#infamous erosion

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Nine — The Warm Hands of Ghosts

Everyone was hooked up to tubes, IVs or cannulas hanging from their body as they got the treatment necessary to keep them comfortable.  How long would it be till I was hooked up to wires?

3.6k words | 13-17 min read time | TRIGGER WARNING: Hospital, illness, fuck them OCs, hyp...notism?

⚠️AUTHOR'S NOTE: once again, thank you @lobotomizedlemon for giving me god's greatest disappointment to man. I would kill for Sia. And to @infamoussparks for letting Rosa be Bad News Bear here!

To the other person that's been patiently waiting for this moment for over a year (I checked the PMs! We started talking about this last July!) — I love you.

I thought palliative care meant something for kids, like pediatrics. 

I had no idea it basically meant making people comfortable enough to suffer. 

Now, to be fair, that wasn’t all the wing did; it actually seemed really cozy, in a strange way—or as comfortable as an in-patient hospital wing could be. Stock photographs of nature littered the blank walls between room doors, and the doors that were open revealed blued rooms decorated with white furniture, picture frames of family pinned to the walls and personal belongings all around the room. There was one old lady with a bed covered in fuzzy pink pillows, another had dozens of plants on the windowsill in theirs. Everyone was hooked up to tubes, IVs or cannulas hanging from their body as they got the treatment necessary to keep them comfortable. 

How long would it be till I was hooked up to wires?

I tried to shake the thought out of my head, following Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims deeper into the wing, the both of them tensely silent. Whatever crowds were in front of us parted with Aunt Sia’s stomps and stayed staring at Dad; I know I’d probably do the same, if I saw some woman in a blazer with spikes glued to the shoulder and chains decoratively falling from it leading Delsin Rowe and Eugene Sims down a hall. 

We probably looked like the world’s strangest funeral procession. 

The hall jutted right, and we moved with it, all the way to where the light the windows let in couldn’t reach. The last door on the right had stuff plastered on it, and it took till being right at the door to realize they were warnings. “‘Wear mirror glasses provided upon shift assignment,’” Brent read aloud, staring at the clipart picture of the black ski goggles like they were runes before looking at me, eyebrows raised. 

Dr. Sims reached into his jacket’s pocket to pull out a handful of black disposable glasses, the sort that Reese came to school in after an eye procedure. “Here, put these on,” he instructed, beginning to pass them out. 

Aunt Sia instead pulled a pair of modified steampunk-looking goggles, slipping them over her eyes and then regarding Dad, Brent and I individually. “Listen—keep those on.” She stressed. “I know this Conduit personally. They may seem like they’re not fully there, but that doesn’t make them any less powerful. And, hey—it’s them. They, them.”

“What the hell do you two have me walking into?” Dad tried to joke, looking between the childhood besties. Neither laughed. 

“Let’s get in the room first,” Dr. Sims muttered, trying to position the blackened glasses over his own. I followed their lead, trying to fit the awkwardly flimsy film over my nose before looking up at everyone and nodding, feeling like an idiot. What sort of power did I need to wear glasses against? Maybe this was one of the light Conduits Zeke talked about.

The inside of the room was adorned in pink and green. I think that was the first thing that shocked me—the brightness of the room. The wood and dull blue visitor’s chair was covered by a strawberry quilt freckled in green squares, there were little succulents on the dresser across from the bed. There were long, sheer green scarfs hung over the curtain rods in their own protest against the sterile-hospital white, and an old stuffed fox sat slouched over on the windowsill like it was trying to get the sun to hit a specific spot on its lower back. 

And the bed. It was still a stiff and uncomfortable looking hospital bed, but someone tried making it anything but. A large, fluffy blush pink down comforter was draped over the too-small bed, engulfing the small form that was laid in it. Their arm laid over a green rectangular throw pillow, IV embedded in the hand lying listless on top. They stared off into a corner of the room but it…didn’t look intentional. It didn’t look like much was behind the stare at all. Wires fell from the sleeves of their shirt to the bed around them, the steady thrum of a heartbeat monitor puncturing the silence with its rhythm. 

The red-headed doctor, Hutch, was there, looking closely at the patient’s monitor and only turning when the door was closed. “The nurses aren’t fond of me being here, so we’ll need to be quick.” she said. 

Dr. Sims huffed. “Why not?”

“Considering I usually don’t stray far from pediatrics, they see me as overstepping.” Dr. Hutch responded. 

Aunt Sia wasted no time in closing the gap between her and the patient in the bed, one hand going to hold the one laying on the pillow while the other touched their frayed braid, looking for a hair tie that was no longer there. “Hey, sweet pea,” she hummed softly like a mother at a cradle, fingers brushing knots out of their long reddish brown hair. They barely moved, not acknowledging Aunt Sia with a look or with words. 

Brent, ever so tactful, decided now would be the perfect time to ask, “So what’s wrong with them?”

“Dude!” I hissed.

“What? I’m just asking–”

“I know them.” Dad’s voice was soft as the statement passed his lips. I couldn’t see his eyes, but his brows were knit so close together and furrowed that they started disappearing behind his film glasses. He looked at the back of Aunt Sia’s head, who stopped combing through their hair. “Why does it feel like I know them?”

Aunt Sia sighed, moving her hand away from their hair to gently cup their face, thumb running along their jaw. Another move they didn’t react to. “Garrett, Delsin’s here—remember him?” 

Something shifted in Dad, and his shoulders visibly sagged. “Garrett?” he asked. “That’s Garrett?” 

I glanced at Brent, who was already facing my way with an eyebrow raised. Who was this person? Why did Dad look so shocked, so sad, to see Garrett in that bed?

“I apologize,” Dr. Hutch cautiously chimed in. “But…if you don’t mind…”

She left the question open ended, looking across the bed to Aunt Sia, who nodded after a pause. “You’ve got my permission,” she said, letting her hand fall from Garrett’s face to instead take their hand in both of hers. 

Dr. Hutch reached out, resting her hand on the bare skin of Garrett’s bicep, glancing between where they met and the small vial in her other hand. Why did she ask Aunt Sia if she could examine Garrett? They looked almost the same age. I thought you only needed someone’s permission for hospital stuff if you were still a kid. 

Dr. Hutch’s lips moved silently as she counted to herself, looking between the tube of black tar and the air around Garrett. We stood in tense silence as the seconds passed, Dr. Hutch’s face grew from studious, to sad, to worried before she pocketed the vial and looked at Dad. “May I check Jean one more time?” she asked him. 

It took Dad a moment to force his head to turn away from the bed to look back at me. He motioned forward, a silent beckon to go to the doctor, and I listened, swapping my dominant hand for my left at the last second so she wouldn’t have to worry about my cast. 

Dr. Hutch took my hand, staring straight at me in such an uncomfortable way that I let my eyes fall to the ground, listening to the little puffs of air she let off with every silent count and subconsciously counting with her. She hit ten, and I raised my head to watch her stare at the air around me before clearing her throat, letting go of both Garrett and I. “Dr. Sims, if I may have a moment with you?” She asked, motioning towards the door. He nodded, passing Brent to head out while Dr. Hutch looked between Dad and I. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said genuinely. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say more, but she faltered, instead giving us both a nod before moving around me to leave the room. 

The door closing seemed to activate something in Dad, because he spun around to look at Aunt Sia, and while I couldn’t see his eyes, his jaw was tense. “You didn’t think to warn me about who we were going to see before coming here?” He asked Aunt Sia.

She seemed a bit miffed. “Well, considering you left without telling them goodbye, I just figured you two weren’t all that close.”

Dad immediately bristled. “I didn’t have a choice,” he retorted, eyes aflame. “You know that.”

Brent, deciding to diffuse whatever was about to happen, slightly raised his hand like he was in class, asking without waiting, “So, who exactly is this?” 

Dad glanced back, eyes hesitating on where I stood in the meantime, and seemed to remember we were in the room with him. “They’re…They were a therapist of mine, I guess.” He said. “After your mom…we were hunkered down in Seattle for about two months while the government tried to fight my enrollment into witness protection during the trials. They tried to help me.”

So the person in the bed was his…therapist? 

Dad turned to look at Aunt Sia again, who grabbed the bedside chair to scoot it closer to Garrett. “What happened, though?” 

She sighed. “Curdun happened,” she said at first, as if that explained everything. But then she readjusted, flicking a corner of the quilt off of her leg as it fell with her movement. “They’d been bad for a while. It started maybe a year after you left? They…they tried toughing it out on their own for a while, but it got worse, so much worse. They called me about seven years ago asking if I’d help them. Make sure they were taken care of before this happened.”

“That’s why you left.” Dad realized. Seven years ago, this person asked for her help. Seven years ago, she moved. “You said you were leaving to oversee COLE openings on the east coast.”

“I was.” Aunt Sia said. “But I also needed to be here to help with their care. They needed someone to sign off on documents when they…” she motioned at them in the bed, the unfocused eyes and slack jaw. 

Dad’s head shook, and he almost seemed annoyed at the lack of answers. “This—they have conducrinopathy. Like Jean. What caused that?”

“When they were in Curdun, they were given an implant right—” Aunt Sia raised a hand somewhere near her temple, “—around here. It completely hindered their powers while they were in there, and stayed in after they got out.”

“You can do that?” Brent asked, genuinely shocked. 

“Augustine figured out how.” Aunt Sia responded curtly, tension in her voice. “It may not have worked fully, but it worked well enough. They weren’t able to do anything to the normal degree of their power.”

Dad had slowly begun to shake his head in the middle of Aunt Sia’s sentence, like he didn’t agree with her despite her conviction. “No, that doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Garrett, they—I knew them after Curdun. Their powers were working fine then!” 

“You saw who they were after the implant failed to keep them powerless,” Aunt Sia said softly. “But it did something, and they started getting bad. They…we thought the implant just affected their motor skills for a bit, and then they started forgetting. Seeing things. Eugene was the first to suggest it might be conducrinopathy. We’ve been trying to figure it out since.”

Dad opened his mouth to speak, and was instead immediately interrupted by Dr. Sims reentering the room, followed by a snow-covered and eyeglass-wearing Zeke. Dad’s mood immediately shifted, something Zeke could sense as well as he went on the offensive. “We’ve got news vans pulling up right now,”

“What?” Dad hissed, brushing past Brent and moving to the window on my left. He pressed his face against the glass, head swinging both ways before he cursed under his breath. “Can’t see shit,”

“The main entrance is to the southwest,” Dr. Sims grumbled, evidently not excited about being cornered at a hospital again. “We need to start putting a face mask on you when we’re in public, Delsin.”

Aunt Sia sighed. “It probably doesn’t help that we’re both here as well, Eugene.” She reminds him. “There’s a lot of animosity for us right now, too.”

Not to mention me. 

I let my head hang, looking at the patterns in the flooring as Dad asked, “What’s going on, you two? Why are we here? What happened to Garrett?”

There was a pause as Dr. Sims and Aunt Sia looked at each other, having some sort of silent conversation on who should actually answer Dad’s question. It seemed Dr. Sims lost the mental game of rock-paper-scissors, as he cleared his throat and said, “When I started the conducrinopathy study a few years ago, Jorrer was already showing symptoms of Lewy-Body dementia—but there were some preceding symptoms that were worrisome. We could never get many answers on why or how…until now.”

Aunt Sia turned when he said that, and Dad glanced between the two of them. “What do you mean?”

“We didn’t know if Garrett’s conducrinopathy was caused by their disease, or the implant, or somehow both. And with them being the only other prime Conduit to experience it, we needed to see if their manifestations were related in any way.” Dr. Sims paused, moving to cross his arms. “Dr. Hutch was able to confirm that, whatever it is in the tar that made Jean sick is what made Jorrer ill too.”

“What?” Aunt Sia whispered, aghast. 

Dad shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Dr. Sims reached into the pocket of his top coat, pulling out that goddamn vial of tar. “The aural signatures on this match both Jean and Jorrer.”

“That can’t—” Aunt Sia struggled with her words for a moment. “Garrett was never injected with anything. What do you mean their illness is related to the tar?”

Dad scoffed. “Augustine’s really at the center of this.” He began to pace, running a hand over his face before spinning around to face Dr. Sims. “Is that why those assholes broke her out of Curdun?”

“We still know nothing about the implant they were given,” Dr. Sims reminded them both. “We can’t examine it without extensive surgery that I’m not even sure Jorrer would survive—“

“An implant?” Zeke looked at Dr. Sims like that word mattered, obviously trying to grapple with information past.

Dr. Sims’ brow furrowed. “Yes, when—when Jorrer was in custody with the DUP, they placed an implant in their brain. We assumed for the longest time that that’s what caused their decline—”

“Did nobody plan on telling me about any of this?” Dad demanded, looking angered. 

“When Cole was snatched up by Moya, she was going to put an implant in his head.” Zeke said. “He said DARPA wanted to control him and his powers.”

“They what?” Aunt Sia nearly demanded as Dad decided that was a good enough statement to give Zeke attention, turning to actually face the man. 

“Do you know anything else?” Dr. Sims asked, moving to set the vial of tar on the overbed table to my left and instead pull out his phone. I barely caught him opening his notes app before he left to stand next to Zeke, beginning to fire questions at a rapid pace. 

Everyone kept talking over each other, the sound more like arguing than trying to solve whatever mystery was at their hands. Brent was falling silent on my side, and I couldn’t blame him—especially as we both looked at Garrett Jorrer. God, was that going to be me? Trapped in a bed and held down by tubing, not able to acknowledge the world around me? 

Well, no, that wasn’t true; as Dad and the other adults got a bit loud trying to talk over each other, I watched Garrett shift, readjust like they wanted to move away from the sound. Dr. Sims said something about them having dementia, right? I didn’t really get how it worked, but…there was still a person under there. They could have lucid moments, I was sure of it. Maybe it just needed a little prompting. 

I moved to step forward, Brent shooting out a hand to grab me by the arm and whisper, “The fuck are you doing?”

“They’ve gotta know something,” I murmured back, glancing over at the adults; they were all standing in a circle, more concentrated on whatever Dr. Sims was pulling up on his phone than us. “I’m gonna see if they can tell me anything.”

“They’re drooling on their shirt.” He deadpanned. “You really think they’re gonna answer any questions for you?”

I shrugged off his hold. “If what Dr. Sims said is true, they’ve been sick for a while. And if it happened in Curdun? Whatever made them sick would have happened before Mom’s, even if it took longer for them to show it. They’ve gotta know something.”

“We don’t know if Mom had the same sickness you did,” Brent hissed back in a whisper. “It’s not like we can test her.”

“No, but—” I cut off, “Process of elimination here, Brent. Every forced Conduit from Curdun ends up sick, two normal Conduits end up sick—and then I end up sick after meeting Augustine? There’s a common denominator.”

I kept his gaze, unwavering; he had to admit it was weird. It was! Something was going on and Augustine was at the core of it. Brent’s jaw flexed but he let me go, seeming entirely uncomfortable with the idea but relenting nonetheless. I broke from the place Dr. Hutch left me in and got closer to the bed, crouching beside it. 

And I faltered, because I had no idea how to even start shooting questions at someone so cognitively impaired. 

Garrett’s head was turned away from the noise now, staring indiscriminately at the floor beside me. They looked…uncomfortable, and I could imagine why. I actually felt pretty bad trying to pull something out of them when they were obviously hating how many people were in the room at the moment. “Hi,” I decided to say, keeping my voice soft. A greeting was the best way to start, right? Probably an introduction too. “I-I’m Jean.”

Nothing. 

My mouth grappled on air for a second as I tried to find more words. “I…I don’t know if you can really understand me right now, but you might know what’s wrong with me. With us. And if you can…if you can tell us anything about it, that would really help.”

Nothing. 

I looked over at Dad, who was busy trying to pull more answers about Garrett’s past from Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims, head swiveling over to Zeke as he asked if he knew more about DARPA. I hated seeing it. I hated knowing that we were both unknown variables treated like volatile solutions that would explode if jostled. Maybe they hated it too. “Look, you were in Curdun Cay, right? My—Alessia said something about an implant. And there’s some doctor here who thinks that whatever made me sick did it to you, too.” 

I turned, grabbing the vial from their rolling table and putting it in their line of vision. I didn’t want everyone talking about what was going on with them without involving them. It was unfair. I know I hated it.

The tar in the vial moved like syrup—and I watched Garrett as their eyes tracked it. They were starting to understand something, I just needed to keep pushing. “This is what was put in me,” I continued, a bit more feverish now. Did lucidity in these sorta patients have a timer? “Augustine put it in me, and I think she did the same to you. She—” I reached out with my dominant hand and took theirs gently, letting them feel the awkward press of my cast’s lattice. “She did this, do you—”

“Jean!” Dad snapped, making me jolt in place, “What are you doing?”

I blinked, confused; everyone was now turned to look at me and, aside from Brent, they all looked…scared? “I’m…” I drew off, glancing between Dad and Aunt Sia, who had started to walk towards the bed with her hands out like she was placating a wild animal. “I’m just trying to talk to them, see if—”

I wasn’t prepared for the yank on my arm. 

Garrett’s fingers laced around my wrist and pulled me forward, the move sending me sprawling forward as I lost balance on the balls of my feet. With one hand pinned in theirs and the other holding glass, I had to use my elbow to brace my fall, the jostle enough to light up a nerve hiding in the crevices of my bone and send the film glasses fluttering off of my face. I followed their fall, eyes only peeling away to look at the white-knuckled grip Garrett had on my wrist before glancing up, blood running cold when I saw how hard Garrett was staring at me.

Their eyes were this marbled blue, the sort of hue you expect a diamond to actually be, and the moment I met them, everything around me ceased to exist. The pain from my funny bone disappeared, Aunt Sia yelling my name left—all that existed was that blue. 

The shade spread, tunneling my vision into the icy hue before the edges turned platinum, and I lost all sense of where I was. 

Love you @neverdewitt

[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.

[moonstruck73]

The Conclusion : Revisited.

A/N : Hello! So, this is my first ever fic that has seen the light of internet, so please excuse my punctuation or grammatical errors (English is not my first language). I'd love constructive criticism. Tear it down to pieces, actually.

And also, most importantly, this fic is basically an adaptation and/or a literal translation of the very old Bengali novel ,"সমাপ্তি" by the honored Rabindranath Tagore. I pretty much just pasted Nanami's name on the hero, lol. (Y'all can that become a copyright issue?? I'm genuinely curious now)

So.. no summary because I'm terrible at it.

Just another Nanami fic where he is young, in an ancient period, late 1800s or early 1900s, probably. And reader is sorta underage at first? But afterwards, she's not (Their age gap isn't over seven or eight). No warnings because there isn't going to be any explicit stuff. Oh, and it's third person POV.

Chapter 1

The only son of Nanami household was returning home.

The youthful young man of twenty was currently perched on a boat as it passed the calm waves of the river, towards the remote little village where he lived with his mother, his only remaining kin.

After the small boat neared the riverbank, he attempted to climb off cautiously. However, just as he stepped on the muddy bank, his foot slipped unceremoniously, and before long, he found himself lying on his back in the sloppy mud.

This narrator would like to spare the young man of further misery by describing the details of his epic fall. But a certain person was rather entertained. And as it happened when humans were too entertained, in this case too, the sound of a sweet, high pitched laughter rang out across the calm waves, startling off the birds resting upon the nearby tree.

Extremely embarrassed, Kento regained his bearings and stood up at the speed of light, narrowly dodging another fall in the wake, and his warm honey eyes found the source of the bittersweet torture.

He recognized the menace who was now laughing hysterically on a pile of bricks. She was the infamous bandit, the uncrowned Empress of the children of this village. Her family had moved here after a river erosion claimed their previous residence three years ago. This teenager was the apple of her father's eyes, source of stress of her mother and other ladies of the village, and the wild butterfly in the affectionate eyes of the menfolk.

Her father was the clerk in a faraway boat station, rarely able to stay home. However, when he was indeed, home, he showered her with enough love to last her a lifetime. Even her mother, who huffed and puffed about her behavior usually, never had the heart to make her cry in his absence.

Our young hero had, of course, seen her before when he had come home on vacation, never actually giving her too much thought, in his typical way. Yet, her face had left somewhat of an impression on his mind. Not for beauty or such things, but.. perhaps, it was the clarity. The sheer transparency in her features made it seem as if the unruly feminine nature itself was playing upon it like a free, agile creature of wilderness. But, once one saw this lively face, it was indeed difficult to completely wipe it off memory.

Needless to say, no matter how sweet her laughter was, it was very distressing for poor Kento. He quickly took up his luggage and walked off towards home with a flushed face.

The stage was very alluring. Calm riverbank, faint murmur of leaves, scattered morning sun rays, the beckoning of youth; of course, the pile of bricks weren't as remarkable, but the person sitting atop gave a pleasant allure to even this dry, hard seat.

Alas, what else could be crueller of fate than to turn all poetry to farce at the very first step at such a scene?

A/N : Whew, chapter one done. Feel free to point out the typos and errors! I'll try to post as regularly as I can, but.. y'know, student stuff. It'll be updated if I live!

Chapter two can be found here - https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruck73/767234404708941824/the-conclusion-revisited?source=share

[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.

[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.

[critical-skeptic]

There Are No Gods or Kings, Only Man

A Scathing Critique of Trumpism and the Rise of Populist Extremism

The era of Donald Trump has left an indelible mark on the political landscape, both in the United States and globally. The ascent of Trumpism, with its cult-like fervor, has emboldened extremist rhetoric and actions reminiscent of a nascent Fourth Reich. This dangerous trend has profound implications, and it is crucial to dissect its roots, impacts, and the broader issues it reveals about contemporary society.

The Cult of Personality

Donald Trump's presidency was characterized by an unprecedented cult of personality. His followers, often referred to as the MAGA (Make America Great Again) crowd, elevated him to an almost god-like status. This idolization is antithetical to the principle that "there are no gods or kings, only man." By placing Trump on a pedestal, his supporters disregarded his numerous failings and embraced a narrative built on lies and demagoguery.

Trump's appeal lay in his ability to present himself as an anti-establishment figure, a billionaire who spoke for the "common man." However, this facade masked his true nature as a self-serving opportunist. The QAnon conspiracy theory, which flourished under his watch, further exemplifies the dangers of blind faith in a singular figure. QAnon followers believed in a shadowy "deep state" and saw Trump as their savior, leading to real-world violence and a distortion of democratic discourse.

Populist Rhetoric and Authoritarian Tendencies

Trump's rhetoric was marked by extreme populism, scapegoating minorities, immigrants, and political opponents. This us-versus-them mentality fostered division and hatred, eroding the social fabric. His infamous slogan, "Make America Great Again," harkened back to an idealized past that never truly existed, promoting a reactionary agenda that sought to roll back civil rights and social progress.

The rise of Trumpism also saw an alarming embrace of authoritarian tendencies. Trump's frequent attacks on the media, judiciary, and other democratic institutions undermined the checks and balances essential to a functioning democracy. His refusal to accept the results of the 2020 election and the subsequent insurrection at the Capitol on January 6, 2021, highlighted the dangers of a leader who refuses to relinquish power and incites violence.

Global Impact: A Fourth Reich in the Making?

The impact of Trumpism has not been confined to the United States. Around the world, populist leaders have drawn inspiration from Trump's playbook. Figures like Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, Viktor Orbán in Hungary, and Narendra Modi in India have adopted similar tactics, leveraging nationalism, xenophobia, and disinformation to consolidate power. These leaders, emboldened by Trump's example, pose a significant threat to global stability and democratic norms.

The comparison to the rise of a Fourth Reich is not hyperbolic. The parallels between the current wave of populism and the conditions that led to the rise of fascism in the 20th century are stark. Economic uncertainty, social fragmentation, and a distrust of established institutions create a fertile ground for demagogues who promise simple solutions to complex problems. The dangerous combination of charismatic leadership and a disaffected populace can lead to the erosion of democratic principles and the rise of autocratic regimes.

The Broader Problems: Idolatry and Centralization of Power

The rise of Trumpism and global populism underscores a broader issue: the human propensity for idolatry and the centralization of power. In times of crisis, people often seek strong leaders to provide direction and reassurance. This tendency, however, can lead to the elevation of deeply flawed individuals to positions of immense power, exacerbating the very issues they purport to solve.

The idolization of leaders like Trump distracts from the reality that they are mere mortals, subject to the same flaws and limitations as anyone else. This deification creates a dangerous feedback loop, where leaders are emboldened by their followers' unwavering support, leading to increasingly authoritarian behavior. The principle that "there are no gods or kings, only man" serves as a reminder that power should be dispersed and accountable, not concentrated in the hands of a few.

The Way Forward: Embracing Rationalism and Egalitarianism

Addressing the rise of populist extremism requires a fundamental shift in how society approaches leadership and governance. First and foremost, it is essential to reject the notion of infallible leaders. Political discourse should be grounded in rationalism, critical thinking, and empirical evidence, not in blind faith and conspiracy theories.

Egalitarianism must also be a guiding principle. A healthy democracy thrives on diversity of thought and a robust system of checks and balances. Power should be decentralized, with strong institutions that hold leaders accountable and protect the rights of all citizens. Education plays a crucial role in this endeavor, fostering a populace that is informed, critical, and resistant to demagoguery.

In conclusion, the era of Trump and the rise of populist extremism serve as a stark reminder of the dangers of idolatry and the centralization of power. The quote "there are no gods or kings, only man" encapsulates the need for a more rational, egalitarian approach to leadership and governance. By embracing these principles, society can resist the allure of authoritarianism and build a more just and democratic world.

[codenamehazard]

Welcome to the InFAMOUS: No Man's Land Masterlist! Where I will post links to chapters, art, one-shots and whatever else I feel like putting that's related.

The lovely cover art was done by the talented @rogueshadeaux who has been a major help in my writing journey and a huge inspiration with her love for InFAMOUS and world building!

.:Table of contents:.

.:Fun Stuff!:.

.:Art!:.

---What is InFAMOUS: No Man's Land?---

InFAMOUS: No Man's Land started out as a simple one-shot of a what if that took root and grew.

The story follows the journey of Cole MacGrath a couple of years after the Evil Ending of InFAMOUS 2. Years of having the burden of being the "messiah" and dealing with the hardships that came with it, Cole finally has enough. He breaks away from the army he reared and takes off into the Wildlands of the Great Plains, where new opportunities await for the Demon of Empire City to claim.

---- Want More InFAMOUS?----- Erosion By @rogueshadeaux — Second Son Continuation. How far will you go to do the right thing while trying to protect your family?

Shattered by @conduiitz/@kraftledare — Apocalypse!AU. Follow glass conduit Luca Montello as he searches for his best friend in the broken remains of Seattle.

Devil Like Me by @neverdewitt — See the aftereffects of DUP life on a forced conduit trying to make peace with his past sins.

All’s Well That Endsby @neverdewitt — Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim…and child of Brooke Augustine.

inFAMOUS: Sparks by @infamoussparks — Set 7 years after the good karma ending of inFAMOUS: Second Son, join friends new and old as they navigate what it really means to be a part of the Second Age.

Erosion link done by me, the rest was borrowed from @rogueshadeaux listing.

[locustheologicus]

The infamous Project 2025 can be found here for all to see. It presents itself as a thorough conservative agenda, which it is, but at the level of completely undermining our already weak democratic system and gutting the last remnants of economic regulations.

The video above does a good job in offering a broad overview of the expressed concerns. Most groups shine a light on the issue of reproductive rights, however. For my part, I am deeply concerned about two items. The erosion of our democratic systems, in lieu of a self-perpetuating conservative recruitment process, and the gutting of any existing and already weakened economic and ecological regulations. Two such concerns of the latter point are what Project 2025 plans to do to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau and the Security and Exchange Commission. "Financial regulators should remove regulatory impediments to entrepreneur­ial capital formation." Here are the word for word recommendations.

Congress should abolish the CFPB and reverse Dodd–Frank Section 1061, thus returning the consumer protection function of the CFPB to banking regulators

The SEC on the other hand will continue to exist but serving the executive agenda by removing any independant oversight.

both the Public Company Accounting Oversight Board (PCAOB) and Financial Industry Regulatory Authority (FINRA)... should be abolished, and their regulatory functions should be merged into the SEC.

Politically, people will focus on the reproductive rights issue, but I think the pro-corporate agenda should be a greater concern for all of us. Just look at how it will completely undermine any social issues in Favor of corporate profit.

Prohibit the SEC from requiring issuer disclosure of social, ideological, political, or “human capital” information that is not material to investors’ financial, economic, or pecuniary risks or returns. The proposed SEC climate change rule, which would quadruple the costs of being a public company, is particularly problematic.

Repeal the Dodd–Frank mandated disclosures relating to conflict minerals, mine safety, resource extraction, and CEO pay ratios.

Oppose efforts to redefine the purpose of business in the name of social justice; corporate social responsibility (CSR); stakeholder theory; environmental, social, and governance (ESG) criteria; socially responsible investing (SRI); sustainability; diversity; business ethics; or common­good capitalism.

Prohibit securities regulators, including SROs, from promulgating rules or taking other actions that discriminate, either favorably or unfavorably, on the basis of the race, color, religion, sex, or national origin of such individual or group.

Now, it seems that Candidate Trump is attempting to distance himself from this agenda. But as you can see, he is clearly wedded to this for his potential administration.

I have mentioned some of my earlier concerns with Project 2025 when I first heard of it. Now, as Candidate Trump seems to be inching ever closer to the Presidency again, it is more important than ever to be aware of this policy paper and its repercussions. Here is a further analysis on the democratic concerns we should all have over this agenda.

Thanks to the Lincoln Project, here is a tongue and cheek presentation of what we can expect from Trump and Project 2025.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Eight — Prognosis

I think those were the worst parts of it all; the waiting. That silence that left way too much time for the thoughts to get louder. Sitting on the stiff examination bed in a hospital gown felt more suffocating than a noose, the center of a horrible sort of attention.

4.5 k words | 15-20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Hospital, procedures, medical events

⚠️AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another chapter, another friend! How could I not let the world's best doctor be a part of this tale, especially when the RowlandRoweWhatever family needs someone with a special set of skills they can't get at just any ol' hospital? Thank you @infamoussparks for letting me steal your girl and show off her brilliant skillset, the inaugural first outreach towards the people who make this fandom fantastic.

I sat up as the patient couch pulled out of the scan machine, pulling the earplugs out of my ears and opening my jaws to force a pop. 

Dad had nearly blown a gasket when Dr. Sims explained what they wanted to do on Monday—or, moreso, how they wanted to do the imaging for it. A dose of diluted raythium with a dye in it for tracing the conducrine and every protein it produced in the time I was in there. “You want to put that stuff in my daughter?” Dad demanded, “A day after we just figured out how dangerous this shit is?”

Dr. Sims did his best to try and placate Dad’s worry, telling him it wasn’t the same. “It’s at least not gonna cause anything bad,” he assured him, “But it’s the only way to activate the proteins in her to observe them,” 

Dad eventually relented, letting Dr. Sims whisk me away as he stayed back with Brent; he wasn’t allowed in the radiology department while I was getting an MRI just in case the magnet became too attracted to his steel. 

“You did great, Jean,” Aunt Sia assured me with a low voice as I slipped off of the patient couch, Dr. Sims wheeling in a wheelchair. They wouldn’t let me walk, and I hated it—I wasn’t crippled, just broken. 

Didn’t matter—either way, I was pushed through the hall like some spectacle. 

Dad pushed off from his place leaned against the wall when the door to the exam room opened, rushing to meet me as Aunt Sia wheeled me in. He glanced down at me, smile stressed and forced, before looking up at Dr. Sims. “Get what you need?” he asked.

Dr. Sims nodded, taking the chair back from Aunt Sia. “Yeah. I’ll be back with the specialist in a bit.”

And there we were, caught in another waiting lull. 

I think those were the worst parts of it all; the waiting. That silence that left way too much time for the thoughts to get louder. Sitting on the stiff examination bed in a hospital gown felt more suffocating than a noose, the center of a horrible sort of attention. It didn’t help that they all had quickly shifted back to treating me like broken glass; Brent was silent and blankly watching me, seeming to examine every move, Dad was still acting as if I’d drop dead any second, and Aunt Sia insisted on coming. Said she wanted to support me. And I mean, sure, I was thankful that they cared…but it was suffocating. Demeaning. Even if that’s not how they meant it, it’s how it felt. 

There was a swift knock on the door, and Dad didn’t even finish saying something about coming in before the door opened—and the sharp click of heels against the hickory floor. 

The person that walked in most definitely wasn’t Dr. Sims. Her red hair was more natural auburn than Aunt Sia’s bright red, shoved away in a messy bun that somehow looked like it took twenty minutes to set. There was one fancy silver pen sticking out of it and that somehow looked deliberate too. If someone asked me to picture a ‘confident scholar,’ it’d probably be someone like her; white blouse, black pants, eyeliner that looked sharp enough to prick my finger for a blood sample. The lab coat swayed behind her as she walked confidently into the room, Dr. Sims closing the door. 

But her smile was warm and welcoming as she looked over the room, greeting, “Hello!” She regarded me first, smiling, “I’m Dr. Hutch—you must be Jean.” 

I smiled back sheepishly as Dr. Hutch’s eyes moved to Dad, something in them registering. “You must be Mr…Rowland? Rowe?” 

Dad chuffed, “I’m not even sure, at this rate,” 

Dr. Hutch accepted his admittance with grace, offering a hand to shake. Dr. Sims turned just as Dad stood, eyes widening when he moved to share the doctor’s hand—and with a shimmering sound and a flash of blue, he was across the room in an instant, gripping Dad’s wrist and yanking it upwards away from Dr. Hutch.

“You don’t wanna do that, D,” Dr. Sims warned, looking at Dad knowingly. The realization struck me almost immediately. 

She was a Conduit. 

Brent seemed to come to the same conclusion, eyebrows shooting up as he glanced at me. “Right, sorry.” Dad said, letting his hand fall. 

Dr. Hutch smiled, “I’ll go with Rowe, then,” she said simply, her own going to rest on her hip. She looked between Dad and I, getting right down to business. “I’m a certified genetic counselor, and I’m here to run one last diagnostic on Jean before we go over your test results—and what I found out from what you sent me,” she added, looking over her shoulder at Dr. Sims. 

I looked her over; nice outfit, a lab coat, and…quite literally nothing else. She made no move to pull anything out of the pockets on her coat, either. Hadn’t we established there was nothing wrong with my DNA? Why was there a genetic counselor here? Dad seemed to think the same, because he asked, “What sort of diagnostic?”

“I want to observe her health on the cellular level,” Dr. Hutch informed him. “It would give us a better idea of what could possibly be the problem here.”

“Do you—” I hesitated, not even sure how to ask what I wanted to ask. “Do you have to draw blood?”

Yeah, that’d have to do.

Dr. Hutch smiled gently, shaking her head once. “No. I’d just need about ten seconds of your time, and your hands.” 

My brow furrowed; my hands? How was she going to examine me with those? Was she gonna palm read her way to my diagnosis? I glanced over at Dad, who looked intrigued more than confused. “Alright,” he said simply, giving consent for whatever procedure she had in mind. 

Dr. Hutch nodded, beginning to roll up her sleeves before asking, “May I see your hands please, Jean?” I hesitated, looking at the cast on my right arm, and Dr. Hutch seemed to understand my concern, placating it with, “Don’t worry—just your fingers are fine.”

She brought her own hands out in a gentle show of faith, a soft coax of her fingers convincing me to lay mine in hers. Her manicured nails clicked gently against my cast as her hands closed over mine, and I could just barely hear her hum to herself as the seconds ticked by. 

Dr. Hutch spent the first few of those ten seconds looking down at where our hands met, but once she passed five, she looked up, eyes trailing along my body as she began to look for something. It was there that I saw it; her eyes were this rich green with golden flecks around her pupil, but the longer the time passed, the brighter that yellow got. 

She was using her power on me. 

Her brow furrowed further as she went from looking at me to around me, like she was searching for something in the air. Her counting progressed further, past seven, and she began to stare at specific spots like she was deciphering hieroglyphics, trying to understand something more than any of us could fathom. 

“...ten.” She breathed. She glanced over at Dr. Sims and shook her head before letting go of the hand in a cast to gently pat the back of my other one before setting it in my lap, moving away to stand by Dr. Sims once more. 

Dr. Sims crossed his arms, looking down at the floor for a moment before saying, “Thank you, Dr. Hutch.” 

Neither of them seemed happy. 

I think everyone else caught on to the sudden shift in tone in the room as well; Aunt Sia moved a bit closer, and her hand came to my back, rubbing it gently. Dad moved two steps to close the gap between us to put his hand on my knee, and Brent’s brow furrowed as he watched them both move. 

Dr. Hutch sighed hard before looking up at Dad. “I’d like to clarify, before we begin, that my power is magnification,” Dr. Hutch began. “I can essentially narrow in on the gene structure of any person and pick apart their DNA sequence just by ten seconds of contact, much like how an electron microscope functions when examining a blood sample. I prefer hand holding as it’s comforting and easy to mask with extended handshakes for those I simply have a hunch about. As I build up to ten seconds I can see the DNA sequence clearer and with that I can determine if anything is out of place or exists when it maybe shouldn’t. I’ve yet to find an instance where I’ve been wrong.”

Jeez, with a power like that, I don’t understand why we didn’t come here to begin with.

“So you’re sure you know what’s wrong with Jean?” Brent asked, looking at Dr. Hutch. 

“We had results before bringing in Dr. Hutch, however, she’s the best second opinion you could ask for. I wanted to make sure.” Dr. Sims said. He inhaled deep, looking like he was biting down on his cheek so roughly he was going to chew a hole straight through it. He looked between Dad and I, cutting right to the chase: “I’m diagnosing Jean with conducrinopathy.”

Dad’s grip on my knee tightened and his jaw tensed, and I swear to god he looked like he was about to start breaking down walls. “What’s…” I glanced at Dad before looking back at Dr. Sims. “What’s condu…that?”

Dr. Hutch took over the explanation, beginning with, “Well, your conducrine—between your shoulder blades, right about where she’s touching right now—is what gives you power. It produces rayacitins, the proteins that change this energy into your elemental conduvergence.”

Conduvergence—that was what they called the powers, right? Using a power was conduvergence. “Okay,” I hummed, nodding. But I didn’t understand; what did this have to do with what was wrong with me?

“A typical Conduit has a set amount of rayacitin proteins in their body, and when they’re running low, that causes that pain you feel in your shoulders.” Dr. Hutch continued, trying her best to dumb this down for me. “They’re also what influences other cells to heal faster. Less proteins, less power, slower healing. More, the opposite.”

Oh, okay. “So is my condushine—”

“Conducrine.” Dr. Sims interrupted. 

“Conducrine,” I corrected, looking back at Dr. Hutch. “Is it just not making enough proteins?”

She looked to Dr. Sims, who sat on my question for a moment. “Sort of.” he agreed hesitantly, head bouncing side to side gently like he was considering which way to go with his explanation. “Conducrinopathy is when the conducrine itself begins to dysfunction. Its protein output wanes, you’re correct. That’s probably the cause of your pain, currently. But it…I suppose the best way to understand exactly what happens is to consider it…a sort of organ failure.”

All my breath left in one huff, and it felt impossible to breathe in more. “What?” I whispered. 

“Your conducrine is in a manageable state right now,” Dr. Hutch interrupted. “But as the disease progresses, it will begin to produce corrupted proteins. Your power will…will turn on you.”

“Wait, like the old forced Conduits?” Brent cut in. He looked furious, but his anger wasn’t aimed at Dr. Hutch and Dr. Sims with his question. 

Dr. Sims nodded. “That’s the main instance we’ve seen conducrinopathy, yes. The conducrine is due to turn on a Conduit if it is forced to copy artificial proteins. It’s like using the wrong blood type in a transfusion. But it has happened to two Prime Conduits. A patient here, and—”

“Mom.” I looked at Dad. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? When she started looking gray a-and sick in the pictures. Her power was killing her.”

“We can’t assume that it was killing her,” Dr. Sims interrupted as Dad’s eyes fell and he stared at the floor, face void of any emotion. “But if we had to compare how she was to the data we have now, then…yes, she more than likely had the same condition.”

My fingers went to mess with my cast, and I couldn’t think of anything to ask. What the hell was I supposed to say? Cool, doc, thanks for the Conduit cancer diagnosis! I felt on the verge of a panic attack. 

Aunt Sia rubbed my shoulder like she was trying to ease the tension out of it, and that was enough to get me to regurgitate one of the thousands of thoughts running through my mind. “Can you cure it?” I asked, looking back at Dr. Sims and his partner with pleading eyes. 

Dr. Hutch looked down at the ground as Dr. Sims appeared to try and swallow back bile. “We…there’s no known cure yet, though in your situation, this has only happened to one other prime whose progression of illness could be followed. There are noted differences between the symptoms in primes versus forced Conduits, but we’re…these are uncharted waters. We don’t know what to expect.”

“What are the differences?” Dad finally asked, voice robotic. “What can we expect?”

Dr. Sims looked like he wanted to do anything but answer Dad’s questions. Like he hated being the bearer of bad news. “The pain and tenderness between the shoulderblades is common. That will probably be the most persistent symptom. However the amount of healthy rayacitin proteins in her body will…they won’t be replaced by healthy ones. The damaged cells will spread further instead, and it’ll…her powers will start getting weaker. Maybe disappear entirely. The healing is usually the first to go.”

Dr. Sims looked at the ground and scuffed his shoe on the wood before adding, “We don’t know how her power will turn on her, either. That will change the status of her condition from manageable to severe more than anything else. And…between Fetch, and the other prime Conduit we’ve observed, decline is…faster in prime Conduits. The way a forced Conduit is already stunted in power is enough to delay it significantly more than a prime, especially when considering how much weaker they are.”

“And you’re sure it’s this?” He asked, looking between the doctors. His eyes settled on Dr. Hutch. “How can you be positive?”

Dr. Hutch was trying her best to keep her face neutral. “When using my powers, I can see this aural ring around people. I can tell if they have the gene, if they’re activated—your daughter has both signs. But there is also something wrong with the aura on her. It’s turning black. The only other times I’ve seen that is when I’ve run diagnostics for Dr. Sims upon his request.”

Dr. Sims shook off the discomfort of the moment, moving a step closer. “Delsin, I’m gonna be here every step of the way in case something happens,” he looked at me, “We’re going to make sure you’re, at minimum, comfortable.”

I hated how he phrased that. Comfortable? It didn’t sound like he was offering to just help me with pain, it sounded like there was more to the statement. A promise for there to be a comfortable end.

And I wasn’t a fool, I knew how this was going for all the old DUP agents; they were either all ill as could be, or slowly succumbing to their illness. His words sounded like he was offering me management if it came to that, too. 

Fuck. Fuck. Tears immediately began to pool in my eyes and it was hard to keep them away. No cure, no help, no idea what was going to happen. But I needed to know one thing: “Am I gonna die?” 

That was the wrong set of words to use; Brent immediately threw his hand back to hammer the side of it against the wall, the hit so hard plaster immediately caved under his fist. He pushed off and stalked away, brushing past Dr. Sims to the door and throwing it open, disappearing into the hall. 

Dad sighed, head falling. “Sia, can you—”

“‘Course,” she said, patting my shoulder gently before leaving the room, heeled combat boots echoing loudly as she jogged to catch up to him. 

The silence in the room truly was deafening, the air thick as the remaining four of us grappled with what just happened. Everything felt like it was slipping away; the color in the blue hospital gown I had on, the noise of the cars on the street outside. This was it. I really was broken. 

And there was no way to fix it. 

Dad squeezed my knee three times, and suddenly I was shot back to when I was a little girl trying to sit through the scariest moment of her life: vaccine day at the doctors. Me sitting at the end of an uncomfortable bed just like this, gripping the edge for dear life as Dad sat across from me, a hand on my knee. Three reassuring squeezes. I love you. 

Took me far too long to realize he’d do it when the needle went in and I’d miss the scariest part of the whole event. 

Now he was trying to reassure me yet again, forcing a deep breath into his chest as he lifted his head, looking at Dr. Sims. “This didn’t start happening to Jean till that fight with Augustine,” he began. “Conducrinopathy doesn’t happen to just anyone. Something caused this.” 

Dr. Sims sighed. “Delsin, her powers just manifested. We truly don’t know if this can be an inheritable condition or not.” 

“Well,” Dr. Hutch held up a finger. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that yet, either.” 

Both Dad and Dr. Sims shot her a confused look. Dr. Hutch didn’t bother waiting for one of them to interrogate her, instead digging into the pocket of her lab coat and pulling out three blood collection tubes full of anything but blood. “I analyzed the two samples you sent, Eugene. And your friend downstairs passed a third to me earlier this morning.” 

Dad immediately bristled. “We don’t have another friend here,” he said, guarded. 

Dr. Hutch cocked her head to the side, concern on her face. “You don’t?” 

“What did they look like?” Dr. Sims interrupted. Dad’s hand tensed on my knee. 

“Short, wide set. Wore sunglasses inside for some reason which I’m…” she drew off. “Now I’m worried was to disguise himself.” 

I knew someone that matched that description exactly, but it wasn’t someone with a hidden agenda. “That’s Zeke,” I forced myself to murmur. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It didn’t even feel like I was talking. Was this what dissociation felt like? Feeling like I was witnessing the room from outside the window to the right? 

Dad scowled…but something in his expression shifted. “He brought you something to analyze?” He asked Dr. Hutch, surprised Zeke even cared. 

“He did,” she confirmed, holding up a collection vial that had black liquid in it that turned iridescent with a deep green where light hit it. I knew that liquid—that’s what Zeke took from the First Sons’ base in New Marais. “Said he hoped it would help me find answers for Jean.” 

Dr. Sims looked at Dad, who almost looked remorseful in a way before blinking a few times, inhaling. “And what did you find?” he asked. 

“Well, from what I understand, these two samples were acquired in New Marais,” Dr. Hutch said, shifting the samples in her hands so she could hold a pair up to the light. “I examined their properties and their aural signatures, and they’re certainly interesting. To save you the technical terms, these two samples almost replicate poison in a way. This one—” she pointed to the black and dark green liquid, “—the poison itself while this contained the cells it was affecting. However instead of killing the cells, they seemed to mutate them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dad went on to tell Dr. Hutch what we saw when underground, and how we found files that suggested the creepy crawlies in the First Sons’ basement were Conduits turned creatures. She reacted with horror in the right parts of the tale, but her eyes were alight with a curiosity that she couldn’t hide well at all. “I didn’t know that was possible,” she said. “I knew there were instances of monsters in New Marais but never really followed up on why.” 

“We were worried, with it corrupting Conduits, that it could be what happened to Jean,” Dad finished. 

Dr. Hutch shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case. Where these two are similar, the one from Salmon Bay is completely different.” She stored away the two vials in her lab coat and held the one full of tar to Dr. Sims, who took it without hesitation. “It matches the signature of every case of conducrinopathy I’ve seen—including Jean’s. It has the same…darkness to it, but at a strength that made it nearly impossible to read without feeling ill after.” She glanced between Dad and I. “It’s like it’s emitting something far more dangerous than a regular Conduit can handle.”

Dad stood, hand leaving my knee to step forward and take the vial from Dr. Sims’ outstretched hand. “So this tar is what caused Jean’s sickness?”

“She was injected with it, correct?” Dr. Hutch asked. 

Dad motioned to my leg hanging over the edge of the bed. “Augustine’s concrete had this tar on it when she managed to pierce Jean’s leg,” he informed her.

The scarring and spider veins on my left leg hadn’t faded at all in the last week. The raised scars were still an angry red and brown, the veins alight like they were lightning with how bright the blue was against my legs. Dr. Sims took a few steps forward, motioning for me to bring my leg up and hooking his hand behind my calf so he could examine it closer. “I need to get this and the break checked on, next,” I could hear him mutter to himself like he was making a checklist. 

Dr. Hutch joined Dr. Sims, looking at my injury from over his shoulder. “It looks like it attempted healing,” she observed. 

“If you’re right, and that tar caused her sickness, could this be when the conducrinopathy started happening?” Dad asked, pointing to my scars. “They’re healed wrong because it was running out of time?” 

Dr. Sims’ brow furrowed. “The results did come back abnormal,” he muttered. He turned my shin lightly and then looked up. “Knowing the tar is practically the same as the illness, I wouldn’t be surprised if so.”

Dad stared at my scarring for a long time, long enough for Dr. Hutch to clear her throat awkwardly and say, “I’m sorry for bringing bad news. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Dr. Sims sighed. “We’ll be visiting palliative care later today for the patient, if you’d be willing to meet us there.”

“Of course.” 

Dr. Hutch gave me a nod before turning on her heels and leaving the room, the sound of the door as it latched shut behind her feeling like a gavel strike of a death sentence. Dad, still staring at my leg, shook his head and brought a hand up to rub against his face. “Someone did this.” He said. 

“Del—”

“If that tar matches what’s wrong with Jean, then Augustine caused this. I don’t know if it’s because she got a new power, or somehow fucked with her old one—”

“Delsin—”

“But her power caused organ failure.” Dad finished with a stressed voice, and I wasn’t sure if it was to talk over Dr. Sims or simply because he was stressed. “We need to find out how she got the ability.” 

Dr. Sims shifted on his feet, thinking. “We can’t be sure that it’s not something that Augustine simply developed,” he warned. 

Dad shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Archangel helped Augustine. They tried finishing what she couldn’t do! She had to have gotten this power from somewhere.”

“I understand that, but you have to realize—this is the first time we’ve seen a situation like this with its cause. The forced Conduits develop conducrinopathy naturally, and we don’t know how the other two instances of this happened in primes—“ 

“But we know it’s not normal.” Dad retorted. “What happened to Abbs? What’s happening to Jean? Shouldn’t be a thing.” 

There were three sharp raps on the door and Aunt Sia returned, looking between Dad and Dr. Sims as the latter refused to let his gaze wander. “Archangel did something to make this happen, it was probably the plan the entire time—just for me. But this is some sort of power, right?”

“I’m not sure—“ Dr. Sims tried saying as Dad rambled on.

“—so we just need the power to fix it. Only way it’s coming out is the same way it went in.” 

“Delsin, this isn’t like then. We don’t know where the power came from or if it’s something new at all.” Dr. Sims finally put enough power into his voice to interrupt. “This is the only time it’s happened like this. For all we know, with the old DUP soldiers? It could simply be because Augustine was involved.” 

Dad opened his mouth to say something else when Aunt Sia cleared her throat loudly and pointedly, looking at Dad. “Delsin, I think you should go talk to Brent.” 

Dad blinked. “But—“ 

“Just a small talk, then we’ll finish what we came here for.” Aunt Sia turned to Dr. Sims. “Is there anything else we need to do for Jean? She still has some stitches, do they need to be removed?”

Dr. Sims looked confused and yet thankful for the topic change. “Yeah I-I want to get a general check up on her, but we’d need a more qualified doctor.” 

“Alright, then why don’t you go see who you can find while Delsin talks to Brent?” Aunt Sia asked the men, looking at them expectantly. 

They muttered some sort of agreement as Aunt Sia herded around their attention, the two eventually leaving me alone in the room with her. She stepped up to the edge of the exam table I was sitting on, right between my legs, and moved to cup my face, her expression solemn. “Oh Jean,” she murmured, “I’m sorry.” 

She pulled me into a hug and it was like everything snapped back to my center like a rubber band ball; I was no longer witnessing this from the outside, but fully trapped within the body betraying me, the ache in my back reminding me of the diagnosis. “I’m scared,” I admitted to her, voice cracking. 

“I know,” she replied almost immediately. “This has to be so scary for you. But you heard how quick your father was to begin trying to think of solutions,” she pulled away to look at me. She was right: Dad was always the problem solver. I wasn’t sure if this was something he could fix, though. “We’ll take this a day at a time, but you won’t be alone.”

Want more of Dr. Hutch? Check out Feth’s inFAMOUS: Sparks!

Set 7 years after the good karma ending of inFAMOUS: Second Son, join friends new and old as they navigate what it really means to be a part of the Second Age.

A perfect blend of OC and OG, Feth knows all things inFAMOUS like the back of her hand—for good reason ;). I’m a sucker for a good after story, for the butterfly effect of every choice made in canon to change something in their future, and Feth captures that perfect (and realistic) after. Rosa is one of many amazing new friends the original trio make as they take on foes old and new.

[infamoussparks]

InFAMOUS Sparks: Table of Contents

--WRITING-- Ao3 Link (bookmarks & kudos appreciated!) Prologue

Chapter 1: Sparklers & Secrets

Chapter 2: Safe with Me

Chapter 3: Missing Pieces

Chapter 4: Skeleton Closets

Chapter 5: Origami Smoke

Chapter 6: Dead Ends & Decisions

Chapter 7: Sound Choices

Chapter 8: Reunions & Relationships

Chapter 9: Sparking Emotions

--ART--

Falling with Grace

Happy Birthday, Benji!

Happy Birthday, Caly!

Happy Birthday, Lucky!

--EVEN MORE INFAMOUS--

Erosion by @rogueshadeaux — When the world comes crashing down around you and everything you thought you knew was a lie, how do you save the world, and your family, without failure?

Shattered by @conduiitz/@kraftledare — Apocalypse!AU. Follow glass conduit Luca Montello as he searches for his best friend in the broken remains of Seattle.

Devil Like Me by @neverdewitt — See the aftereffects of DUP life on a forced conduit trying to make peace with his past sins.

inFAMOUS: No Man's Land by @codenamehazard — Evil!Cole AU. Run away with Beast Cole MacGrath as he traverses through the Wildlands, the untamed and conduit-filled plains of America that hold more secrets than it seems...

All's Well That Ends by @neverdewitt — Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim...and child of Brooke Augustine.

(Summaries written by @rogueshadeaux. Erosion summary by me.)

[sageoffablesardowin]

Storytime with the Sage: Wayfinder

There are many powerful artifacts strewn across Ardowin, but few have traveled as much of her surface as the fantastical blade known as Wayfinder.

As the tale goes, a wayward pirate captain sailing from Ashara to Xeqash watched in horror as a tumultuous tempest tore through his ship and crew. The captain, it turns out, along with his crew, had scorned the name of Ananiel, the archangel of storms, and earned the great celestial's ire. As the poor soul managed to crawl onto an escape boat, the Archangel manifested itself before him.

The captain begged for forgiveness and, sensing the opportunity to redeem the old crook, Ananiel blessed his blade with the properties of a compass. He told the man that the blade would keep him alive, so long as he swore to forgo his criminal ways.

While the captain was skeptical and arrogant at first, eventually the pangs of hunger and exhaustion began to weigh on his body and mind. As he gave further into his regret, the blade seemed to move the water, pushing him toward land.

This man would become a powerful warlock of Ananiel, wielding the mighty blade Wayfinder in battle, and liberating other criminal-occupied ports with the power of the sea at his beck-and-call. One day, finally, he was defeated in battle by a rival captain, who claimed Wayfinder as his own. As he did, its form shifted from an elegant scimitar to a wicked saw-toothed falchion.

So the blade would pass from wielder to wielder until it fell to the hands of Riptide, captain of the Whitecrest and a member of the infamous Black Wing guild of Freyglen, whose ship went down off the coast of the Winged Peaks.

The blade was known to be deadly sharp and able to pierce through even the toughest extraplanar threats, and molded itself to the whim of its wielder. It was able to cut through enemies with deadly force, eroding the tough hides of undead and fiends like like hundreds of years of saltwater erosion happening over an instant. The blade also granted the wielder control over water, making them especially dangerous at sea. It is even said that the blade protected its wielder from death by chanting a ritualistic song of the civilizations lost to the depths.

Wayfinder was never found after the crashing of the Whitecrest. The sharp, jagged beaches of stone make traversing the wreck dangerous. That specific shore is known as "Shipwright's Tomb," for the spire-filled chasm that the multiple wrecked ships get pulled into by the crashing tide. Locals spread tales of dread--of the dead who still guard their precious cargo. It is said the blade is still there, guarded by these spines of stone, the furious sea, and the restless crew below.

[xtruss]

Alcatraz Island still draws tourists for its history as a federal penitentiary. But it also has a rich past as little-known military base, erected to guard against foreign invasion. Image Credit: Mbprojekt Maciej Bledowski, iStock

Ground-Penetrating Radar Reveals Military Structures Buried Beneath Alcatraz Penitentiary

Using non-invasive techniques, archaeologists have confirmed the presence of a coastal fortification beneath what was once the prison’s recreation yard.

— By Katherine J. Wu, Published March 4, 2019 | August 02, 2023

Alcatraz might be best known as a popular tourist destination, the site of the former high-security prison that once held Al Capone. But a team of archaeologists has now unveiled new evidence of this San Francisco Bay island’s often overlooked military history.

In the study, published last Thursday in the journal Near Surface Geophysics, researchers used non-invasive technologies to pull back the curtain on a stunningly well-preserved 19th century coastal fortification that lies beneath the ruins of this infamous federal penitentiary. The work confirms that while prison construction in the early 1900s destroyed much of the former military installation, several structures were buried more or less intact, enshrining a critical sliver of Alcatraz’s colorful past.

“This really changes the picture of things,” says study author Timothy de Smet, an archaeologist at Binghamton University. “These remains are so well preserved, and so close to the surface. They weren’t erased from the island—they’re right beneath your feet.”

Study author Timothy de Smet used non-invasive techniques to create a subsurface map of remains of Alcatraz Island's former military fortification. Image Credit: Timothy de Smet, Binghampton University

Prior to the mid-1800s, Alcatraz Island was a barren strip of land capable of supporting little more than a raucous population of seabirds. But in the wake of the California Gold Rush, the United States government looked to the rocky outcrop as a potential military base to protect the newly bustling city from foreign invasion. Over the next several decades, a stone- and brick-based fortification was erected, then rebuilt as earthen structures better equipped to handle erosion. But Alcatraz struggled to keep pace with the rapid changes in artillery during and after the Civil War era, and by the late 1800s, the island’s defenses were essentially obsolete. Military pursuits on Alcatraz were abandoned shortly thereafter.

When the island’s prison was erected around the turn of the 20th century, little physical evidence of its former architecture remained—or so many thought. The new study, led by de Smet, says otherwise. To look beneath the surface, the researchers deployed ground-penetrating radar, which pulses electromagnetic waves into the earth, returning signals that can visualize remains without excavation. The strategy uncovered a labyrinth of subterranean structures, including an earthwork traverse, a kind of defensive trench, running beneath the penitentiary’s former recreation yard.

“Below the Surface, Alcatraz is Still Full of Mysteries”

“This really reinforces what several historians and archaeologists had long suspected,” says study author and Alcatraz historian John Martini. “Up until this point, we had nothing to go on except for a few visible trace remains and maps—and a lot of suspicion.”

In a way, Martini says, the findings reflect just how limited real estate was on Alcatraz, which clocks in at less than 50 acres. “On a small island, there’s only so many places you can build,” he says. “And it’s unlikely they went to the trouble of demolishing all this stuff.”

A 15-inch Rodman cannon and its gun crew, 1869. These were the largest guns mounted on Alcatraz. Image Credit: National Park Service, Golden Gate National Recreation Area

Because they’re both sensitive and non-destructive, techniques like ground-penetrating radar are crucial for these kinds of investigations, and can complement historical records that survived the era, says Jolene Babyak, an Alcatraz historian who was not involved in the study.

With these results in hand, de Smet and his colleagues plan to continue archaeological investigations under Alcatraz. Going forward, only time will tell what this rock will reveal, Martini says. “Below the surface, Alcatraz is still full of mysteries,” he says. “There’s still a whole lot to be learned.”

Soldiers posing in the island’s ordnance yard. A brick Citadel capped the summit of Alcatraz. 1869. Image Credit: National Park Service, Golden Gate National Recreation Area

[akitomojito]

I HAVE FINALLY AWOKEN FROM MY FUCKING SLUMBER. Anyways, take yet another brain rot of two characters of mine, the next thing will be soon, since I’m actually not rotting and feel the need to feed the few sleep deprived and needy people here <3

(Word count: 1,513)

(NOT FINISHED ‼️ I add to this occasionally since I made this while I was newer to tumblr, but I’ll keep updating it every now and then 😈)

”You have quite the wondeful garden, my love. And doing this all on your own? I’m truly impressed.” A small chuckle erose from [REDACTED’S] lips as he made his statement, leaning back against a white, polished table. The flowering designs carved into the furniture made it blend it perfectly, yet simultaneously with the surrounding garden. From the lush green bushes, to the fruit that either sprung from tree’s or other neighboring bushes, it truly looked as if a fairytale had been made reality. The sunset had begun to fade in, coating the garden in shades of pink and orange, making it all the more grand.

“Well, didn’t I tell you I grew up in a cottage? Of course I’d be dealt down with the cards of my trade from my home. Besides, it calms me down, and keeps me sane.” Another male replied to the other man’s comment. A slight bit of eagerness in his tone. That came from the humble joy of picking his garden’s fruit, to be more specific, his delightful strawberries. Nobody could grow them the way he liked, so he simply did it himself. He sighed, looking down at his basket. Looking at the name, “Quinn” carved into it, slight embarrassment crawling up on to his face.

“Did you seriously write my name down on my basket?” Asked Quinn, turning his head around to suspiciously stare at the face of his beloved. He couldn’t lie, he certainly was something to the eye. From the brown pants and boots, all the way up to the cream turtleneck, it was as if he was staring at a higher being other than human. [REDACTED] seemed to catch on to Quinn’s staring, raising a brow and proceeding to look around the heavenly area. “Just perfect for our wedding venue, wouldn’t you agree?” Quinn simply scoffed, slowly getting up from his crouched position from picking the fresh berries. But it couldn’t be denied how that of a strawberry color spread along his cheeks, even making as far down as his hands. He could practically feel the flirtatious stare from the man near him, smelling it.


”This is a garden, not a playground, don’t get ahead of yourself.” Gently snapped Quinn, slightly avoiding much needed eye contact from [REDACTED] as possible. He was taking few steps to meet the face of the brute, pondering his own thoughts. A wedding? The idea at first seemed brash, but the more he thought about it, the more his cheeks grew in color. It was as if his cheeks were like thin paper, and some ink was slowly seeping through, leaving behind an annoying, yet obvious stain. How could this man say a simple sentence, and made him feel like he was questioning himself more than he already was? “Oh, shucks. Let a man dream now, sweetheart. That is,” With a sly movement of his hand, [REDACTED] lifted up Quinn’s wrist with his index finger, grinning that infamous grin of his. Slowly, his index finger traced along Quinn’s palm, seeming to follow the permanent lines in his skin. “Unless you’d like to make my dream a reality.”


Quinn could feel his eye slightly twitch, this time deciding to stand his ground against the one in front of him. He didn’t quite glare at him, but gave him a subtle, warning stare. It was a mixture of a demand, and a plead. Almost begging for him not to fluster him more, yet at the same time, continue to adorn him in his love. His attention quickly caught on to a small, white plate. It sat perfectly still on the table his lover was up against, the reason Quinn payed attention to it was due to the fact there were once, a good amount of strawberries laid out across the plate. Now, there was nothing. ”Did you really eat all of the strawberries I picked? Didn’t even bother to leave one for me?” Quinn proceeded to give [REDACTED] a heavy side eye, attempting to counter the statement made previously before. Internally, he smirked to himself. There wasn’t much of a reason he suddenly felt cocky, perhaps now he could put the somewhat of a pain in his rear end in his place. Oh, what an utter joy that would be. The male had been messing around with him all day, he just had to be taught a lesson.

“No, no, I did leave you one. It’s right here. Maybe if you paid more attention to me, you would’ve noticed.” Quinn looked up at him, realizing that in his other hand close to his face, another strawberry sat comfortably in between his thin, slender fingers. Quinn pushed his bottom lip out just a small bit, fiddling with the bottom part of his blouse. He tried to distract himself with the color of his top, a dark, forest green color it was. One of his personal favorites. He looked back up at [REDACTED,] however only with his eyes. “. .I can see that quite well, but you still ate them all. You’re rather lucky I happen to have more on me currently.”


”Or you could simply say I’m lucky I have such an adorable future husband to pick through the thorn bushes for me.” Quinn rolled his eyes, [REDACTED] couldn’t tell if he did that to be playfully rude, or just straight up nasty. In an attempt to distract himself, he offered the strawberry to Quinn with a warm smile. Quinn looked up at the fruit, then [REDACTED], cautiously, slowly but gradually moving his hand towards his to take hold of the fruit. Eventually taking it away from him all together, simply holding the strawberry in front of his face. “I just love it when you’re so kind enough to leave me your leftovers.” Quinn remarked sarcastically, not even realizing how [REDACTED’S] hand was slowly closing in around his wrist. He only noticed when he felt his hand being moved. By the time he looked to see what the man was doing, the fruit was almost pressed against his beloved’s lips, barely inches away. Quinn’s eyes slightly widened, not entirely expecting such a thing to happen. “Well, how about this? I’ll eat my last strawberry, and you could have the rest you just now, picked? If you’d like, we could share.” [REDACTED] Brought Quinn’s hand a little bit closer to his lips, smirking. “So, why don’t we make this one extra memorable?”

Quinn barely had a moment of thought, before the feeling of soft, glossy lips grazed the sides of his fingers. [REDACTED] Slightly licked the strawberry Quinn held in his hand, gradually taking small bites of the berry. As if wanting the moment to last longer. His eyes stared teasingly into Quinn’s, pleased with the redness that had spread all across his face, as well as the heat from his hands. Softly, he ate the strawberry completely from Quinn’s hand, leaving nothing left. However, he didn’t let go of Quinn’s wrist, seeming to gently lick away the apparent “leftover” of the already eaten strawberry, slightly sucking on the tips of Quinn’s fingers. Leaving the male left out for words of rationality. 

A smirk grazed over the lips of [REDACTED] without fail, not once breaking eye contact with Quinn. He felt like he couldn’t if he would have chosen to done so. There was just something about the man standing right across from him, something that echoed in passion. From the day he first met him, there was something special deep within his pulsing veins and body, and [REDACTED] wanted to have it all to himself. He didn’t mean to be greedy, but he simply just couldn’t help it whatsoever. The way Quinn’s eyes were widened with shock, blush coating his face as if it were thick raisen rolling down the bark of a tree, the trembling in his eyes. Oh, how couldn’t he not tease him? He was utter perfection in his eyes, and, [REDACTED] being the person he was, simply couldn’t let such a divine appetizer scurry away on him without getting a taste.

��Oh, darling, don’t tease me with that look. You’re too adorable that way!” [REDACTED] chuckled slyly, seeming to be enjoying the look in his beloved’s eyes. He began to pull his lips away from the blushing hand of his lover, pulling back to lean against the polished white table once more. He stared down at the man below him, with a grin larger than he could’ve ever thought he could have. Something [REDACTED] always loved about himself and Quinn was the height difference. He, standing at nearly six feet, while Quinn only was a mere five feet, along with six other inches. Quinn used to get so defensive when he brought it up, but over the years, there was a glint in his eyes. Hinting that he in fact loved it equally as much. “Oh, enough of that! Do you have no sense of embarrassment when it comes to these types of. .things?! You’re always initiating them, anyway, but why in the most visible of places?”

[cookie-nom-nom]

thanks for the @, this man is a legend. I'd like to get into a little more explaining, though I'm by no means a soil ecologist and am doing cursory research. First of all the change in A profile is INSANE. That's the topsoil, where most of the organic decomposed stuff is. Also where most nutrients are, and so you want a good layer for farming since your crops grow better. Soil formation is extremely slow, so the sheer amount gained is impressive, especially when taken to account how much soil is usually eroded by conventional farming practice. Pretty bad given you need soil to grow stuff in.

Thing is, lots of farming practices disturb soil hella bad, like the tilling that is mentioned Dave avoided. Tilling very deliberately stirs up/loosens the soil such as through plows, which can destroy weeds and make it easier to plant. But tilling also causes problems like disturbing helpful organisms in the soil, like earth worms and arbuscular mycorrhizal fungi (...well amf oscillate in usefulness but I like them so dangit they get a mention!). And it makes erosion far easier because the soil is less compact and wind and rain can move it better. That soil causes problems both by no longer being on the farm, and often ending up in places its not supposed to be like rivers or blowing across the country like in the infamous Dust Bowl. Who knew breathing in dirt constantly is bad for literally everyone!

Fertilizer. Oh man. So, fertilizer causes a couple of problems. It also solved a lot of them in full transparency! There were massive concerns about how to feed the growing population, and fertilizer was a huge part in that. There are substantial consequences though. 1, you got to get those nutrients from somewhere, such as mining phosphorous and potassium, or mixing air nitrogen with hydrogen from natural gas. I don't have time to get into the ramifications of mining on the environment, but trust there's lots of them. 2. Lots of those fertilizers are washed away into rivers, lakes, etc which then inject excess nutrients that cause problems that kickstarts a process leading to fish and aquatic life dying due to lack of oxygen (eutrophication). So Dave cutting down on fertilizer usage helps the environment, but not necessarily his crop yield. Which he offset using cover crops (grown between the main crops, prevent bare ground (erosion) and can make it harder for weeds to grow). Peas are a legume, which have the ability to intake nitrogen from the air and store it, which adds nitrogen to the soil. I see evidence for peas as good for getting that nitrogen need (here). That source also suggests radishes work, though another source contradicts that. Anyway crop cover is hella important, and it's driving me a little crazy that my current job doesn't utilize it but well that's a confounding variable when trying to take data so we all make sacrifices in the name of science. Alas.

Multiple species have different nutrient requirements, and so by using a mixture of crops they can compete less. Niche partitioning lets gooo. It's like how I won't touch my roommate's blueberries, but since he's full on berries he only nibbles at my spaghetti whereas a second Nom in the house would mean WAR. Less bloodshed since we need different nutrient imput. More complete use of the nutrients in the soil mean they need less fertilizer imputs, plus the nutrients cover crops like the nitrogen fixing peas are adding to the soil. Dave used very little fertilizer without sacrificing yield much, which is a sign of very sustainable farming.

Fungicides and insecticides cause so so so many problems. Like you're introducing poison into the equation, and they don't ever affect only the pest a farmer is trying to get rid off. They tend to have health consequences for humans and ecosystems. The famous case of course being DDT, an insecticide that accumulated in fat and would travel up the foodchain when a contaminated animal was eaten, increasing in concentration and doing things like killing off eagles and songbirds. Also potentially doing things like leading to the endangerment of honey bees, generally being carcinagens, etc etc. Dave switching to using no fungicides and insecticides doubtlessly was very difficult, given pest control is a nightmare and jeopardizes yield. There are other methods of pest control however: things like using predators to the pest, having a variety of crops (see: monocultures are horrible), mechanical control, etc.

I know absolutely nothing about neonicotinoids and seed treatment, and so won't comment to avoid potential misinformation. Most of this has been my background knowledge supplemented with cursory research to confirm and offer jumping off points for further research if anyone cares to.

His cash crop yields have been increasing by an average of 5% annually for the past 5-6 years, with far less fertilizer and no fungicides, insecticides or seed treatment

^^highlighting because it's absolutely INSANE. Proof that more environmentally friendly approaches are beneficial. Wish this discussed more the economics of this, since if he's getting a 5% increase in yield but it takes 10% more money input it may still be infeasible for most people. As thin of a margin as many farmers operate on, more intensive and expensive methods may not always be possible, or too risky. I'm not here to demonize anyone who isn't employing these environmentally conscious agricultural practices, of course, since as it often is the real enemy is capitalism. I'm of the firm belief that anything that benefits the environment benefits humans in the long run, but as is the current system incentivizes profit now consequences later. Hard to change the machine when you're just trying not to get crushed. Which makes Dave's commitment all the more impressive despite the rigidity trap of the agricultural system being self propagating as it asks greater and greater inputs to maintain the human population.

It's honest work, and it means so, so much that he did it.

[berix2010]

Anyone who buys a Pixel 9 — the latest model of Google’s flagship phone, available starting this week — will have access to the easiest, breeziest user interface for top-tier lies, built right into their mobile device. This is all but certain to become the norm, with similar features already available on competing devices and rolling out on others in the near future. When a smartphone “just works,” it’s usually a good thing; here, it’s the entire problem in the first place.

Photography has been used in the service of deception for as long as it has existed. (Consider Victorian spirit photos, the infamous Loch Ness monster photograph, or Stalin’s photographic purges of IRL-purged comrades.) But it would be disingenuous to say that photographs have never been considered reliable evidence. Everyone who is reading this article in 2024 grew up in an era where a photograph was, by default, a representation of the truth. A staged scene with movie effects, a digital photo manipulation, or more recently, a deepfake — these were potential deceptions to take into account, but they were outliers in the realm of possibility. It took specialized knowledge and specialized tools to sabotage the intuitive trust in a photograph. Fake was the exception, not the rule.

This erosion of the social consensus began before the Pixel 9, and it will not be carried forth by the Pixel 9 alone. Still, the phone’s new AI capabilities are of note not just because the barrier to entry is so low, but because the safeguards we ran into were astonishingly anemic. The industry’s proposed AI image watermarking standard is mired in the usual standards slog, and Google’s own much-vaunted AI watermarking system was nowhere in sight when The Verge tried out the Pixel 9’s Magic Editor. The photos that are modified with the Reimagine tool simply have a line of removable metadata added to them. (The inherent fragility of this kind of metadata was supposed to be addressed by Google’s invention of the theoretically unremovable SynthID watermark.) Google told us that the outputs of Pixel Studio — a pure prompt generator that is closer to DALL-E — will be tagged with a SynthID watermark; ironically, we found the capabilities of the Magic Editor’s Reimagine tool, which modifies existing photos, were much more alarming.

We briefly lived in an era in which the photograph was a shortcut to reality, to knowing things, to having a smoking gun. It was an extraordinarily useful tool for navigating the world around us. We are now leaping headfirst into a future in which reality is simply less knowable. The lost Library of Alexandria could have fit onto the microSD card in my Nintendo Switch, and yet the cutting edge of technology is a handheld telephone that spews lies as a fun little bonus feature. We are fucked.

[ishika206]

Dangerous Roads in India: Navigating the Perils

India, with its diverse landscapes and burgeoning infrastructure, is home to some of the most breathtaking yet perilous roads in the world. From serpentine mountain passes to treacherous desert trails, these roads pose significant risks to travelers. For those intrigued by the daunting nature of such routes, exploring the Dangerous Roads in India can be as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. These roads are not just a test of driving skills but a fascinating glimpse into the challenges of infrastructure in a diverse and challenging terrain. Additionally, if you are curious about perilous locations beyond India’s borders, check out the Most Dangerous Places in the World, which showcases some of the planet’s most hazardous destinations.

1. Khardung La Pass, Ladakh

Khardung La Pass, situated in the Ladakh region of northern India, is often touted as one of the highest motorable passes in the world. At an elevation of approximately 18,380 feet (5,600 meters), this road offers breathtaking views of the Himalayas but comes with its share of dangers. The road is notoriously narrow, winding, and frequently covered in snow, making it prone to avalanches and landslides. The thin air at such high altitudes can cause altitude sickness, and the lack of proper road maintenance adds to the peril. Travelers must be prepared for abrupt weather changes and ensure their vehicles are in top condition before attempting this journey.

2.Manali-Leh Highway, Himachal Pradesh to Ladakh

The Manali-Leh Highway is a key route connecting Manali in Himachal Pradesh with Leh in Ladakh. Spanning over 475 kilometers, this highway is an adventure lover’s dream but a driver’s nightmare. The road is often closed during the winter months due to heavy snowfall and landslides. During the summer, the terrain is equally challenging, with steep inclines, sharp turns, and unpredictable weather. The highway traverses several mountain passes, including the Rohtang Pass and Baralacha La, each presenting its own set of hazards. Due to the high altitude and extreme weather conditions, travelers should be well-prepared with emergency supplies and have a robust vehicle.

3. National Highway 22 (NH 22), Himachal Pradesh

National Highway 22, now renumbered as NH 5, runs through Himachal Pradesh and is infamous for its perilous conditions. The highway, which connects Shimla to the Tibetan border town of Kaza, winds through treacherous mountain terrain. It is often prone to landslides, especially during the monsoon season, making it a dangerous stretch for drivers. The road's narrow width, combined with heavy traffic and frequent roadworks, adds to the risk. Despite its challenges, the NH 22 offers stunning views of the Himalayas and is a vital route for those traveling to remote areas of Himachal Pradesh.

4. Sarchu to Leh, Himachal Pradesh to Ladakh

The stretch from Sarchu to Leh is another daunting segment of the Manali-Leh Highway. Located at a high altitude, this route presents numerous challenges, including rough roads, low oxygen levels, and extreme weather conditions. The journey involves crossing several mountain passes, such as the Tanglang La, which is one of the highest motorable passes in the world. The road is often covered with loose gravel and boulders, increasing the risk of accidents. Travelers must exercise extreme caution, and it is advisable to drive slowly and avoid nighttime travel to reduce the risk of mishaps.

5. The Guwahati-Shillong Road, Assam to Meghalaya

The Guwahati-Shillong Road, connecting Assam’s largest city with Meghalaya’s capital, is notorious for its hazardous driving conditions. The road is characterized by sharp turns, steep gradients, and frequent landslides, particularly during the monsoon season. The region's heavy rainfall exacerbates the risk of road erosion and landslides, making this stretch highly dangerous. Additionally, the road’s narrow width and high traffic can lead to severe congestion and accidents. Travelers should be prepared for sudden weather changes and ensure their vehicles are well-maintained to navigate this perilous route safely.