like it was shaking now as it fell apart. Succulents that sat on the windowsill fell until they burst into glittering nothingness, overtaken by that blinding white as it all inched closer to the bed we were in. Their eyes bore into mine, that diamond blue glint in them multiplying until it felt like it was enveloping the part of my brain that didn’t burn, pushing in on it until everything began to flash. 

Glimpses. Visions. It reminded me a lot of the flashes of everything I could do that hit when Dad accidentally sent the full power of the Core Relay through me, only far less organized and with none of my questions answered. The ruins of a bodega encased in ice, the New Marais air uncharacteristically chill for spring; A burn that felt like being cooked alive, and the soothing balm that spread from between the shoulderblades, staring up at a being far more godlike than anything we were taught. The back of a cell and an extended hand, whispered promises of greatness and righting wrongs. 

A lifetime of flashes from the moment the Beast activated this person played in my mind; the coldness of Curdun, the training. Ruthlessly being pushed to the brink of everything she could do in order to train her to be that weapon Augustine needed. How she stalked Dad, from the moment he entered Seattle. Sleeping in hidden alcoves on the rooftops, trying to help those trapped by the DUP and threatened with being sent to Curdun. A hospital bedside, Aunt Sia bandaged and bruised; a dock just a quarter mile away, hearing his blood-curdling scream as he lost his grip on his brother. A corpse in DUP detainee orange, eyelids gently closed by her hand with a final goodbye and a promise made. That moment in the Sky 6 News tower where a different path was chosen, and Augustine was left to fight alone. 

That’s where the story should have ended. 

But it didn’t. 

My mind burned, felt like it was being stretched and compressed and iced and kindled as everything Garrett wanted to show me was shoved into my frontal cortex at once. A personal thank you to Dad, left behind in a studio apartment that reeked of rotting flesh; the outcrops of Salmon Bay’s shoreline, a house that slowly became a home and an open window that stank of paint as the nursery was built. 

A late and anxious night that bled into an early morning and the return to Seattle; a hospital room, hospital masks and pandemic preventatives, a perfectly obscured face that kept Dad and Mom none the wiser as she slipped into labor and delivery. A vial just like the one I nearly dropped at Garrett’s bedside and another of blood, one traded for the other. A large machine that pulsed with the power of a thousand reactors, and the all-enveloping feeling of a hand too small to fit in her own. The warehouse we rendezvous with kingpins, offering something better than drugs. Revenge. A man seeking her out for the same purpose. Glimpses of the sins she witnessed and the efforts it took to get to this point, years of planning that led to this precipice, all to the image of me in the back of a van. 

She did this. The rabbit face-masked one, she did this. Everything! My kidnapping, Mom’s death, her illness. 

That white around the room grew as I was suddenly shot back into my own consciousness, Garrett’s eyes meeting mine. I’m sure I looked feral in their grip, but their stare was steeled as they slowly nodded, like they were finally satisfied with me knowing everything I did. That white overtook their silhouette and my vision burned like I was staring at the sun, chest hollowing out in a gasping pain as it felt like I was kicked in the sternum, pushed out of wherever Garrett had me.

“Jean! Can you hear me?”

Unfortunately, I could.

Everything was too loud, too bright. My head throbbed so hard I was sure other people could see its pulsing and the first thing I did when I came to was gag before having to hold back a nice stream of bile. Someone yanked me back by my shoulders and I fell on my ass. I felt disgusting, lightheaded and somehow full of lead. I tried to speak, to tell someone, anyone, of what I just saw, but I couldn’t speak. Something between my brain and my mouth failed, like I was here and yet, once again, a passenger in my own mind. My vision was tinged pink and could barely focus on anything beyond it, and when I tried to wipe away, I saw my hands came back crimson. “God, that’s a lot of blood,” Dad muttered, his own hands going to wipe my eyes. He moved in front of me and crouched low, trying to force eye contact and holding me hard by the shoulders. “Jean, are you okay?”

“I covered their eyes!” Aunt Sia called from somewhere off to the side.

“What the hell just happened?” Brent demanded behind me.

Tell them what you saw, their voice still rang in the back of my mind. I flinched, feeling like they were permanently impressed in the centerfold of my brain and I would never be rid of their touch—especially as I moved despite how leaded I felt, heeding their command. 

I let the directions guide me, thankful I didn’t have to put nearly as much thought into the movements as I usually would have as I laid my hand against the ground, water sluggishly crawling down my arm as I pressed my blood-stained palm to the white floor. The two mixed, droplets taking on the red until it lightened, the rinse draining away the blood and using it as ink. I could barely recall how to use my powers, and for a moment, the slick blood stayed a sad puddle before it started to shift, separating into lines.

The color drained in places, strengthened in others, building and bending into sharp lines and deep crevices until it took the form of that rabbit mask and I felt Dad’s grip on me tighten. “Jean,” he said, voice tense, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My head lifted, lolling slightly on my neck as I met Dad’s eyes. Something in me, the thing tugging deep on the puppet strings that were my muscles and made me move without input plastered a weak smile on my face, the blood from my eyes and nose dribbling into my gums. “Celia, Delsin. Don’t you wonder where she went after it all? Are you so dense in your age you don’t remember her? Find her. She has the key you seek, the person behind the curtain. Trust your friends, trust your children. There’s no time left to dawdle. We face the end.” 

The words ripped through my throat without my permission, something in my mind squeezing as they were spoken, like my ability to speak was choked out of both my mouth and my cerebrum. The laugh that followed was sardonic and crude, the sort a villain gives up before they keeled over. 

Which, I promptly did, as soon as the imprint of Garrett released my head, the sudden lack of a death grip on my mind making it spin. Lights got 80 times brighter, everything sorta shifted like it was a mirage atop water, and the floor rushed up to meet me as I blacked out.

Want more from Doot? Go read more about how he tortures Garrett in All's Well That Ends:

Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim...and child of Brooke Augustine

Told through memories of what was and wishes of what could have been, read through the out-of-order retelling of Garrett's experiences and how life led to this moment...and how it ends. Now with every Erosion chapter added!

I'd also like to take a moment to point you towards something a good friend of mine, @infamoussparks, made. You may remember her as the creator of Dr. Hutch from two chapters ago: 

Dissipate

Dying is a heavy burden to carry but Fetch is doing her best to balance her fate while spending time with her new family. Acceptance is hard in the dead of night but it's also the best time to shine as bright as neon.

A tender moment from Fetch Walker as she grapples with the fate of her illness, and the small children she will never get to see grow old. It genuinely had me sobbing when I first read it. It's heart wrenchingly evil.

I love it.

[tmarshconnors]

History Repeats Itself

History has a cruel way of repeating itself, especially when those in power refuse to learn from the past. Sir Keir Starmer’s recent suggestion that British troops could be sent to Ukraine without a parliamentary vote is not just reckless it’s a direct betrayal of the democratic principles we hold dear. It echoes one of the most infamous moments in modern British history: the Iraq War debacle of 2003.

A War the People Never Wanted

Back in February 2003, an estimated 1.5 million people marched through the streets of London, voicing their opposition to the impending war in Iraq. This was one of the largest protests in British history, a clear and unequivocal message to the Blair government: “Not in our name.” And yet, despite overwhelming public opposition, Tony Blair took Britain to war alongside the United States. The result? Years of bloodshed, a destabilised Middle East, and the tragic loss of British servicemen and women for a cause that was later exposed as being based on lies.

Fast forward to 2025, and it seems Labour’s leadership has learned nothing. Once again, we see a Labour leader prepared to march Britain towards war this time, in Ukraine without the consent of the people or even Parliament. The sheer arrogance of Starmer’s position should alarm every Briton, regardless of political allegiance.

No Troops, No War—Not in Our Name

Britain has played a supportive role in aiding Ukraine against Russian aggression, providing financial and military assistance. But there is a world of difference between sending weapons and deploying British boots on the ground. The moment a single British soldier steps onto Ukrainian soil in an official capacity, we are no longer just supporting an ally we are at war. This would put our troops in direct confrontation with Russian forces, escalating the conflict in ways that could be catastrophic.

Let’s be absolutely clear: we, the British people, do not want to be dragged into this war. We do not want our troops deployed to a battlefield that is not ours. We do not want another generation of soldiers sent off to die in a conflict that should never have involved us directly. And we certainly do not want a government that ignores the will of its people and bypasses parliamentary debate in matters as grave as war.

Starmer’s Hypocrisy Exposed

Keir Starmer brands himself as a man of integrity, a leader who will restore trust in government after years of Tory mismanagement. Yet, in a move straight out of the Blair playbook, he is now floating the idea of committing Britain to war without the democratic process. This is not leadership it’s authoritarianism dressed up as “decisiveness.”

Had this been a Conservative Prime Minister attempting to bypass Parliament on military intervention, Labour would be screaming bloody murder about the erosion of democracy. But because it’s Starmer, we’re expected to sit quietly and nod along? Not a chance.

Britain First, Not Globalist Interests

The Labour government should be focusing on the crises at home our crumbling economy, failing NHS, uncontrolled immigration, and rising crime. Instead, Starmer is more concerned with playing international hero, bending over backwards to appease NATO and the EU, rather than prioritising British interests. His reckless warmongering only proves one thing: Labour still cannot be trusted with our national security.

We Must Speak Out Before It’s Too Late

If Iraq taught us anything, it’s that public pressure matters. The protests of 2003 did not stop the war, but they exposed the government’s lies and eroded Blair’s credibility forever. We cannot afford to wait until British coffins start coming home from Ukraine before we raise our voices. The time to oppose Starmer’s Ukraine gamble is now.

We must demand that any military deployment requires a full parliamentary vote. We must pressure our MPs to stand up for their constituents. And most importantly, we must remind Labour that Britain is not a pawn on the globalist chessboard.

No war. No troops. Not in our name.

[king--icarus]

OCs as Deities

T'was tagged by @pizzafishandchips to take this quiz to figure out one (or more) of my OC's/OCs' domains! Thank you, kindly for the tag! 🫶

I, of course, opted for Riley & Imogene!

Riley Graves • Infamous

Flora and Fauna

"you’re friendly and a benevolent force to those who respect you and your domain, but a true force to be reckoned with to those who disrespect or threaten the balance of the natural world. the forest is nothing to fear for those who take care of it, but it isn’t uncommon for people to go missing with only their faces outlined in the bark on a tree."

shocked captain kirk [dot] GIF

Okay, for Riley, I had to think about a few things — her tarot card, being The Chariot, but could also be Death, and her enneagram (9w1).

After some consideration, I find her domain to be quite fitting! She seeks to provide for those closest to her, but will also protect them where she can in her own way. Debated on waxing poetic about the symbology between her and how the roots of plants can help deter erosion.

Imogene von Valancius • Rogue Trader

Wisdom & Knowledge

"intelligent and trusted, there is rarely a soul who doesn’t hear and value your voice. you act as a guiding light in an array of situations. calm and wise, you offer the deepest and sincerest insights regarding the world’s problems."

Her selected tarot card was The Magician, but if given the option, it would have been The Hierophant, reserved. Her enneagram (iirc) was 8w9.

Pennywise drinking wine [dot] GIF Of course she would be the one to get Wisdom and Knowledge! 😂

Moose and I had a conversation about what Chaos entity Imogene would fall to, and I said Tzeentch. 🤡 The call is coming from inside the house! 🤡

And, pulling directly from my answer to the question; "I think, if her curiosity and interest in books/knowledge was taken or pushed to an extreme, she'd be far too tempted by the Lord of Change."

While I don't have anyone I'm inclined to tag directy, I shall tag whomever is reading this and wants to see what their OC's domain might be! c:

[stargazingdustbunny]

What sort of things are you interested in, since you asked your mutuals?

A lot of things, history, books, my ocs, environmental science, and more, but one topic that I am passionate about is native and invasive species.

There are so many wonderful native species that are threatened by invaders, and a lot of invasive species make me very angry because of what they do and how they got here.

Like some species (can't remember examples off my head at the moment), we're introduced by colonizers because they were used for food or medicine, and while colonization and the invasive species are deeply problematic, I atleast understand why those plants were introduced.

On the other hand, there are a number of species that make me mad because they were introduced with the intent of helping the environment.

Kudzu vine, also known as mile-a-minute, was recommended and propagated as a solution for soil erosion. Our government LITERALLY PAID PEOPLE TO PLANT IT during the dust bowl. We should have known better by then.

Kudzu vine is one of the most infamously destructive invasive species in the U.S. I've seen where swaths of it have taken over, and it's so sad. And its damage isn't just limited to the environment, it can damage buildings and stuff too.

Autumn olive is an invasive species first introduced as an ornamental plant, and was promoted as a plant to encourage song birds. Guess what plants who produce seeds eaten by birds are very good at. Once again, if you're going to help an environment, use things that belong in that environment!

There are a lot of others with similar stories, but the dumbest invasive species origin story that I know of is starlings. I have no beef with starlings who are in their native habitat, but the ones in the U.S. make me mad. They exist in such numbers that they threaten a lot of native species. They harm livestock, too, because they will dirty the drinking water. There was even one instance in which a mass of starlings caused a plane to crash.

And the reason that this incredibly problematic species is in the U.S. is because of a Shakespeare nerd in the 1800s who had read Shakespeare's references to the bird, and decided to bring some over and release them in the U.S.

Not for practical reasons. Not for misguided environmental practices.

For a literary reference.

I love a good literary reference and commitment to a fandom, but it is absolutely not worth the destruction that starlings have caused.

I've talked about some other invasive species that annoy me on my Belladonna blog, and there are plenty of others that I could talk about. I also care a lot about protecting native species, but I think this post is long enough.

Thanks you for asking!

[focusonarchitecture]

Day 93 — Alcatraz I

Located 2km off the coast of San Francisco the infamous Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary (1934–1963), features a stark, utilitarian architectural style heavily influenced by its function as a maximum-security prison. Alcatraz's architecture is defined by its cold, functional aesthetic, designed to isolate and control. While it has elements of military, Art Deco, and early concrete architecture, its overall feel is one of harshness and decay, reinforcing its reputation as "The Rock."

The harsh marine climate led to constant erosion and decay of structures. Moss, peeling paint, and exposed rebar give Alcatraz a haunting, abandoned look today. It remains ultra sinister and perversely fascinating.

Photo: 2008

[shamandrummer]

Climate-Endangered Tribe Sues Louisiana

By now, you're likely well aware of the climate crisis and its significant dangers to Indigenous communities the world over. The problem is especially magnified on islands and in coastal regions, where sea level rise can wipe away traditional homelands and make climate refugees of those who have been displaced. That's true even right here in the United States, where hundreds of Native communities -- in South Dakota, Alaska, Florida, Hawai'i, Washington, and Louisiana -- face existential threats.

And now, the first community to supposedly be moved from harm's way -- the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation -- is facing a new set of problems. Just before the new year, the tribe filed a landmark civil rights complaint with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) against the state of Louisiana. In 2016, HUD granted Louisiana $48 million in aid to resettle the tribe. But, its complaint asserts, Louisiana failed to properly implement the grant and has ethnically and racially discriminated, violated tribal sovereignty, excluded cultural components central to a proper relocation program, and provided poor replacement housing.

The Jean Charles Choctaw Nation has resided on the Isle de Jean Charles for five generations, since the ancestors of its citizens escaped the Trail of Tears in the early 1830s amid President Andrew Jackson's Indian Removal Act. Its homelands and burial grounds are located in a region facing perpetual devastation and erosion by storms and sea level rise. Since 1955, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation has lost over 98 percent of its lands to the encroaching ocean.

It's also worth noting that the tribe is located in Terrebonne Parish, a region notorious for oil extraction, high pollution rates, and environmental justice violations. The Parish and over 90 percent of its property are largely controlled by non-local fossil fuel and chemical companies. The infamous "Cancer Alley" is just upstream.

By filing its complaint with HUD, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation is looking to the federal agency to investigate the grant-funded resettlement program, currently run by Louisiana's Office of Community Development (OCD). The tribe hopes HUD will order OCD to respect tribal needs and authority as the program's implementation proceeds. The lawsuit is also significant in that, while the tribe has state recognition from Louisiana, it does not have federal recognition, which would extend access to more grants, disaster assistance, and various legal powers -- including constitutional protections and self-governance recognized by the United States.