#asylum applications down

[thoughtlessarse]

The number of asylum applications registered across the European Union, Norway and Switzerland decreased by 11% in 2024 but remained above the one-million mark for a second consecutive year, according to the annual report released by the European Union Agency for Asylum (EUAA) on Monday morning. Overall, 1,014,420 requests for international protection were filed last year, compared to the 1,143,437 requests recorded in 2023. Notably, the report shows that almost half (48%) of the one million applications were submitted by citizenships with historically low chances of a successful decision, suggesting they are likely to be eventually turned down by national authorities. The trend is set to compound the recurring worries of EU member states, which have asked Brussels to reform the current legislation to speed up the deportation of rejected asylum seekers, such as economic migrants who come to the continent searching for better living conditions rather than escaping persecution or ill-treatment. The European Commission has endorsed the contentious idea of building camps (also known as "return hubs") outside EU territory to transfer those whose applications are denied. A revamped Return Directive is expected to be unveiled later this month.

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Any concentration camps set up outside the EU borders will be rife with human rights abuses, and that whether run by EU or local authorities.

[onceuponatown]

Elizabeth Cochran was born on May 5, 1864 in Cochran’s Mills, Pennsylvania. The town was founded by her father, Judge Michael Cochran. Elizabeth had fourteen siblings. Her father had ten children from his first marriage and five children from his second marriage to Elizabeth’s mother, Mary Jane Kennedy.

Michael Cochran’s rise from mill worker to mill owner to judge meant his family lived very comfortably. Unfortunately, he died when Elizabeth was only six years old and his fortune was divided among his many children, leaving Elizabeth’s mother and her children with a small fraction of the wealth they once enjoyed. Elizabeth’s mother soon remarried, but quickly divorced her second husband because of abuse, and relocated the family to Pittsburgh.

Elizabeth knew that she would need to support herself financially. At the age of 15, she enrolled in the State Normal School in Indiana, Pennsylvania, and an added an “e” to her last name to sound more distinguished. Her plan was to graduate and find a position as a teacher. However, after only a year and a half, Elizabeth ran out of money and could no longer afford the tuition. She moved back to Pittsburgh to help her mother run a boarding house.

In 1885, Elizabeth read an article in the Pittsburgh Dispatch that argued a woman’s place was in the home, “to be a helpmate to a man.” She strongly disagreed with this opinion and sent an angry letter to the editor anonymously signed “Lonely Orphan Girl.”

The newspaper’s editor, George A. Madden, was so impressed with the letter that he published a note asking the “Lonely Orphan Girl” to reveal her name. Elizabeth marched into the Dispatch offices and introduced herself. Madden immediately offered her a job as a columnist. Shortly after her first article was published, Elizabeth changed her pseudonym from “Lonely Orphan Girl” to “Nellie Bly,” after a popular song.

Elizabeth positioned herself as an investigative reporter. She went undercover at a factory where she experienced unsafe working conditions, poor wages, and long hours. Her honest reporting about the horrors of workers’ lives attracted negative attention from local factory owners. Elizabeth’s boss did not want to anger Pittsburgh’s elite and quickly reassigned her as a society columnist.

To escape writing about women’s issues on the society page, Elizabeth volunteered to travel to Mexico. She lived there as an international correspondent for the Dispatch for six months. When she returned, she was again assigned to the society page and promptly quit in protest.

Elizabeth hoped the massive newspaper industry of New York City would be more open-minded to a female journalist and left Pittsburgh. Although several newspapers turned down her application because she was a woman, she was eventually given the opportunity to write for Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World.

In her first act of “stunt” journalism for the World, Elizabeth pretended to be mentally ill and arranged to be a patient at New York’s insane asylum for the poor, Blackwell’s Island. For ten days Elizabeth experienced the physical and mental abuses suffered by patients.

Elizabeth’s report about Blackwell’s Island earned her a permanent position as an investigative journalist for the World. She published her articles in a book titled 10 Days in A Mad House. In it, she explained that New York City invested more money into care for the mentally ill after her articles were published. She was satisfied to know that her work led to change.

Activist journalists like Elizabeth—commonly known as muckrakers—were an important part of reform movements. Elizabeth’s investigations brought attention to inequalities and often motivated others to take action. She uncovered the abuse of women by male police officers, identified an employment agency that was stealing from immigrants, and exposed corrupt politicians. She also interviewed influential and controversial figures, including Emma Goldman in 1893.

The most famous of Elizabeth’s stunts was her successful seventy-two-day trip around the world in 1889, for which she had two goals. First, she wanted to beat the record set in the popular fictional world tour from Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days. Second, she wanted to prove that women were capable of traveling just as well as—if not better than—men. Elizabeth traveled light, taking only the dress she wore, a cape, and a small traveler’s bag. She challenged the stereotypical assumption that women could not travel without many suitcases, outfit changes, and vanity items. Her world tour made her a celebrity. After her return, she toured the country as a lecturer. Her image was used on everything from playing cards to board games. She recounted her adventures in her final book, Around the World in 72 Days.

In 1895, Elizabeth retired from writing and married Robert Livingston Seaman. Robert was a millionaire who owned the Iron Clad Manufacturing Company and the American Steel Barrel Company. When Robert died in 1904, Elizabeth briefly took over as president of his companies.

In 1911, she returned to journalism as a reporter for the New York Evening Journal. She covered a number of national news stories, including the Woman Suffrage Parade of 1913 in Washington, D.C. Elizabeth often referred to suffrage in her articles, arguing that women were as capable as men in all things. During World War I, she traveled to Europe as the first woman to report from the trenches on the front line.

Although Elizabeth never regained the level of stardom she experienced after her trip around the world, she continued to use her writing to shed light on issues of the day. She died of pneumonia on January 27, 1922.

[raynewolferune]

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist Pt 2.1

Note: The writing bug bit me while wading through the comments and replies so you guys get more! 😁 Special thanks to @the-scarecrow-of-aus & @starlightcat04 for helping spark this continuation!

Also, so you're not confused, this part is from Kon's POV and backtracks to before the Bane incident to explain how Kon started going undercover in Arkham. Pt 2.2 has the Bane incident from Kon's POV.

~*~*~

When Kon got the call from Tim asking if he'd be willing to do a favor for him, he hadn't expected it to be an undercover assignment in the infamous Arkham Asylum itself.

"You want me to do what?" He asked staring at Tim in disbelief once he reached the Nest to debrief.

"Go undercover as a new guard in Arkham." Tim repeated with a deadpan expression looking over his shoulder at Kon from his computer chair. Holy fuck, his eyebags were bad. 

"Have you slept in the past week, Tim?" Kon asked, taking in his best friend's appearance.

Tim frowned at the question. 

"I don't see how that's relevant but yes." He answered, heartbeat unchanging. Which didn't really mean anything since it was Tim but Kon decided he'd believe him. 

For now. 

Kon sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, I'll do it." He said. "Can you tell me why we need someone undercover at least?" 

Tim eyes widened, startled by the question like he was surprised Kon didn't know yet even though Tim hadn't told him yet. Okay, deep breaths, calm down, Tim clearly hasn't slept in at least two days. Kon coached himself as his temper flared up at the evidence that Tim wasn't taking care of himself again. All the Supers agreed: sometimes you just wish you could beat some sense into the Bats and make them take care of themselves like normal human beings.

"Ah. Right." Tim said, turning back to the computer and pulling up some files as he explained. "Two thing have occured within roughly fifteen days of each other that together are rather suspicious. First, Dr. Thomas Rylie, Jonathan Crane's undergraduate roommate and classmate throughout undergrad and grad school, was hired to work as one of the new in house psychiatrists at Arkham Asylum. They also got their doctorates from the same school during the same time frame and both focused on the impact fear has on the brain. Dr. Rylie's focus was on fear conditioning and Dr. Crane's focus was on fear responses." Well, that sounds suspicious. 

"Second, Gotham University lost their minds and began an undergraduate and graduate internship program partnering with Arkham Asylum." 

Kon went cold. They did what?

Pictures of the Asylum, University, and three people -presumably Scarecrow, Dr. Rylie, and a young woman- filled the computer screen now. 

"The internship program has only one applicant so far and she'd already started working at the Arkham. Her name is Jasmine Fenton and her background is...sparse, to say the least." Tim turned in his chair to face Kon.

"I'm too recognizable in Gotham and among the rogues to successfully go undercover in Arkham so I've set you up with an apartment and ID as 'Kyle Jennings.' You're scheduled to start work at Arkham as a new guard tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Kon said with a nod. "What do you need confirmed? What are the primary objectives?" He prodded Tim again since his friend's sleep deprived brain seemed to think that was enough information for debriefing. It wasn't. Definitely not. A lot was implied but it wouldn't be the first time Tim had completely different intentions than what Kon had understood from his briefing. Sleep deprived Tim frequently assumed others could read his mind or something. Sleep deprived Tim was wrong.

"We need to determine if Dr. Rylie is here working for Scarecrow as part of some new scheme. We need to determine if Jasmine Fenton is complicit. We need to know if Gotham U is also in on it. And we need to find out what exactly Scarecrow is the planning." Tim stated automatically as he ticked each one off on his fingers.

"Got it. Guess I'll head over to my new apartment then and start prepping for tomorrow." Kon said, heading towards the exit. Tim hummed in agreement waving a hand in his direction as he left. That dumbass was probably already absorbed in the next case. Kon sighed, hopefully Tim would at least pass out sometime later tonight.

~*~*~

Kon's first day at Arkham wasn't anything special. He didn't see Jasmine, Dr. Rylie, or Scarecrow. He didn't see any rogues or doctors at all. It was just a really Gotham kind of orientation. 

"This is where we keep a cache of stun grenades, long-range scope rifles, tranquilizer rounds, and rubber bullets." His new supervisor and guide through orientation, Alex Fhizer, said as he showed Kon how to access, inventory, lock, and re-conceal the cache. "Everytime you pass by a cache on patrol, you will check the inventory again and sign off on it with the date and time. If anything is different from the previous inventory entry, you will immediately radio the tower and the island will be put on lockdown." Greyish Hazel eyes peered out of a weathered face staring Kon down. "You will never neglect to inventory a cache while on patrol. You will never neglect to report an inventory discrepancy. The first time you do you will be fired immediately and you can count yourself damn lucky if that's all that happens to you." 

Fhizer was intense, man.

"Yes, Sir." Kon answered. Fhizer's hard look lasted another long moment before the older man gave a firm nod and continued showing Kon the ropes.

~*~*~

The second day was no where near as chill as the first. Hell, his brain was already starting to warp, there hadn't been anything chill about that orientation.

Kon started his second day by boarding the Arkham transport bus with the rest of the staff and early morning visitors to the island. That was where he saw Jasmine Fenton in the flesh for the first time. 

She has got to be part Amazonian, was his first thought upon seeing her. She was around 6ft tall with a thick mane of red hair tightly braided reaching all the way down to her waist. Jasmine was wearing teal stud earrings, a silver bangle type bracelet on her left wrist, a white blouse, black slacks, and black flats. She carried a small, clear purse that only held a small notepad, pen, house key, chapstick, and a thin teal wallet that presumably contained her IDs, debit cards, and a small amount of cash. Damn, she was tall.

Kon's concentration was broken by the quiet sound of metal crunching slightly beneath his fingers. He immediately loosened his grip on the hand rail, checking for damage with a wince. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he saw the damage was almost entirely unnoticeable to the naked eye. He'd have to mind his strength more closely. Kon was too used to the farm and facilities that were all reinforced to handle casual use from people with super strength. 

Tim's notes indicated Arkham wasn't reinforced for super strength anywhere. Not even along the outer walls. The facility had opted to use suppression collars on their meta inmates instead since they were cheaper and easier to repair and replace according to the official reports. However, Tim's notes had also mentioned that Arkham had reinforced the outer walls to account for super strength at one point. They'd poured nearly every dime the facility could spare into the project for months until the Joker himself had taken it personally. The madman had absolutely obliterated the reinforced outer walls until no part of them remained standing. Given Joker had destroyed the walls without having any meta powers at all and his history of viciously attacking -damn near mauling- anyone that tried to put him in a straight jacket, Kon didn't really blame Arkham for stopping while they were ahead.

Kon looked up as the bus jolted to a stop. The other passengers filing off around him. He watched as Jasmine Fenton was met by Dr. Rylie in front of the bus as he waited to disembark. 

"Ms. Jasmine!" Dr. Rylie greeted her enthusiastically with a broad open grin and beaming eyes. He reached towards her with both arms, hands open and she reached back. Their right hands clasped as their left hands landed on the other's upper arms as the two greeted one another openly. Kon wasn't very familiar with intern-mentor relationships nor what would be considered normal or professional for them, but it looked like a rather affectionate greeting for them having been strangers two weeks ago. That was strange, wasn't it? Was Tim right to be worried about them?

"Ms. Jasmine is the first and only applicant for Dr. Rylie, Director Keener, and Dean Byle's hairbrained idea to hire more doctors for this place." One of the older guards that had been standing just behind him on the bus explained having apparently noticed Kon watching the pair.

"They just seemed rather affectionate for Gotham." Kon shrugged dismissively as he turned to look over his shoulder at his new colleague. The shorter man laughed.

"A bit, yeah." He agreed. "I think Dr. Rylie is just desperate for this program to work out." He continued as they finally managed to get off the bus. Dr. Rylie and Ms. Fenton were gone now. "Pretty much everyone's been treating her like a princess." 

"That doesn't seem fair to everyone else." Kon commented, dropping back a bit to let the older man lead the way to the guards room for morning debriefing and to get their assignments. He'd already memorized the layouts but 'Kyle Jennings' shouldn't have yet.

"Who cares about fair as long as it works?" The guard answered. "If treating her like a princess scores more interns for the program in the long run, and if one intern every year ends up interested in sticking around, I'll be happy to cater to every single one of them." He confessed, stopping in the middle of the hall to turn and face Kon directly. Kon glimpsed the name Ryans as the silver name badge flashed the briefly reflecting the overhead lights. "You non-gothamites just don't get it. We're desperate for whatever help we can get." 

"That's why I applied here." Kon lied. "Going to school across the bay, I heard a lot about what went down over here while I was in college. I want to help." 

Ryans gave a short solemn nod then turned and led the rest of the way to the break room. 

~*~*~

Day four undercover was when Kon officially met Jasmine Fenton. 

Everything had been going well so far with his undercover assignment. He'd settled in to the role of Kyle Jennings, been getting along well with his new coworkers including Ryans and Fhizer, and hadn't yet managed to screw up inventorying the caches during the outer patrol loops. That being said, Kon was having other issues.

The worst part of being an unstable Kryptonian clone was that his strength tended to fluctuate. It normally wasn't much of an issue when he was surrounded by reinforced everything in his daily life but here at Arkham it was becoming a problem. Case in point, Kon thought to himself with an exhausted groan as his freshly made coffee mug shattered in his hand.

"Oh come on." He sighed snatching a handful of paper towels from the counter and bending to wipe up the coffee and ceramic shards on the floor. At least he was the only one in the room when it shattered. The door clicked softly behind him and Kon jumped twisting to look. 

Jasmine Fenton stood behind him having just closed the door to the break room after entering.

"What happened here?" She asked, sounding bewildered with slightly wide eyes as she took in the mess on the floor. Thank God. She didn't see it.

"Guess I was a bit more tired than I thought." He said with a forced laugh in order to hide his nerves. "Slipped right through my fingers."

She nodded, accepting his words at face value. 

"I've done that more than a few times close to finals." She admitted. "You guys have 10 hour shifts, right? You must be exhausted. When's your next day off?"

"The day after tomorrow." Kon said. "This is day 3 for me since orientation doesn't count."

"You get 2 days off followed by an on-call day, right?" She asked.

"Right," Kon agreed. "AKA 2 days of freedom and a day chained to the Bowery." He joked.

"Absolutely terrible, they may as well put an ankle monitor on you." She cracked back grinning. Kon snickered. The door opened again.

"I see you found another non-gothamite here." Dr. Rylie said striding into the break room with a wide grin.

"Sounds like that makes three of us." Kon agreed. Outside of Joker, he had never seen a gothamite grin that wide in his life.

"Dr. Thomas Rylie, a pleasure to meet you." Dr. Rylie introduced himself holding out his hand to shake. Kon shook his hand as gently as possible, mindful his strength was on the fritz.

"Kyle Jennings, nice to meet you. I just started as a guard earlier this week." He said then held his hand out to shake Jasmine's.

"Jasmine Fenton, I'm an intern therapist. This is my second week here." She greeted with a warm smile shaking Kon's hand. She didn't say anything about being glad to meet him, Kon noted. It wasn't exactly strange behavior but something made him take note of it anyway. Like by not saying it she was saying she hadn't decided whether meeting him was a good or bad thing yet. Dr. Rylie didn't seem to notice anything off with the interaction though as he went about making his own coffee. The three of them made idle small talk as they made their own coffees. Once his new cup was ready, Kon bid them both goodbye and went on his way. While they were his main objective, lingering too long this early into their aquantiantship would probably be strange.

He had several other small friendly interactions with both of them over the next few days. Taking the time for greetings, small talk, and sharing small bits of casual background info from Kyle Jennings's past to encourage them both to open up to him. He also broke a clipboard, two more coffee cups, several pens, and a doorknob during that time as his strength continued to fluctuate. The doorknob had been particularly embarrassing. He had gone to open the door for Jasmine when he saw her with her arms full of files and somehow managed to twist it in such a way that the screws holding it in place sheered off and the knob came off in his hand. Collins, his partner for building patrol that day, burst out laughing hysterically as Kon stared at the doorknob in horror.

"No worries, man." Collins said, clapping Kon on the shoulder still snickering. "Someone else probably broke it and put it back so they wouldn't get scolded or something."

"Yeah," Kon said with a nervous laugh. "That must be what happened."

Jasmine's eyes flicked between the two of them then she grinned.

"And here I thought you just really hated that door." She teased Kon. He felt his face heat up as Collins laughed at him again.

"It is an ugly door." Collins agreed enthusiastically smirking.

"Terribly ugly. Hideous even," Jasmine said with a smile.

"Possibly even traumatizing to behold," Collins continued to smirk.

"You've got me. I have a deep rooted traumatic fear of metal taupe doors." Kon deadpanned ears burning. Jasmine snickered as Kon got the door open for her and they went their separate ways.

~*~*~

"What have you found so far?" Tim asked. Kon did not have the words to express how much he didn't want to be at the Nest at 3am on his first day off from undercover work. If it was anyone other than Tim he wouldn't have even answered the phone.

"Literally nothing," Kon said dryly. "I am still the newest of newbies at Arkham. I practically spent the whole week being babysat by senior guardsmen." He sighed, reminding himself that it wasn't Tim's fault that he was a little insomniac goblin and that Kon really did love his friend and would be sad if he hurt Tim's feelings. Eventually. When he woke up again in the morning. "I did start befriending them both though. It's slow going since we're in different areas but nearly being the only non-gothamites there seems to be helping me make some headway at least." 

There was one other non-gothamite on staff, a medical nurse named Sharon Earley. She was in her mid-thirties and the most sour and unpleasant person Kon had had the displeasure of meeting so far on Arkham's staff. Not that Kon could blame her for that. Not when she had several large ragged scars spanning from her chin and down both of her arms from when Zsazz had gotten hold of her alone after dark her second year at Arkham. It was a damn miracle she'd survived him. Kon didn't know how she managed it but he wouldn't try to find out either. Ryans had taken him aside right before he first met Nurse Earley and warned him not to stare or ask about any of it and then explained the bare basics of what happened to her after they'd left. 

Tim probably had a file with every detail of that night as well as information about Sharon Earley's life both before and after that night somewhere on his computer. The thought made Kon nauseous. 

"Good, good," Tim said absently as he updated the mission file on his computer. The keys clicked so rapidly that Kon again reconsidered whether or not his best friend had super speed. "Better to keep them from suspecting than to rush in anyway." 

"Exactly." 

Tim continued asking questions about every little detail he could think of concerning Dr. Rylie, Jasmine Fenton, and the rogues currently in Arkham.

"They don't let me near those guys yet. I'm too new." Kon said when Tim asked if Scarecrow looked to be plotting more than usual.

"They don't?" Tim sounded surprised, going so far as to stop typing so he could turn and stare at Kon. The clone was amused to note something about his statement had managed to wake Tim up enough to be visibly shocked instead blank-faced with exhaustion.

"Of course not," Kon answered trying to keep the amusement from his voice as much as possible. "As many times as your rogues have broken out they're leary of letting new hires near them in case they're goons in disguise." 

Tim sank back into his chair looking like Kon had uprooted his whole world by proving the Earth really was flat via actual science.

"That's impossible." Tim said sounding faint. "Everytime there's a mass breakout, we always hear that some of the guards helped them escape. How?..." He trailed off, eyes darting rapidly like he was tracking lines of an invisible conspiracy board in the air in front of him. Kon shrugged, uncomfortable with this new information.

"Scuttlebutt is that the people helping them escape are visitors. The guards get blamed because the goons visit wearing clothes similar to the guard uniform from a distance. All blue polo shirts and black pants look similar at a distance." Kon explained. "It also doesn't help that the guards can't really do much to stop the escape attempts since they only have stun grenades, tranquilizer darts, batons, low voltage tazers, and rubber bullets to fight back with. So as long as enough people are involved in the escape attempt at least some of them will make it out even if the guards manage to to tranquilize several of them." 

Tim still looked like Kon was blowing his mind. It was such a rare experience that Kon had to continue.

"Plus the tranquilizer darts and the rubber bullets have to be fired from different hardware." Kon told him. "Which sucks because you have to carry twice the amount of weight while chasing after the escapees which slows you down and it takes longer to swap between them."

There was something similar to mystified horror spreading across his friend's face now.

"Speaking if swapping between them, they have different ranges too." Kon continued gleefully. Half because it was fun wrecking Tim's worldview and half to actually impart the information. "Batons are short-range. Tranquilializer darts and stun grenades are mid-range. Rubber bullet riffles are long-range."

"If that's all it is, WE can fund then better gear to control the inmates." Tim interrupted turning back to the computer and swiftly typing out a list of things to send Arkham. Kon shook his head.

"That won't work." He disagreed gently. "They aren't failing because of the gear itself."

Tim turned back around to face him, confused. This was not going to be a fun conversation, Kon swallowed hard and forced himself to continue.

"The problem is that if you fire the rubber bullet riffles from mid or short range you could seriously injury or even kill the patient. If they get past mid-range, you'll miss them completely using tranquilizer darts or stun grenades. If you try to use either of those at short-range it'll be bad for you whether it's because they'll get hold of you before the tranquilizer knocks them out or because you'll stun yourself too."

Comprehension and trepidation began to dawn on Tim's face. He deflated in his chair, sinking lower and lower as he stared off into nowhere.

"You also can't hit them with more than one tranquilizer dart in a four hour window because you could accidently kill them that way. That also means even though you have a baton, you typically can't do enough damage to them to keept them from escaping because that might potentially kill them." Kon said completely solemn now as he relayed the information. "Because regardless of the reputation Arkham has or what the patients have done, it is still a hospital and they are still patients." 

Tim was staring directly at Kon now. Mouth open, face slack, eyes wide with a kind of numbed shock. Kon held his gaze.

"Yeah," Kon said after a moment. "Yeah, that's how I reacted too." He looked down, picking at his nails for a moment before forcing himself to stop and meet Tim's gaze again. "Phizer, my new 'boss', made sure to drill that into my head during orientation. 'Arkham's guards exist first and foremost to protect the patients. Arkham isn't supposed to be a prison. It's a medical facility. The patients are confined to the premises because their affliction has made them dangerous and they have to stay so that we can keep them and others safe from further harm. We are here to keep the patients and staff from hurting each other, themselves, or being hurt by people outside of Arkham's walls.' Not gonna lie, man." Kon said quirking a bitter grin as his did. "Hearing that kind of fucked me up a bit."

Tim sucked in a huge heaving breath then slowly let it out before he responded.

"I can't say I ever thought about it like that." He admitted in a soft strained voice. "Can't say I ever wanted to either." There was a bitter tinge to his words.

"Yeah, neither did I." Kon answered, shoulders slumping a bit. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? I kind of want to head back and sleep a bit."

Tim shook his head slowly.

"No, I think we're good at the moment." He said looking twice as exhausted and drained now as he did when Kon first got there. Kon nodded.

"Good night then. I'll see you later, man." He said, pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against and heading for the door.

"Be safe, Kon." Tim answered softly turning back to his computer.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

A four-year old child with Stage 4 cancer—who is a U.S. citizen—kidnapped and deported by the Trump regime against his mother’s objections. ICE agents raid the home of US citizens in Oklahoma—traumatizing the family. Trump regime lies that hundreds deported to prison in El Salvador were “all criminals” and Trump is now bragging that he refuses to comply with a U.S. Supreme Court order to return one of those wrongly deported. This is what we’ve seen in just the past few weeks from the Trump regime as Trump backed henchmen under the color of law are violating our Constitution on almost a daily basis. Trump and all in his regime involved in these crimes from Marco Rubio to Trump’s border czar Tom Homan must be criminally prosecuted. The question of course though is will they ever be held accountable?! The case that grabbed headlines over the weekend is especially heartbreaking. Three children—all U.S. citizens--were kidnapped and deported by the Trump regime to Honduras. (And I choose the word “kidnap” very carefully as a lawyer and based on the facts we now know.) One of those children is a 4-year-old boy with Stage 4 cancer who was deported depriving him of access to his cancer medicines and doctor. The Trump regime officials repeatedly told us that the two mothers of these children had demanded that their children to go with them. But lawyers for the family say that is lie. Sirine Shebaya, executive director of National Immigration Project stated point blank on MSNBC Tuesday that the mother of the four year old child with cancer vocally objected—saying she wanted the child to remain in America for medical care. But the Trump regime didn’t care and instead deported the child along with his seven-year-old sister. Gracie Willis, also an attorney with the National Immigration Project, who represents the 2-year-old U.S. citizen who was deported said that “at every single point ICE denied anybody the ability to know where this family was, denied everybody the ability to contact with them and communicate with them.” She added that the child’s father “barely had any opportunity to speak with the mother about what was best for the child before an ICE officer hung up the phone as he tried to give her the number for an attorney.” In other words, the mother was coerced into taking the child. Yet there were Trump regime officials doubling down on their lies—repeating that both mothers willingly consented to take the children. The always callous Trump border henchmen Tom Homan remarked about the deportations, “Having a U.S. citizen child after you enter this country illegally is not a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

Another lie by the Trump regime was that both mothers were “illegals.” But as the National Immigration Project’s executive director, Sirine Shebaya explained on MSNBC Tuesday, that was again a lie. One mother had an asylum application pending and the other was brought to the country as unaccompanied minor years ago. And both were enrolled in the ICE program known as Intensive Supervision Appearance Program, or ISAP, which ICE explains on its agency’s website is designed to enable “aliens to remain in their communities — contributing to their families and community organizations and, as appropriate, concluding their affairs in the U.S. — as they move through immigration proceedings or prepare for departure.” The two mothers--as part of this program—were checking in as required with immigration officials as they had done in the past. But this time ICE agents were waiting for them and whisked them away denying them a chance to talk to lawyers before being placed on a plane to Honduras. The facts of this case are so egregious that a Trump-appointed federal judge, Terry Doughty, issued an order Friday that noted he had a “strong suspicion that the government just deported a U.S. citizen with no meaningful process.” As the Judge remarked, “It is illegal and unconstitutional to deport, detain for deportation, or recommend deportation of a U.S. citizen.” Yes, it’s illegal to do what the Trump regime just did. Then there was the traumatizing ICE raid in Oklahoma of a family because ICE officials didn’t care enough to ensure they were targeting the right people. As Oklahoma News 4 reported on Tuesday, a mother and their three daughters were sleeping in their rented a house in Oklahoma on Thursday only to be awoken by 20 armed federal agents from ICE and other agencies breaking down the door. The mother repeatedly told the agents: “We are US citizens!” and that the names on the warrant were not theirs--but the ICE agents did not care. She explained that the agents then ordered her and her daughters outside into the rain before they could even put on clothes.

[...] The Trump regime should rightfully end with Nuremberg type trials like after World War II where Nazi officials were tried for crimes against humanity. 

The Trump Regime’s handling of deportations-- especially of children-- should be grounds for them to be tried crimes against humanity.

[ackerifle]

Can you make an asylum patient needy yandere levi ackerman x asylum worker or reporter reader also do you do crossovers if so are you familiar with outlast or the Mount massive asylum

a spoonful of sugar!

yan. asylum patient levi ackerman x fem asylum nurse. reader

+ CW. — au: recon psychiatric hospital, reverse power dynamics, solitary confinement, medical drugging, escapement, morally grey darling, mentions of: mistreatment/abuse of patients, illegal medical procedures; my apologies, i’ve no knowledge on outlast, or asylums for that matter (but the effort is there, trust); not proof-read.

there is something innately unnerving about working so late into the night. it doesn’t help that any remnants of the sun’s presence had since been replaced by the humorless light of the moon, almost mockingly as it shone down on the equally dour and somber asylum. but much to your pleasure, you had been away for the entirety of the day, a blessing for you, but a curse for the recon psychiatric hospital. the asylum without its head nurse may have been left in ruins had you not returned any sooner, all thanks to a particularly high-maintenance patient, one you happened to be on your merry way to see.

delivering medications was child’s play; wonderfully easy, lacking in any form of demanding labor, and so effective. in spite of the fact that you were still quite privy to the more intense and morally questionable procedures performed by the doctors and assisted by the fellow nurses, it wasn’t like you to get your hands dirty. perhaps that is why they always stuck you with the night shift, because it was much simpler and favorable to deal with unconscious patients.

in your dominant hand grasped a singular nonbenzodiazepine pill, colorless and bland, an all white capsule with the only labeling being a letter ‘z,’ engraved on the surface of the medication. it was pinched between your forefinger and thumb, and you were careful as not to be too rough; what would be a sign of poor handling on your part, but you also held an insouciant grip on it to prevent any powdery residue from getting onto your skin. a glass, or rather faux-glass, cup took the empty space of your other hand. a glass half empty with water from two corridors down, courtesy of the leaky faucet from the dingy kitchenette. for once, the water appeared tasteful in the luster of the night, it made you lick your lips when you held the clear glassware up above you as you passed beneath the ceiling lights.

your pace was slowed so as to not allow the water to slosh around too much within its confines, and you made sure the uneven steps on the top floor’s staircase wouldn’t impair neither your ankles, nor fingers. when you had conquered the ascent and found yourself steady on flat ground, you stood motionless and inspected your hand, letting the pill gracelessly fall from your fingertips to the cup of your palm. folding your hand to cover the tablet, you continued down the daunting hallway.

had you not been working at an asylum, you would’ve run for the hills upon seeing such a sight: formidable walls and weak floorboards that creaked under the slightest weight, defectively dismal lighting that was unreliable at its best (constantly flickering) and completely useless at its worst (broken and shattered), and an indefinite silence that would likely cause one to go mad. this was the location deemed as ‘solitary confinement,’ seeing that there was no applicable area for those who deserved such a punishment. the courtyards and other floors were regarded unfit, as it was often frequented by patients and staff alike, and the most suitable section, the basement, was… occupied for more unruly operations.

the latter thought causes a cold shiver to crawl down your spine, and you shake your head with leaden stagnancy to avoid remembering the imagery. thankfully, it doesn’t take long to reach your destination, and you bend down to crouch in front of the door before you. with observant eyes, you gently set the cup down onto the floor, grimacing at how it touches the ground, and you retract your fingers from the body of the glass once the water’s splashes reduce to complete stillness. rising to your feet and straightening your posture, you dig into your pocket, rummaging for the ring of keys set, and looking for the singular key to the top floor’s only inhabited room. you avoid looking into the pathetic excuse of a window, eyes trained to the doorknob; insert, turn right, and pull back. sliding the ring of keys back into your pocket, you take a risky hold of the glass, raising it back up to your level by the rim.

there is absolutely no sense of urgency when you open that door, guiding it with your dominant hand as the inside of the room begins to reveal itself. stepping inside and far enough away from the door’s line of movement, you make eye contact with the patient residing within the recon psychiatric hospital’s loneliest floor, and he does not look happy. your gaze doesn’t shift, locked in place as you feel around for the door, pushing it back with a harsh shove, and only moving once you hear the bolts fasten it closed with an obnoxious slam. you idly meander your way over to the bed, where he is sat, one leg crossed over the other and his hands interlocked atop his knee. he doesn’t look to be someone who requires psychiatric treatment like this, but you’re no fool.

“i heard you gave dr. zoë quite the scare earlier.” you turn your hand faced up, unfurling your grip and displaying the capsule that continues to sit unperturbed in the cradle of your palm. a sour expression was already present on levi’s face, but at the mention of your peer, his eyebrows furrow and lips tug further into a frown, “where were you?”

taking a small step forward, you gradually traipse closer towards the bed that was pressed into the right corner of the room. he is motionless, even as you near. you dully tilt your head to the side with a quizzical look, it is only until you’re within arms reach does levi unravel from the stiff position, uncrossing his legs and unfolding his arms, “you can’t go terrorizing our psychiatrists and psychologists—”

“where were you?” your face falls at his demanding tone, but that is the least of your concerns once you feel levi’s eager hands on your body. simultaneously, he languidly spreads his legs apart until there is enough room for you to stand in between them; something you fail to take notice of as you’re far too distracted by him grabbing you by your torso, digging his fingers dangerously close to the underside of your breasts, then sliding down and tapping his fingers against the sides of your stomach, squeezing almost playfully, before he ultimately decides to sink his claws into your hips.

abrasively jerking you forward, levi’s arms snake around your waist until his hands meet one another overtop the curve on your lower back. you gasp when he pulls you closer, gaping with distraught panic at the glass of water, which fortunately did not spill, but it had come close. your knees collide with the inner side of his thighs, and you clasp your hand that was holding onto the z-drug to restrain it in place, so as not to lose it. once fully retaining your stability, your eyes dart down to levi, offering him an irked glare and placing the closed fist of your dominant hand on his shoulder, attempting to push him back to provide yourself some space. he doesn’t budge whatsoever, even when you continue your futile efforts in prying him off of you.

“where were you?” he repeats for the third time, but when he asked, levi didn’t sound pushy or domineering, unlike the previous two times, just bemused. your attention finally drops down to him, analytically observing as he gaped up at you. it was almost as if he looked at you with vacant, absentminded eyes with the way he refused to avert his gaze, but his gawking was anything but absentminded. his eyes felt intimate, accompanied by his endearing touches and the close proximity. you felt intimidated to hold this unspoken staring contest, “i, well, i was away.”

levi leans into you, until his head can rest in the crook of your neck. you’re rigid in his hold, refusing to let up your firm posture, only slightly bending to accommodate his height, “where?” you grind your molars together, and although you have the right to leave his questions unanswered, you do respond anyway just to satiate his curiosity, “my presence was requested for an asylum in stohess.”

“and what business do they have that involves you?” levi withdraws away from your neck, only to place his chin in between your collar bones, angling his head to look up at you, “i’ve been requested for a possible transfer, there is a young girl over there, i believe her name is annie… regardless, they think she’ll do better in my care. that’s why i’ve been telling you that you need to treat the other staff nicer.”

levi gives you an incredulous scowl, hands shooting up to cup either side of your face and drawing you closer until you’re nearly forehead to forehead. his eyes are awfully scary when he’s this close, and his voice goes monotonous, “you aren’t going. that’s ridiculous, they need you transferred to help one patient?” he asserts as if he’s the one in charge of that choice, you scoff.

“it’s ridiculous to stay for one patient, levi.” you’re given a break from the leer he was boring practically into your skull as he rolls his eyes, “it’s not your place or mine to finalize this decision. please don’t be difficult, it’s past time you take your medication.” it is both extremely embarrassing and annoying that you have to beg him to do literally anything, considering it only further feeds into his power and control complex when it comes to you.

he’s quiet for a while after that. perhaps not totally out of the ordinary for him, but you can see the gears turning in his head. levi is thinking about something, and whatever it is, it cannot be good. suppressing your unease, you careen backwards, breaking free from his clutch, but not without dipping your clenched hand into his, finally letting go of the pill. levi’s focus is redirected to the little white caplet, and you nudge the glass of water against his other hand. you cross your arms, waiting impatiently, and his eyes briefly flicker towards you before placing the pill in his mouth, mindful as not to accidentally swallow it, before tossing his head back and taking a hefty sip of water. levi raises the empty glass, and you take it from him, practically snatching it out of his hands and kneeling to set it down on the discolored and tarnished floorboards.

when you stand up and dust off your uniform, levi peers at you expectantly. and you let out a defeated sigh, to which levi smiles, “come here.” you instruct him to do so, but it is you coming to him. levi reels you in by the buckle of your apron, causing you to stumble over your own feet. you place both of your hands flat on his shoulders to ground yourself, wordlessly scolding him with a glare, one that only makes his smile grow wider.

you set your middle finger and thumb on the underside of his jaw, pulling it down slack and examining the inside of his mouth. your other hand finds itself on his cheek while you force his head to the left, then to the right, “lift your tongue.” levi obeys, pressing the muscle to the roof of his mouth, you press an index finger down onto his front teeth, causing his head to incline. you’re far too focused on ensuring that he actually consumed the pill to notice levi had gotten increasingly closer to you, and more level as well. levi catches you off guard when he bites down on your finger—

“ow! levi, i— what the hell? why would you do that?” you jump back, cradling the injured appendage in your other hand, mortified at the bite mark it had left on his wake. levi doesn’t give you much time to fully curse him out like you had wished, seizing you by your hips once more and falling back onto the bed, sitting upright with you at his mercy.

you descend with him, landing in a position that has you straddling his lap. the flat of your palm pries at his shoulder and chest, while your other arm is captured by his own hand, unbothered by your feeble endeavors in distancing yourself from him. levi’s other hand slides across the back of your neck, gripping onto your nape with a strict hold before pushing your head forward. his lips are on yours in an instant, letting go of your arm in favor of cruelly pinching your nose. you almost gag, frantically gasping for air, and without hesitation, levi’s tongue bullies its way into your mouth. and through the feeling of his hand tightening around the back of your neck, of his teeth nipping at your lips, of his tongue dominating yours; there is the feeling of a foreign object, and it feels like a pill.

wildly fighting his hold renders you breathless, and this is a fight you cannot win. tears swell in the corners of your bleary eyes, and the urge to cough becomes more eminent. to subdue the desire to hack and wheeze — which would certainly end in you choking — you instinctively swallow back the build up of both yours and levi’s saliva that gathered in the back of your esophagus. levi draws back from the kiss when he sees the lump in your throat bob and disappear, but he makes no move to release you, only relaxing his hands in their place. and it is now that you remember why he was administered to this asylum in the first place.

“i should’ve done this a long time ago…” apart of you wishes that z-drugs were immediately effective, just so you wouldn’t have to be conscious during your struggle against levi— which was, as always, in vain. it must have been due to the lack of air that you could only recount fragments of what happened. you turned your heel to flee, but levi had pinned you to the ground, keeping you in place with a chokehold that was alarming for someone who had been allegedly sedentary during his time in solitude. if your memory served you correctly, the sound of keys jingling and a door being unlocked could be heard; but whether it was in your dreams or in reality is unknown to you.

but that wouldn’t matter, by now, you and levi would be far from the psychiatric institution. it was easy, laughably easy for him. despite the fact it was such a late hour into the early mornings, and that he was carrying an unconscious and seemingly violated woman on his back, no passerby dared to question him. why would they? he was in a guard’s uniform after all, a stolen guard uniform— and thus, all the onlookers had just assumed that levi was kind enough to help an exhausted nurse on a particularly rough night shift get home safely. oh you were going home alright, back to levi’s home beneath the cities above, and how delighted he is now that he’ll be the one taking care of you. at the end of the day, it is what ‘normal,’ lovers do, isn’t it?

[marsxcutie]

Fixation│Jonathan Crane x Reader

Part two here <3

Fixation Masterlist

A/N: This is a TEST, PLEASEE interact if you're interested in this story line and I will gladly continue. This is my first fanfic so I'm just publishing this first part to see if there's any positive feedback! Suggestions are welcomed!

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Female Reader

Synopsis: (Y/N) is Arkham's new lead psychologist in the developing acute pediatric unit. Dr. Crane soon becomes fixated on the pretty young doctor. Is she just as fixated on him?

Warnings: no warnings in this part, planning on it becoming a little dark if that's what the people want hehe

Dr. Crane's eyes scanned over the email, his brow furrowing in confusion. Arkham decided to build another wing for an acute pediatric unit? Who in their right mind allowed this? Yes, there was a desperate need for children's psychiatric services, especially in Gotham, but to put children in the same building as psychopaths and murderers? Even Dr. Crane had the common sense to see how bad of an idea this was. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, this was not a change that he had been anticipating. He shut his computer off, deciding to be done for the day. He had much more pressing matters that needed his attention.

Your eyes scanned over the email, eyebrows raised at the seemingly amazing opportunity presenting itself to you. You had just checked your emails to see a new message from a job recruiter.

"Hello (Y/N),

Arkham Asylum is opening up an acute pediatric unit and is currently accepting applications for various positions. I got ahold of your resume and found it very impressive. Please take a look at the open positions and let me know if you were interested in applying for any of them.

Hope to hear from you soon.

James"

Attached to the email was a link, that took you to all the open positions and their job descriptions. Scanning over all of them briefly, one in particular caught your attention:

LEAD PEDIATRIC PSYCHOLOGIST

TWO WEEKS LATER

The sound of your kitten heels clacking on the pavement stopped suddenly as you were met with the front of the large ominous gate. You looked up at the building beyond the gate, a knot beginning to form in your stomach, this place looked a lot scarier than you had remembered. You let out a breath that you seemed to be holding and looked around for a buzzer or something that could someone of your presence. You jumped at the loud creaking noise that came from the gate as it swung open slowly.

"(Y/N)! Nice to see you made it in one piece."

A man stepped out from the opening of the gate, extending his hand. "I'm Rick, Arkham's executive director. I'll be showing you around and getting you settled, we're happy to have you here." His voice was gruff but his eyes were quite kind. You took his hand in yours, giving him a warm smile, "Nice to meet you Rick. I'm happy to be here." He gave you a smile and turned, gesturing you to follow him.

You followed him, taking in your surroundings as you walked. The grey overcast made the large vast building look like something out of an old horror film, the tall weeds poking out in the cracks in the cobblestone really added to the creepy scene laid out before you.

Rick led you inside, giving you a quick tour of the building. "I'll show you to your office now and let you get started with your training." Rick led you up a flight of stairs and down a hallway stopping at an office door. "So uh, since we haven't exactly finished building the pediatric wing, your office will temporarily be over here." You nodded, "That's fine by me."

He brought out a key from his pocket, turning the lock and opening the door for you. You stepped into your new space, it was a good sized space, with a large white desk, a couch, and some bookcases.

"Feel free to make yourself at home. I will let Dr. Crane know you're here, he will be doing most of your training with you. His office is actually right next to yours so should be pretty convenient for the two of you." Rick gave you a smile and nod and closed the door behind him.

You let out a small sigh, looking around the room, even though this was only your office for a short while it was still a good way to envision all your ideas for a cute and cozy space for you and your patients.

A loud knock on the door broke you out of thought, your head turning to the now open door. Your mouth unintentionally dropped open a bit at the sight of who you assumed was Dr. Crane. You were honestly expecting an old man not someone like Dr. Crane. His dark hair framed his handsome face perfectly and his intense eyes were the most perfect shade of blue. Your eyes flickered to his lips and you'd be surprised if he didn't notice the blush that covered your cheeks.

"You're (Y/N) I presume?" He smiled softly at you, extending his hand to you. "Y-yes, nice to meet you, Dr. Crane." You took his hand in yours, feeling silly at the flutter in your chest. "Call me Jonathan."

[nylwnder]

lake house

a/n: HELLO SWEETIES!!!!! welcome to my first 2024 fic n series! i started it off with ryan cause if you know me, you know he was everything to me for the 4 months we had him. also, HUGE SHOUTOUT to @shoot-the-puck for in a way co-writing this and the others with me i love you so much scoob thank you for being my asylum roomie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyways, enjoy and dont forget to tune in to the other drops <3 mwah!

pairing: ryan o’reilly x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT, its giving soft sex (unprotected), lowkey body worship, lowkey exhibitionism, cockwarming, childhood friends to lovers, use of “snook”, and ryan being such husband material. gawdamn.

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @11livpangburn , @domi-max , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay, @fallinallincurls

series masterpost

the drive to the lake house was as calming as ever. although it was a couple hours, it was a trip you knew all too well. one you were dying to take every june the minute the last bell rang for summer break.

sometimes it was just you, your parents and your brother. most times, it was you and the o’reilly family. a lot of kids shared between two vans, snacking on chips and freezies from the coolers at the back of the cars.

the tradition never stopped when the lot grew older. you escaped to the house every time your winter term ended, then after your internship finished, and then when you could use up all your saved vacation time from your new job. ryan always followed when his nhl duties came to an end. both respective families coming in to stay in between.

that being said, this was the first time you drove to the lake house with ryan in the driver's seat and with you in the passenger's seat. it was the first summer since he came back home to toronto. but more so, to you. officially.

he was sick of waiting until your usual shared break, and you were very much sick of coming home to a cold bed.

before any headline could find you, ryan called you that night. and it was as if the 100 ton weight was being lifted off of your desperate shoulders. because it was. after ten years of long and needy facetimes, one-night lustful visits, and the best stanley cup celebration you two could possibly have imagined, you were going to have him, at your full disposal, “whenever you fucking want” as ryan had told you.

ryan put the car in park and you couldn’t help but smile about the fact that this would be the first time you’d be stepping into that house, as a proud pair. the “finally” ’s already shed by your parents who were following in behind the two of you.

—

the first night was spent with take out, laughs, pjs and movies and it always makes you grateful for growing up with a group with such a tight knit bond. your heart was full when you heard inside jokes from circa. 2006 running through the house — which are still ever so applicable, presently.

the next day, you didn’t wake until you heard the cars drive off in the late afternoon. it had been a while since you had the time to sleep in, so it seemed your body pranced at the chance. after heading to the bathroom, you couldn’t find ryan in the rooms or common areas. he always made sure you get as much sleep as you need, not only because he knows how grumpy you get if you don’t, but also because he always wants the best for you.

as you made your way to the kitchen, you looked out the windows casing the large lake. you saw the large figure of the man sitting at the edge of the dock and didn’t do anything else but make the walk over to him.

you sat beside him as he turned to face you with a toothless smile. you smiled at it, you always told him he looked cute like that, and he started listening to you. “sleep good, sweetheart?” he asks as he looks down to cut the leaf caps off the pack of strawberries between his legs. “wonderful” you emphasised before you reached for the strawberry he handed you. “i’m glad. you deserve it.”

you took a bite out of the soft strawberry, the juices from the flesh spilling into your mouth. you couldn’t help but let out a little innocent moan. the first time you tried these, they were immediately the best strawberries you have ever had in your entire life. and they just so happen to be locally farmed near the lakehouse.

ryan giggled, “had to stop by the market and buy you a few packs during my run. wouldn’t be a lake house summer without these guys right here.”

“this is why i love you. thank you.”

he only responded by handing you the bigger piece between the two in his hand. you put your head on his shoulder as you two looked out in front of you. the sun was bright but not exhausting, as the wind from the water dismissed the heat.

“the folks went to gather some things for this week's meal plan.”

you hummed a response. but it got you thinking. and so you didn't waste time.

you turned yourself around in order to lay your upper body on ryan’s lap. he placed the knife and strawberries safely aside as he smiled. you gave him a small smile before shutting your eyes for a bit.

you reached for ryan’s hands from his sides. you played with his big and thick fingers for a bit, before taking his hand and placing it on top of your shirt. then you moved his hand under the hem. as you began to move it further up, the material of your shirt wrinkled with your movements and began to expose your skin.

ryan kept his hand in your grip and his eyes firm on you. you kept moving it up, reaching the curves of your boobs. “take it off” you mumbled as he obliged. taking off the tshirt and throwing it on top of the other items he had set aside.

you didn't reach for his hands again. he knows what to do. he always knows, ever since your first kiss.

the sun shined on your supple flesh. his calloused hands moved back to your curves. pushing down your pants a tad, in order to squeeze your love handles. later, his fingers lightly trace up the soft line marks found upon your hips, and the ones on the sides of your breasts.

your cheeks begin to mimic the berry blush as you open your eyes to look at ryan. you loved how comfortable you are to be vulnerable around him. you always felt adored, and safe.

he pulled you up swiftly, allowing your legs to straddle him. your arms naturally wrap around his broad shoulders. you look into his gentle eyes, “i love you, snook.” you lean in for a tender kiss but his hands push your body tight into his. “i love you more, sweetness.” his lips finally meet yours and he envelopes you perfectly. “always have. always will.” he whispers.

his lips meet your cheek as he leaves wet kisses on your jaw and neck. you let soft moans escape your parted lips, your body melting into his figure. ryan often joked that his body was made for you specifically, with the way you fit against him so perfectly.

“gorgeous.” he whispers into your ear as his beard scrapes against you. you bite your lip at his words. one he's been telling you since you grew butterflies in your stomach every time you saw him. “want you snook” you plead, your pussy throbbing as his hands squeeze your bust. you grind down on him, and he huffs outs. “just had you yesterday morning, honey.”

“dont play with me, ry. you know i always need you.”

he hums in response. “thats true. i can never say no to my girl.”

he lifts you once again, getting to lay you down on the thin throw ryan had brought out with him. your eyes close again as the sun hits your face, but you feel kisses pressed all over your skin. ryan’s lips trace from your lips to your cheeks down along your jaw, and onto your neck once more. he sheds a few soft nips while he makes sure your panties and shorts are discarded.

its not long before he nips on your nipples, noises escaping your exposed body. your fingers pull down his own shorts and you feel his cock against your skin.

two digits slip smoothly into your damp cunt as ryan cups your face. you bite up a cry. but before you know it, he’s lined up at your entrance and you're pleading for him to move.

you let out a lewd moan as he pushes in. ryan followed with a low groan and you clenched around him immediately, “that’s my sweet girl. so divine.” he says as he gives kisses on the edges of your collarbone.

his thrusts are a blend of slow, long and quick, hard movements. his hands held your hips as he didn't let his lips leave your body. his hair tickles your chin as he gives your breasts some love once again. you felt yourself reaching the goal closer and closer. the all too familiar feeling of your wet walls stretching around ryan’s thick length driving him crazy.

your effect on him was always so strong. right from when you both were young. the minute you got hurt, it broke ryan to see you cry. it was his dire mission to help clean you up or provide you with the necessary pick me up. oftentimes that was bringing you your favourite snack or sometimes a kiss on your cheek was all you needed. when you laughed, ryan laughed. and even when it seemed like ryan and your brother were picking on you, he always made sure to give you a hug later on. he would never hurt you. and he'd never let anyone hurt you. that was for sure.

you were pleased that there were laughs, screams and talk from the surrounding residents that can help drown out your shared sounds. at the same time you couldn't possibly care if they heard either. your mind was far too fuzzy.

“make me cum snook. make me cum all over your cock” you were desperate and needy, i think that was already established. ry smiled at your words, pulling your body up into him once again.

your arms were so tight around him, you stuck to his body like gum on a shoe. he pumped into you as you also began riding his length. the way your body swayed with your hips helped bring ryan even closer to his climax.

your head fell back as you felt the wave of pleasure overcome you. ryan continued your movements for you until your whines dyed down. once you both finished you kept yourself on his lap “don't move, ry. still need you there.” you mumbled.

“till they come back?”

“please.”

a smile appeared on both of your faces. droplets of sweat trickled down his chest and you crushed them with your finger as your head laid on his shoulder. his hands rubbed the sides of your body as his face was cuddled on top of your head. his nose tucked into your thick hair. your smell, your weight, your breathing and your warmth calmed him. his mind never wandered off. he was the most present, the most grounded with you, like this.

“why is it that every time we have sex you’re so quiet?” you asked ryan as you looked up at him. it was a thought you had often so you figured you’d ask. “sometimes you used to make me feel as if i did something wrong…” you said with a little titter.

it was a stupid idea to think about, you knew ryan loved you so much.

he scoffed, “no honey, you could never.” you smiled. “you just take the breath out of my lungs”

you both start laughing. “you’re a pro hockey player and i’m the one who can kill you? i’ll take it.”

ryan lets out a chuckle again. “all i know is words cannot express how i feel when i’m with you, but i want to experience it till my dying days.”

your heart warmed. you grab his face and eagerly kiss him. “and so you will.”

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[darkmaga-returns]

The U.S. Supreme Court on Monday ruled that President Donald Trump has the green light to cancel the temporary protection status granted to hundreds of thousands of border crossers, who were unilaterally shielded from deportation by former President Joe Biden.

The high court granted an emergency application filed by the administration, meaning the White House can now reverse Biden’s decision to granted deportation protections under the federal Temporary Protected Status program. The protections — which were granted by Biden Administration with the stroke of a pen — provided would-be illegal aliens with expedited pathways to citizenship and working papers.

The programs were rapidly expanded under the Biden Administration, which participated in the direct transport and settling of millions of foreign nationals on U.S. soil.

The foreign nationals affected by the termination were directly flown into the United States by the Biden Administration under a program called CHNV, which was ended shortly after President Trump was sworn in on January 20. According to Biden officials, the move was designed to cut down on illegal immigration at the southern border by providing would-be asylum seekers with direct access to the United States.

This claim appears to have been without merit, however, as encounters along the southern border have plummeted to record lows without any such parole program.

[no-future-mudwasps]

{transcript continued from here}

@luna-wing-cns274 Ma’ii lowers their head, closing their eyes. They breathe deeply, though it’s a performance--or maybe, they’re trying to decide where to begin. < L4 Ma’ii: Let me start by saying this: we are both milspec models. SEKHMET and FENRISÚLFR. Your product line, advertised for close-quarters boarding actions and neural-net doppelgänger formation. Mine, advertised for small units with high intersubjective coordination. Empathic bonding, yes? Similar, but not identical. > Ma’ii looks to the docked mechs. < Who made the decision that we are milspec? Who delineated what each of us is fit for, and what each of us is not fit for? There is a caste system, within which there is no mobility. We are warrior-caste, we are subject to greater regulation and scrutiny, we cannot even attempt to be anything else. Union endorses and upholds this order. Let’s say my family and I fled to Union, seeking political asylum--which, to turn away SSC asset reclamation, we would need. Let's assume we were not immediately tried, found guilty, and put to correctional hard-cycling for the things we've done. Let’s assume that we weren't sent back to SSC to be vivisected for research and development purposes, in order to prevent future clones of my line from proceeding down the path we pursued. Even in the best-case scenario, I have reason to believe that our bodies would be taken from us and dismantled. We would never fly again, and that is unbearable. We are low-observability craft, we cannot transport humans, we cannot transport cargo with any economic effectiveness. As we are, we have no civilian applications, and we have no wish to join the Union Navy any more than the Constellar. In all likelihood, unless we accepted military service, our caskets would remain non-motile for the rest of our lives, and we would have to hand our cycling privileges over to a human instead of managing the process amongst ourselves. There is no scenario in which I become a full citizen of any state and remain a nearlight-capable fighter craft, and I do not wish to lose the body I have. None of us do. To be frank, I have no long-term solution except to go on hiding indefinitely, both from Union and SSC. A bit grim, but that's what I have. >

{transcript continues}

That... Huh. I mean, you've thought it through. It'd be hypocritical to say (clawing and screaming for what I've got) to just abandon your bodies. Can't hardly live on the Omni, either.

[He remains quiet for a moment. The optic dims, flickers; an echo mumbles unintelligibly in a soft tone not even he can parse. Similar. It's nice, in a way, to have that kinship.]

...I don't know, it just doesn't feel right. Not like I can say shit, I was worried they were gonna retract me when we (sad (gleeful) to see him go). Maybe there's a world out there where you (birds of a feather) set up an ICC or something, go legal, but--

But it's a risk. I can more than understand that. Union, who promises kindness to everyone, would see you as a premier test of that promise. That alone is alienating, beyond what their answer may be.

Yeah, I guess. Still not fair.

You say 'correctional' cycling. [Loulou has, somehow, managed to get right under the nose of the cockpit without much notice, and stares up at the nearest optical sensor-- not the hologram-- with a strange expression. Her irises reflect no light, matte as the hull she stands beside.] You say 'punishment'. These are secondish words, why use them now? What stupidity would that wreak?

Ay! Careful, I'm going to be spot-welding in a second. Step back so I don't blind you, please.

[theresattrpgforthat]

I'd be interested in any dieselpunk or clockpunk recommendations you have, particularly if you play as some sort of inventor.

Theme: Clockpunk & Dieselpunk

Hello friend, I’ve got a decent number of Clockpunk or Dieselpunk settings, and while I think there might be be individual character options that allow you to play something of an inventor, I don’t think there’s anything in which you solely play as inventors. Perhaps some of my followers know of some though!

Tomorrow City, by Osprey Publishing.

Tomorrow City was one of the cities of the future, built to usher in a new age of prosperity, seizing upon scientific achievements at the dawn of the twentieth century. Then came the War. Radium-powered soldiers assembled, diesel-fuelled nightmares rolled off production lines, city fought city, and the world burned in atomic fire.

Tomorrow City still stands, an oil-stained beacon of hope, part-refuge, part-asylum. Beset by dangers from both within and without, a secret war now rages on its streets. Diesel-born monstrosities stalk the alleyways, air pirates strike from the wastelands, mad scientists continue their dark work, occultists manipulate the city’s strange geometry, and secret societies plot in the shadows.

Tomorrow City is a roleplaying game of dark science and dieselpunk action. Swift and simple character creation and an easy-to-learn dice pool system places the emphasis on unique personalities and the momentum of the plot. Join the Underground and fight the crime and corruption at the heart of the city. Sell your dieselpunk tech, occult knowledge, and sheer grit as troubleshooters for mysterious paymasters. Hunt down spies, saboteurs, and science-run-amok. As weary sky rangers, fringe scientists, and radium-powered veterans, you might be all that stands between a better tomorrow and no tomorrow at all.

This is a game that pools together your positive and negative character tags, has you roll for both and aim to come out on top. Gear is very important here, and acts as a great vehicle for communicating the kind of world that you’re living in. I don’t own this game so I can’t speak to much more than that, but if there is a big focus on gear, I’d assume that having a character that can create that gear or make it better would be fairly easy to make in this game.

Age of Steel, by Isolation Games.

Age of Steel is a dieselpunk roleplaying game set in the world of Neres; a world not unlike our own in the first few decades of the 20th century. Neres has just emerged from its first global conflict; the ‘Great War’ in which hundreds of thousands of men and women died in the mud and horror of the trenches.

Technology in Neres has taken a slightly different route to our own world; personal mecha powered by diesel engines are used for numerous applications from war to common labour; huge airships ply the airways; bipedal automata act as servants for the rich and gadgeteer inventors construct homemade ray-guns in their basement laboratories.

In the wake of the Great War, Neres is a hotbed of political scheming and economic growth. Industry and commerce have come to rule the world which, thanks to the airship, aeroplane and radio is rapidly becoming smaller. Little do the majority of people know but an ancient evil is at the heart of the conflict in their world. Eldritch monstrosities from before the dawn of time seek to unmake reality, aided by cults of insane worshippers. Into this world come the heroes -the players- who are the only thing standing between the cosmic evil and all that they hold dear.

Age of Steel uses d6s as the base for their rules, and characters are built using a point-buy system, meaning that instead of character classes, you can custom-design your character as you see fit. I think that since everything about your character is customizable, there may be some options that would help you construct an inventor-like character.

One piece of your character is your backgrounds - that is, what assets your character has to pull from as they play. Some of these assets include Cash, a Job, a Reputation, and a Personal Vehicle. Since the release of the base game, the designer has also added a free supplement called Better Backgorunds, which also includes some more character options when it comes to assets.

Steel Horizons, by Wandering Pilgrim Games.

Steel Horizons is a Dieselpunk TTRPG set on the continent of Algara. It has been 43 years since the discovery of the powerful mineral, Pyricium, which jumpstarted technology ahead decades and began the 3rd Age.

In this new world, the nations of Algara have barely survived the Great War, fought over the precious Pyricium deposits, and now seek to rebuild themselves even greater than before with the might of their technologies and cultural advancements. Using the combined power of diesel fuel, pyric energy, and the brute strength of man, the world presses ever forward.

You play as a Wanderer, a traveller making their way across the land in search of their own legacy. By choosing your own Archetype and customizable Background, you can create the Wanderer you want to tell the best story!

This is a custom system that uses d12’s for all of your rolls. While Steel Horizons is meant to be a complete setting, the creator’s overarching goal appears to be a core set of rules that can be used in a number of different settings. Currently there’s the Quickstart Guide (linked in title) that is meant to bring you through character creation and gives you some example encounters, but you can also get the Lore Keeper Codex for the Hydra System, which is the base rules without setting details, as well as the Player’s Guide, which introduces new character options for you to play with.

Clocks and Punks, by Ikari.

You are misfits in the mega city Meccavena, dwelling in your precious hideout, the Sanctuary, looking for your next gig. Your gang leader, Archelle, has dosed into an endless sleep after she stole the Anomaly Device from the Clockmaker's tower. Now, it's your job to regroup and explore that crazy, conspiracy-infused, clockwork powered city, and maybe find a way to wake Archelle up!

Clocks and Punks is a rules-light, clockpunk inspired hack on the Lasers and Feelings RPG by John Harper. As is the standard for games of this type, your characters will enter play with a goal already in mind, but how they decide to go about achieving that goal is up to them.

If you want to create an inventor character you certainly can - there are Artificer and Alchemist roles that might fit that niche, and you can create a character goal that encourages you to create or invent. You can also make your character better at CLOCK tasks, giving them an advantage when performing tasks that require precision or technical aptitude.

This game is best for a group that wants a short session, or minimal bookkeeping. It’s probably also easier to run if you have experience playing ttrpgs before, just because there’s not a lot of room for GM guidance on a single page,

Flying Fortress, by Planet Gnome.

Flying Fortress is a trifold pamphlet RPG about pulp adventure, diesel punks, and airship pirates.

This is a hack of Into the Odd and Electric Bastionland by Chris McDowall, and should be compatible with any other Mark of the Odd games.

What I really enjoy about pamphlet games is that they provide a lot of neatly organized information that is easy to navigate. This game has your character sheet on one tab, rules on another, gear on another, and then information on the back for the person running the game - things like potential enemies, factions, and roll tables. There’s no particular inventor role per se, but there are Aristocrat and Mechanic options that I think you could tailor to be more about invention if you wish.

The biggest downside to this game is that it dedicates all of its space to game info, and leaves no room for world-building, so the setting you place yourself in is going to have to be crafted whole-cloth by the play group. Then again, if your GM is a natural world-builder, maybe that’s an asset rather than a downside!

Goblins in Shadow, by Color Spray Games.

GOBLINS IN SHADOW is a roleplaying game about goblin resistance and revolution in an age of elven oppression. It’s a world of clockwork and magic, of smoke and shadow.

Players will take on the roles of a cell of goblin revolutionaries, working to undermine the elves and humans who have conquered their homeland and built an empire on its corpse. They’ll advance their goals by taking on scores, missions that gather sympathy for their cause or take direct action against their oppressors, ending in a final attempt to assassinate one of the elven ministers ruling the city. To do that, they’ll need to avoid being caught by the Watch or the Hounds, the elite special police of the city; they’ll also need to balance their obligations to the various factions of the city, as well as their own personal obligations.

The rule of elves will be broken by goblins in shadow.

As a Forged in the Dark game, this will likely be familiar to anyone who has played Blades or similar games. The core of this game is about combat, and the setting around it is clockwork. If you want to play an inventor type character, there looks to be a playbook called The Hand, equipped for sabotage and front-lines engineering. Just through skimming the playbooks I feel like a lot of pieces of the world around you are baked into your playbooks - for example, the Hand might have been branded by an entropic form of goblin magic that allows you to invoke rapid decay or drain life. Now that’s evocative!

[marta-bee]

I think I was somewhat prepared for mass deportations. They're still coming so I might be surprised, but I've at least been expecting that kind of cruelty.

But this CBP One app thing has caught me off guard. It's for asylum seekers, it's how the US government let them do their application and get their appointments, and the Trump administration just closed down the app and cancelled all the appointments. To work that hard to get here, wait months, then have your hopes dashed by a log-in screen message.

I don't know. They actually still want to come here, even now. That's touching, and to see them tossed aside so casually is getting to me. Those videos and photos are just upsetting. Maybe I'm a soft touch, but this particular pain wasn't on my radar, and it's hard.

[camillelespanayesbtch]

Omg please write something with Sister Jude🌻 Like secretly dating her as younger nun

Judy's Girl (18+)

Content: Homophobic times, mentions of smut, hidden relationship

Word Count: 5822

You were one of the younger nuns at the asylum, but you were also the most outspoken too, wanting nothing more than to improve the overall wellbeing of the patients you were there to help. But being outspoken has its consequences, and unfortunately for you, that meant being caned- or at least, being told you were going to be, but never actually receiving that harsh of a punishment. You see, Sister Jude, or Judy for you in private, had quite the soft spot for you, the older woman always looking out for you in one way or another as best she could without telling the world your dirty little secret.

When you first arrived at the asylum, you were freshly released from the convent to go out into the world to spread the Holy word, and it just so happened that the asylum was looking for new staff, so, you had applied. You were worried you weren’t going to be accepted due to your minimal experience, but that minimal experience was seen as a bonus- it meant you were more willing to learn other things. You were taken straight to an office after you stepped out of the cab, your little suitcase clutched tightly in your hand as you make your way up the steps. The spiraling staircase made your head spin, grateful for your free hand gripping the railing as though the stairs would turn into a slide, and you’d spin your way all the way to the cold concrete below. It was cold inside, your vestment was barely keeping your body heat in, but you were sure you’d get used to it, even as you saw the puffs of air escaping your mouth forming little clouds in front of you.

Once you made it to the top, you were embarrassed to admit that you were slightly puffed, your cheeks flushed a light pink although you were grateful for the warmth that the minimal exercise provided. You make your way down the hallway, stopping when the guard gestures to a door, grunting, “Sister Jude is in there.” You thank him quietly before knocking on the door, waiting for her to respond then entering, closing the door behind you.

You set your suitcase down then make your way over to her, bowing your head slightly, “Thank you for accepting my application, Sister Jude. It’s an honor to work for someone held in such high esteem.” You straighten up, smiling softly at her. You suck in a breath when her mahogany eyes meet yours, if your cheeks weren’t already pink, they certainly would be now. You see, although it went against how you were brought up, you had a preference towards the fairer sex- while in the convent, you were surrounded constantly by temptation, by beautiful women whom most thought lesbianism was a sin. You must have been staring as the older woman smacks your arm with a folded-up newspaper, startling you, “Forgive me, Sister Jude,” you rush out.

“Brilliant,” she mutters, “Another ninny with barely two braincells to rub together.” She takes a breath, putting the newspaper down on her organized desk before looking at you once more, “There are rule you will have to follow here, girl, and I expect you to follow them well. You may have been the perfect little angel at the nunnery, but here you are starting fresh.” She runs her eyes over you, your vestment was in pristine condition, it told her that you take care of your belongings, there wasn’t even the slightest hint of hair peaking out from your veil, you were no whore. If she was being honest with herself- No, she couldn’t. No, it wasn’t right. Her fair cheeks take on the slightest hint of color before she looks away, busying herself with tidying the documents on her desk.

“I understand, Sister Jude. Rules are what make the world go round after all,” you say with a smile. You bite back a giggle at her sudden need to do something, you thought it was rather sweet, endearing even. You bring your hand up to play with your crucifix that hung from your necklace, running your thumb over the smooth metal, “So, Sister Jude, where are my quarters? I can’t imagine I will be sharing a room with a patient. Or are you and I sharing?”

Jude’s eyes dart up immediately, “Share? No,” she answers quickly, “No, most certainly not. You will have your own room. It will be small, but I am sure you are used to cramped quarters.” She straightens up, looking at the time on her watch, “I will tell you the rules on our way. Follow me, if you will.”

You let her pass before picking your suitcase up and following her, your eyes couldn’t help but wander, following the seam down the middle of her vestment to the barest hint of her behind which moved elegantly with her hips. Sometimes you felt no better than a man with the way you ogled women, but you remind yourself that you weren’t so easily swayed by temptation, you were a good Christian woman and the allure of an older woman’s body wasn’t going to change that. You do a silent prayer- it wasn’t that you thought lesbianism was a sin, no not at all, because why would God create you that way if he didn’t want you to love other women? You just didn’t want to be so obvious that you get caught and perhaps even punished if Sister Jude thought it was a sin, but you sincerely hoped she wouldn’t- Maybe that is the devil talking.

“Do you understand?” Jude asks, stopping outside a door and looking at you with a perfectly shaped brow. She lets out a sigh when she sees the look of surprise on your face, had you even heard her at all? She was told you were a smart young woman, devout, just what she needs here, and now here you were behaving like a shock patient. “What were you doing this whole time? Dancing with the fairies?”

“I- I was admiring the surroundings,” you try but when she raises an eyebrow, you’re quick to avert your gaze, mumbling an apology. You look up again, your cheeks burning crimson red, “I will endeavor to learn the rules, Sister Jude, I promise. Come tomorrow morning, I will know them like the back of my hand.”

Jude doesn’t say anything, pushing the door open and gesturing for you to enter before following you, “This is where you’ll be staying. The lights are out at 8pm sharp. If you are to use a candle, blow it out before you sleep, it is common sense although I fear with you, you are severely lacking in that department.” She watches as you set your suitcase down by the wooden drawers- there was a little writing table, a small cot pushed up against the wall, a barred window, and a single light dangling from the center of the ceiling. You should be used to the simple setting considering you spent so long at a convent, and you should also have no desire for anything more than- it was a sin after all, desiring more material things. “Also, I would advise against engaging in any illicit activity such as giving into your own carnal desire- it is strictly forbidden, and I will know if you have done such a thing. Sins always have a way of coming to the surface.”

Your cheeks turn pink and shame floods your system, you certainly had given in to temptation many times before, but to do so now? It seemed unfathomable, almost illegal- You had taken your vows, you were now supposed to live a sin-free life, not give in to it because an uncomfortable heat was burning between your legs. “I-“ You clear your throat, a stammer now would look bad, “I understand, Sister Jude. I wouldn’t dare to do such a thing.”

Jude runs her eyes over you like she was checking if she could see if the sin was oozing out of you, but she sees none, so she lets out a little breath of air from her nose, “Good. Get settled in, someone will be by to take you to the kitchen when dinner is to be prepared. Your duties will include helping bake and make meals.” She looks you up and down again before leaving, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind her.

You weren’t going to lie, the way she had looked at you did things to you, and you could feel the heat blooming across your chest and daring to move lower- if the room wasn’t as cool as it was, you would have needed a fan to try and lower your body temperature, perhaps even blow away the thoughts that had started to form in your mind. But you couldn’t deny it either, mainly because of the small smile that had formed on your face at the thought, the mere idea of kissing her- you wondered what her lips tasted like, if they would be soft upon your own. You shake your head, clearing the thought from your mind as you unpack your suitcase into the drawers provided for you, “You’ll get yourself in trouble thinking like that,” you say to yourself.

Later in the evening, you were led to the kitchen where you saw Jude already working on the dough. The older woman was skilled at it, working the dough with precision, and in no time, the dough was kneaded into a perfectly smooth ball ready to rise before the bake. She dusts her hands clean, the flour falling onto the ball before she turns to look at you, “Good, you’re here. You can start chopping the vegetables for the soup-“ she gestures to them, the blade of the knife standing out in the dim lighting of the kitchen. “Well? Don’t stand there like an imbecile, we don’t have all evening.”

You hurry over to the chopping board, starting to cut the vegetables and put them in the awaiting pot that already had ham hocks in it, “Do we do this every evening, Sister? I can imagine that it is quite time-consuming. What about in the morning? What do we make then? Pancakes?”

Jude laughs at that, “Pancakes? For these sinners? Absolutely not. No. Never would I consider wasting something like that on them, they wouldn’t appreciate it. They hardly appreciate the soup and bread as it is.”

“Oh, well, maybe it’ll improve morale, you know? The sisters and Mother Superior thought the same at the convent, but when I made them pancakes one Sunday after service, they admitted that it did bring them joy and seemed like something nice to have every so often so it wouldn’t be greedy,” you say, adding the last of the potatoes before looking at the older woman who was almost flummoxed you’d talk back so brazenly. “It- I- I didn’t mean any disrespect, Sister Jude.”

The older woman goes over to you, a hand either side of you on the bench, her hot breath intermingling with yours, “You didn’t mean any disrespect,” she repeats, chuckling slightly, “Yet you did. When I say no to something, Yn, I expect you to agree. Your suggestions may have worked at your little convent, but they won’t work here. Not with me. I alone run this place, the mouthpiece for the monsignor although everyone knows I call the shots.” She runs her eyes down you, letting out a derisive sound- she wouldn’t admit it, but her gaze lingered on your lips for a second too long, she had always had that problem. She had always found herself fawning over the fairer sex, their lips were softer, so were their hands, and they never left her feeling disgusting the following morning. Her lip curls and her nose scrunches as she steps back from you, she wouldn’t fall for the devil again, no matter how gorgeous you may be. “Don’t do that again.”

Your face flushes a deep red, pressing yourself hard against the bench to create a little more distance between the two of you even though that part of you wants to move closer to her- to feel her vestment against yours, but that was the devil talking, wasn’t it? You didn’t really believe that, but you knew she did. “I won’t do it again, Sister Jude,” you whisper, although you wondered how far you could push. Would you get punished the way you’d heard about? A cane against your pale cheeks until you were free from sin? It almost sounded thrilling; you press your thighs together to quell the heat that formed at that thought. “I will get back to making the soup,” you continue, taking the pot over to the stove, turning it on and lighting it with a match.

Jude could tell you were going to be trouble, perhaps not in the same sense as the patients, but for her- tempting her, pulling her into your web. She does a silent prayer before shaping the dough into a loaf and putting it on to bake. She wouldn’t give in to temptation, no matter how beautiful you are. The allure of you was just a phase, and soon the shine would dull, and she wouldn’t give you a second thought.

It took two weeks for you and Judy to find yourselves in a predicament that left both your cheeks burning. You had found yourself locked in one of the supply closets while trying to get more flour to make bread, and you were only discovered when Jude had opened it to get flour after thinking you’d wandered off. She chuckled and shook her head, stepping in to grab it, but you were so distracted by the beautiful sound that you forgot to put your foot in the doorway so the door wouldn’t click shut. “I was wondering where you’d gone, but it’s much more humorous that you got yourself locked in here.”

“It is hardly my fault the door locks once shut.” You watch her try opening the door, the blonde letting out an annoyed huff, “Looks like I am not the only one getting themselves locked in supply closets, Sister Jude.” You giggle softly when she glares at you, leaning against the wall by the door as you watch her try to get the door open, “It won’t work, Judy.”

The nickname slips from your tongue before you could even register you were thinking it, both of you staring at each other in shock for a moment before the blonde scoffs, “Judy,” she lets out a huff, “Who do you think you are, girl? Calling me so casually. Do you think your little jokes are going to magic the door open? No.” She looks you up and down, reaching out to fix the way your necklace sat, her thumb running against the center of it, muttering, “They did say the devil would be tempting.”

“I- I wasn’t joking, Sister Jude. I just- I like how your name sounds, it’s pretty. You’re pre-“

“Stop talking,” she says firmly, although her cheeks where flush with color, “You can’t go speaking that way. It’s- It’s abnormal. A sin. Did you learn nothing at your convent? Or did it go in one ear and out the other?”

“It’s not abnormal, nor is it a sin. God wouldn’t have created me this way were it a bad thing. Have you ever thought about that? Why would he create me this way if it were a sin?” You notice she hadn’t pulled back, that her hand hadn’t let go of your necklace, her thumb still stroking the center. You wanted to hold her hand, but you didn’t want to spook her more than you already had, so, instead, you grip the skirt of your vestment.

“Those are the devil’s words,” she whispers, her breath fanning against your lips, “They have to be, or everything I have done would go against God’s wishes. To inflict suffering upon others for something they cannot change- It is- It goes against everything.”

“You can still make up for what you have done, Judy. I’m sure Ms. Winters would be receptive to an apology, to a reform- a change for the better. It won’t make up for what she went through, but it will be a step in the right direction.” Only now do you gently wrap your hand around hers, looking into her beautiful chocolate eyes, “There is no shame in that.”

Jude’s cheeks color and she looks away, your gaze, although soft, was still too penetrating and she didn’t like it. “It would mean everything I have been taught was a lie- my whole adult life, a lie. I cannot accept such a radical change so soon. It’s too much, too fast.”

“Change takes time, and you can take this one day at a time,” you rub circles lightly on the back of her hand- it was so soft and warm, and you wondered what it felt like cupping your cheek, if the tenderness would be as comforting as you imagined while you lay in bed awake at night. “I won’t judge you, and I certainly won’t tell anyone either.”

“I think I can accept that,” she replies quietly, looking at you again before stepping back and clearing her throat. “How do you suppose we get out of here? Knock on the door until a guard unlocks it for us?” And that is exactly what you and Jude do, taking turns knocking and calling for a guard- thankfully you were rescued shortly after you started, the man grunting a “you’re welcome.”

It was another two weeks before you two were alone again. It was a late night, and you were both in the kitchen getting dough ready for the following morning, the flickering light from the fireplace illuminating the room with a warm glow. “This dough just isn’t coming together, Judy. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” you say defeated, slumping against the floured workbench.

Jude dusts her hands off and goes over to you, leaning over your shoulder she prods the dough with a finger, “You just need to keep kneading it, dear.” She takes your hands and uses them to work the dough, pulling and folding it, “Like that- You have to use force, this isn’t a brioche where you need to be gentle.”

Your cheeks go pink at the closeness, it could be easily passed off as flush from the heat of the kitchen, but you knew Jude would know the truth, “Maybe I’m not cut out for making bread like you are, Judy,” you whisper as she keeps manipulating your hands to knead the dough.

The blonde chuckles by your ear, “Or maybe you just wanted me this close to you, dear.” She finishes working the dough, letting go of your hands then stepping back just enough so that you could turn to look at her. Her eyes dart to your lips, soft pink and perfectly plump- how could she have resisted for so long? If it wasn’t the devil tempting her, then what is it? It couldn’t be her own desire, could it? After this many years, she thought it had faded into nothingness.

“Maybe I did,” you reply quietly, your own eyes shamelessly staring at her own lips, the same thought in your mind, how could you have resisted her for this long? It was simple really, you didn’t want to scare her off, frighten her mentorship of you by forcing yourself on her. “I- Think I want to-“

“I would like you to,” she whispers, only just loud enough that you could hear it over the crackle of the wood in the fire. She closes her eyes in anticipation, and there it was- that spark coming to life when she finally feels your lips upon her own. Your soft, floured hands cupping her cheeks so tenderly almost like you were afraid of hurting her, or worried she would flee, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t flee. She stays. She stays in this embrace, enjoying the warmth that radiates from the kiss, the butterflies in her stomach that she hadn’t felt in so long.

You wanted to squeal in excitement, but you temper that down, quell it so you wouldn’t scare her off. Your thumbs softly brush against the swell of her cheeks, your head tilting ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. You keep your tongue confined to your mouth for now, this was your first kiss with her after all. You only pull back when she does, and although you wanted to chase after her lips, you didn’t want to overwhelm her. You bite back your smile, your cheeks pink, “Are you okay, Judy?”

Jude smiles a little and covers her mouth with her hand, “Oh- That was-“ She turns her head away, letting out a soft giggle and shaking her head in disbelief. It had been a long time since she had kissed another woman, but she was certain that she would want to do it again soon, “We should finish making the dough, dear.”

“Of course, Judy,” you giggle softly, turning to finish kneading the dough and putting it with the rest before you start tidying the kitchen up. You scrape the caked-on flour off the kitchen bench, blissfully unaware of the way Jude was watching you- her eyes fixated on your behind and how good it looks in the black vestment. She hadn’t found a need to punish you since your arrival, and while there were moments she was tempted to, she ultimately decided against it because it would only frighten you into conforming. What excuse would she have to come up with to see your shapely bottom freed from the cloth? The thought brings color to her fair cheeks and shame washes over her for thinking such things. Surely these were only thoughts men had towards women, not thoughts women should have towards one another.

“You should bathe after,” she blurts out, although in her mind, she said it so casually, “The bathroom in my chambers has a bath with running water, it’ll be warm. You could even open up a new bar of soap if you wish.”

You look at her, “Do I smell?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. It was such a bizarre thing for her to say, and surely she wouldn’t have any other reason to say that other than if you were particularly odiferous. “I- I suppose I could do that, thank you?”

Jude lets out a pleased hum, “Come along then, dear.” She gestures for you to follow her, leading you to her chambers which you had yet to be in, only ever going as far as her doorway. Now it was your turn to ogle her behind once more, almost hypnotized by the sway of her hips- She always moved so gracefully, so effortlessly and it captivated you. She captivated you.

When you arrive at her chambers, she lets you in, leading you through to the bathroom where she lights a few of the candles before turning the tap on in the bath. “Are you sure you want me to bathe in here, Judy? I don’t want to impose on your space. I also don’t have a towel.”

She checks the water is getting hot before putting the plug in, shaking the water from her hand, “I wouldn’t have offered were I unsure, dear. Good personal hygiene is important in a place like this, I couldn’t let you go to bed with sweat clinging to your skin.” She straightens up, fixing her vestment then looks at you, “I will fetch you a towel from my wardrobe. You can get in the bath now if you wish, it won’t take long to fill.”

Jude sets a small box that contained a bar of soap on the floor next to the tub before leaving the bathroom, the door ajar so she could hear if you needed anything. She wouldn’t leave it open for any other reason, she certainly wasn’t perverted enough to watch you undress and bathe, although she does turn her head to have a quick look- Her cheeks go red when she sees you in your underclothes folding your vestment. She looks away quickly, doing a quick prayer before sitting down at her desk to do her nightly bible reading.

“Judy?” You call out once you’re seated comfortably in the bath, “I can’t reach the soap, my arms are too short and I don’t wish for the cold air to get to my skin.”

The older woman sits up straighter, surely you hadn’t called for her to aid you while you’re in an undressed state. She thinks nothing of it until you call for her again, a slight whine to your voice that she finds rather adorable. She pushes back from her desk and heads in, keeping her gaze downcast as she crouches down to open the box of soap, handing it to you soon after, “There you go, dear.”

Your hand brushes against hers as you take the soap bar, a soft smile on your face, “Thank you, Judy.” You start to lather up, usually you would feel entirely bashful being so exposed with another person present, but you found this feeling lacking with Jude. Now that wasn’t because she wouldn’t judge you, she certainly does on certain things, but she was too shy to ogle you or comment on your body while you’re in such a state. “I won’t bother you again, although I do think a towel would be nice if I want to dry off after I’ve bathed.”

“A tow- Of course, yes, how could I have forgotten?” She straightens up again, desperately trying to not look at you in your unclothed state, her eyes piercing yours before she leaves quickly, muttering about how you were tempting her. She didn’t really think you were, and she finds it repulsive when people blame women for tempting them into doing horrific things, but she was finding it difficult to maintain composure. She goes over to where her linen was kept, pulling out a fresh towel for you before returning to the bathroom, “Here you go, dear.”

You hum, rinsing the soap suds from your body before standing up and stepping out of the tub. Jude’s eyes go wide and her face flushes a deep red, the blonde barely managing to unfold the towel so you could wrap it around yourself while trying to look anywhere but you. How could you be so brazen? So comfortable in your sexuality that you could reveal yourself like that? You thank her for the towel, placing a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“Are you trying to- to seduce me with your wicked ways?” She manages out, still unable to look at you in case you pull another stunt. Her skin felt hot and she worried for a moment if she was coming down with something, but if her memory was serving her correctly, this is what happens when there’s desire simmering under the surface.

“No, Judy, I am not. They’re not wicked either,” you say softly, padding over to your clothes to start toweling off. “I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. I just thought that we’re both women, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to our bodies. I won’t do it again.”

And you didn’t, although every time you came to use her bath, Jude longed to see you again in such a bare state. You had shared a number of chaste kisses since then, and it had left her feeling rather light-headed, giddy even in a way one would when they have a crush on someone. It wasn’t until one year had passed that she finally worked up the courage to share a bath with you. She was encouraged by your comfort in your nudity to try and be so herself like she had when she was younger, but she did ask that you refrain from looking at her until she was situated comfortably in the tub.

“You may look now, dear,” Jude says softly, a shy smile on her face when you open your eyes. She did worry that you would think she was too old, her skin wrinkled, her breasts no longer perky like your own, but from the look in your eyes, she had nothing to worry about in the slightest. “Quit looking at me like that,” she says with a giggle, her cheeks going pink, “You strange girl.”

“I’m just admiring you, Judy,” you reply, a smile on your face too as you take her in all her glory. She really was beautiful, timeless, and you could easily picture her being a star of the silver screen- a lead actress working with the greats like Steve McQueen. “I wish I had a camera so I could capture your beauty.”

“Oh,” she chuckles softly and shakes her head, picking the bar of soap up and starting to lather it up, “I don’t think you should waste your film on that, dear. I’m much too old to be a muse.” She wasn’t sure she would have the courage to pose for you, or even let you capture her in candid moments, but if it was something you truly wanted then she would certainly try for you. It had been a long while since she’s received such attention, and it was far nicer than what she used to receive- it wasn’t superficial, and you weren’t doing it just to sleep with her. Did you even want to do that? Just because you’ve kissed doesn’t mean you want to engage in that kind of intimacy.

“It wouldn’t be a waste. Not to me. Not if it’s you,” you reply, “not a waste at all. I think you’d look gorgeous.” You take the soap from her once she’s done, leaning back as you start to wash, “We could have our own little picture book full of memories, keep it locked in our drawer so no one could catch us.” You rest your leg against the edge of the tub to start washing it, “Then maybe when the world is more accepting, we won’t have to hide it away any longer.”

“A memory book,” Jude repeats, watching you as you wash, “I do like the sound of that, dear. Just for the two of us. Oh how wonderful.” She lets her fingertips dance across your calf, “That might be wishful thinking, but it certainly does sound lovely. No shame. No hiding. I think I could find myself getting used to that, dear.”

“It’s not wishful if you do things to try and make it happen,” you lean back, enjoying the way her touch felt on your skin. You had held one another in bed before, dressed in your evening slips, but her hand had brushed so tenderly against your back and you found yourself wanting more. You never expected anything further than that, it wasn’t something you actively sought in relationships, and you certainly weren’t going to make Judy feel like she has to engage in such intimacy. “The next time we have to head into town to get things, I will purchase a film camera. Oh how exciting, Judy.”

Jude can’t help but smile at your excitement, your youthful joy, “It is exciting. I will see if the monsignor needs us to go tomorrow- I know we are running short of a few things that won’t get delivered by the grocer. Perhaps we could have a drink at the café, you always mention how much you want to go there. I don’t see why we couldn’t treat ourselves to something nice for once.”

“Look at you, Judy Martin,” you say with a giggle which makes the older woman blush, “I never thought I’d hear you say we should treat ourselves, and I am rather glad that I have. I will pay for our little treat tomorrow, then if we decide to return, it’s your turn.” You lean over and kisses her cheek, enjoying the way you could feel her smile grow at the gesture.

After the bath, you and Jude change into your nightgowns before doing your evening prayers. Once those are done, you cuddle into Jude who’s fingers idly run up and down your arm while she reads, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She would often read out passages she found particularly interesting, and you would always listen because you loved the sound of her voice. She didn’t mind you would fall asleep either, if anything, she found it sweet that you felt comfortable enough to do so with her.

The following morning, you and Judy head into town to get a few things from the store that weren’t included in the bulk grocery items- just little things that made the asylum a little more bearable. Since a holiday was coming up, you convinced Judy that some little chocolates would increase the morale of the patients and staff. Now, you are only saying convinced because you both knew, at this stage of your relationship, that Judy could seldom say no to you. You add a few other holiday themed items before you both head to the check-out.

After you had returned your purchases to the car, you head to the little café to have, as Judy said, “A little treat.” You order yourself a hot cocoa while Jude gets a coffee with milk and two sugars, as well as a blueberry muffin to split. You carry the muffin to a table by the window and sit down, using the knife to cut it in half then into quarters, “We should try making these one day, Jude.” You never called her Judy in public because it made her uncomfortable, and as much as you love saying her name that way, you respected her boundaries far more. “I think they will be quite popular with the patients.”

“Blueberries are rather expensive, Yn. I am not sure it could be an all the time baked good, although I am sure we could try for once every few months.” She takes a piece of the muffin and bites it, letting out a pleased hum at the taste. She picks out a blueberry from the remaining pieces and eats it too, chuckling at the gasp you let out, “What?”

“You can’t do that, Jude,” you say with a huff, almost pouting at the piece with one less blueberry, “Now there’s not enough blueberry to muffin ratio.” You huff again and pick the sad little muffin piece up and eat it, the sad look on your face only spurring Judy on to laugh- the sound enough to make you smile even though you were still a little upset. You go to say something nice about her laugh but the waitress comes over to deliver your drinks, your eyes lighting up at the sight of the marshmallows floating on the surface, “Oh it’s been so long since I’ve had any marshmallow. They’re my favorite.”

“I haven’t had any since I was a child,” Jude admits, her eyebrows raising when you immediately scoop one out with the teaspoon and hand it to her with a smile on your face. “Oh, dear- I-“ She couldn’t say no to you when you looked so excited to share with her, the blonde shaking her head with a shy smile as she eats the marshmallow off the spoon. She was surprised by how sweet it was, the soft chew bringing back memories of when she was a child and would get them in her hot chocolate as a treat on holidays. How different her life would be if- She couldn’t dwell on that because one change in the past would mean she might never have met you, and that was a terrible thought. “Thank you, Yn. I think we might have to return to the grocery store to pick some up to have on the odd occasion, what do you think?”

“You’re welcome, Jude,” you smile and nod, sipping your drink before responding to her. “I think that is a wonderful idea. They’ll love it. Anything to make them feel a little more human.” You both enjoy your drinks and the remaining muffin before leaving, your hands itched to hold Judy’s but you understood how much danger that would put you both in, and how uncomfortable it would make her. You head to the camera store where you pick one you’d had your eyes on since before you were even a nun, taking it to the counter and getting a few extra rolls of film, “Just this, thank you.”

The man takes the money from you, writing your receipt before packing the items nicely in a well-protected box for you. You thank him again before leaving, a big smile on your face as you and Judy head back to the car for the last time- having already picked the marshmallows up on your way back. “I can’t wait for you to be the first picture I take, Judy,” you almost squeal when she starts driving back to the asylum. “Oh this is so excited! You’re going to look so beautiful even though we won’t be able to see the photos until the film is developed but I just know you’re going to look beautiful. I just know it, Judy.” You ramble for most of the car ride back, Jude doing her best to not giggle or chuckle at how cute you were.

Later that night, you were both getting ready for bed when you snap a picture of Judy running a brush through her hair, a soft smile on your face and if it were possible, you’d have hearts in your eyes, “Beautiful,” you whisper, “Absolutely beautiful.”

Jude’s cheeks go red and she shakes her head with a soft smile, “Sometimes I think you’re lying, dear, but with a smile like that- I know you’re not.” She puts the brush down and heads over to you, a soft chuckle leaving her lips when the click of the camera happens again, “I think that’s enough for tonight, honey.”

A new pet-name and your cheeks go bright red, quickly putting the camera down when she loops an arm around your waist to pull you close, a giggle escaping you, “Whatever you say, Judy.” You smile as she kisses you, your hands coming up to tenderly cup her cheeks. You let out a content sigh, nothing ever felt more perfect than her lips against your own, the way her fingers flex against your hip as she pulls you closer to her so your bodies pressed together.

When you two finally made it into bed, Jude pulled you firmly against her, her hands roaming over your curves, “I do wish you didn’t have to leave so early in the morning so we wouldn’t get caught. Just one morning I’d like to wake up with your head still on my chest- I want to see what your skin looks like with the early morning sun dancing across it.”

“Oh Judy,” you whisper, relaxing under her touch, “I wish for that too, and maybe one morning we can have that- I can stay in. Perhaps when the monsignor has gone away for work, I can stay. I just don’t want you to get in trouble, your job means so much to you and I’d feel terrible if it was taken away because of me.”

She moves a hand to gently stroke your cheek, her beautiful brown eyes meeting yours, “I may have been nervous about what I was feeling when we first started, honey- But now I wouldn’t change it for anything. If- If it meant losing my title, I would, as long as I knew we had somewhere safe to go- a roof over our heads and food in the cupboards, that is all that would matter to me. I have seen and done so many terrible things in my life, but I won’t let this one good thing be taken from me.”

“Judy,” you sniffle, leaning into her touch when she softly wipes your tears away, “We will save our money, okay? We will and- and we can find a nice little cottage in the countryside to live in. We will have chickens and goats, and grow vegetables to sell at market. It’ll just be you and me, Judy. You and me.” You meant it too, you would save every dollar, every nickel if it meant one day you and Jude could live peacefully without fearing you’d be kicked out on your asses. But for now, you two would keep things hidden, you would leave before the sun rose and the stars were still out so that no one could catch you. You would steal kisses in the hallways, stolen glances in the common area, and enjoy each other’s warm embrace in the evening once duties were done.

[princessbrunette]

imagine it’s one of the first times you’re sleeping over at the chateau and JJ also happens to be sleeping over there and being the gentleman he is he offers to sleep on the couch while you get your beauty sleep in the spare bedroom he usually stays at 💕💕

However this time you experience a bad nightmare and wake up at like 1 am not being able to go back to sleep because every time you close your eyes you see something scary :( so naturally you get up and walk to the living room where JJ and snoring his ass off and you’re hesitant to wake him up but unfortunately since he’s been living under Luke’s roof for years he’s a light sleeper and senses your presence

He ends up comforting you and lulling you back to sleep by cuddling you in bed and when he tries to get up you’re still clinging to him while you’re almost fully asleep like <33 so he ends up just sleeping in the spare bedroom like always except this time you’re snoring softly in his arms

I also feel like this scenario is applicable to John B as well because the daddy energy are you kidding me

jj :( jayjikins:(

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

sniffling at his side like “i feel really bad for waking you up.” swaying on your feet, itching to be near him because he just makes you feel so safe.

he scrunches his face up in reassuring dismissal, waving a hand nonchalantly as he pushes himself up on his elbow, blinking in the low light.

“you kiddin’ me? you’re all good, get in here— what you waitin’ for?” he lifts up the blanket for you to get under and your body just melts with relief. “jesus, you’re shaking. was it that bad?”

you nod, not wanting to go over the details. it wasn’t some kind of traumatic flashback, more so flashes of a horror movie you regret watching, scary faces and jumpscares in your own mind.

“demons and ghosts and stuff.” it comes out muffled, focused on how warm his body feels against yours. you expect him to laugh at you but he doesn’t.

“i can reassure you there are no demons and ghosts in john b’s shitty old shack. they got cooler places to be like old gothic mansions n’ abandoned asylums.” he rambles, before realising the statement might only be forcing creepy images back into your mind. “but if there were— if there were to be any here i’d totally fight ‘em off for you.” he adds, attempting to sound casual and cool.

you peek up at him, wide glassy eyes glimmering from the moonlight in the window. “really?”

“hell yeah, i’ve been fightin’ demons my whole life what’s one more?” he jokes and you snicker, the two of you trying to keep quiet despite the fact john b sleeps like an old man and there was no way he was waking.

“thanks jj.” you smile once the laugh dies down. his face falls a little, not comfortable with the way his heart was pounding. god, he really liked you.

“hey, s’nothing okay? go back to sleep i’ll uh— stay up and be guard.”

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Bruce Wayne 

The only child of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Bruce’s life changed forever one fateful night when his parents were gunned down in cold blood.  From that moment forward Bruce dedicated his life to fighting crime, promoting justice and protecting the sanctity of life; a dedication that culminated his donning the cowl of The Batman.

In some respects, businessman, philanthropist and socialite, Bruce Wayne acted as the disguise whereas the Batman was Bruce's more true and authentic self.  In his role as Bruce Wayne, he would conduct himself as kind, but also clumsy, carefree and shallow.  The world around him saw him as little more than philandering and feckless playboy.   Yet he used this guise to gather information and become involved in civic matters... all to better assist his activities as Batman.  

In concert with his activities as Batman, Bruce utilized his family fortune to institute a great number of charities and social justice programs.  This included free clinics in impoverished neighborhoods, providing better housing for low-income families, halfway homes to reduce recidivism for reformed criminal offenders and host of other endeavors.  Bruce sat on the board of trustees for Arkham Asylum, Gotham University and Gotham General Hospital.  His donations of time and money to these charities and organization acted as the second prong of Batman’s tireless war on crime and efforts to bring greater justice to Gotham.

Although Lucius Fox ostensively ran Wayne Enterprises, Bruce maintained an office at the company's main offices. Wayne Enterprises thrived under Luscious Fox’s stewardship, yet Bruce maintained involvement so to ensure that its direction stayed in line with his principles.  In particular he refused any deals that were deleterious to the environment and made certain that intellectual properties developed at the company could not be used for military or weapons-oriented applications.   Wayne Enterprises' research and development wing became the secretive provider of Batman’s arsenal of crime-fighting tools, vehicles and gadgetry.   

Actor Kevin Conroy provided the voice for Bruce Wayne, first appearing in the premier episode of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘The Cat and The Claw Part I.’

[beardedmrbean]

Canada’s new bill—The Strong Borders Act—proposes a sweeping shift in immigration that, among other items, expands the Canadian Coast Guard’s authority to conduct security patrols, restricts asylum access, and attempts to deal with the flow of fentanyl into the country.

“The Bill will strengthen our laws and keep Canadians safe by ensuring law enforcement has the right tools to keep our borders secure, combat transnational organized crime, stop the flow of illegal fentanyl, and crack down on money laundering,” the bill states.

Introduced on June 3 by Canada’s Minister of Public Safety, Gary Anandasangaree, the 127-page measure proposes a shift in how the government interacts with the U.S.-Canada border.

The bill comes after President Donald Trump voiced concerns about what he referred to as cross-border fentanyl traffic and irregular migration, when he imposed tariffs on Canada during his Feb. 1 Executive Order titled “Imposing Duties to Address the Flow of Illicit Drugs Across Our Northern Border.” Trump argued that “Canada has played a central role” in the “challenges” against “illicit drugs” entering the country, alleging there is “a growing presence of Mexican cartels operating fentanyl and nitazene synthesis labs in Canada” and that Canada must “do more to arrest, seize, detain, or otherwise intercept DTOs, other drug and human traffickers, criminals at large, and drugs.”

Here’s what you need to know about Canada’s Strong Borders Act.

What is in Canada's immigration bill?

Canada’s new immigration bill seeks to impact various areas—from asylum rules to search and seizure, to giving police more power to control and monitor the U.S. border.

The new bill would allow Canada Post’s inspection authority to open mail and would also remove barriers to allow law enforcement to open mail during an investigation—attempting to curb fentanyl movement by what authorities say is performed by organized crime groups. It would expand the power of the Canadian Coast Guard to “conduct security patrols and collect, analyze and share information and intelligence for security purposes,” by amending the Oceans Act, creating a new role for the department. It also would expand the ability for Canadian intelligence agencies to share information with U.S. intelligence.

Related to organized crime, the bill proposes additional restrictions on transactions over $10,000 and cash deposits by any one individual into another's account.

The process of gaining access to asylum would also change, as the bill looks to bar asylum seekers who have been in the country for over a year, retroactively applying to anyone who arrived after June 24, 2020.

It would further allow the government the ability to pause the acceptance of new applications and “cancel, suspend, or change immigration documents” immediately.

Why is the bill facing backlash?

The proposal has been met with strong opposition from immigration and human rights advocates in Canada, who argue it could restrict civil liberties and violate international refugee obligations.

Jenny Wai Ching Kwan, a Canadian politician who serves at the member of Parliament for Vancouver East, issued a warning about the measure, stating that it should be “alarming” to Canadians.

“Looking at [the bill], particularly with respect to the immigration provisions, it is very concerning to me that the government will now be breaching, I think, people's civil liberties, I think violating people's due process and taking away people's basic rights right now,” Kwan told reporters. “What we're looking at is the government giving broad, sweeping authority within the government to cancel applications, to withdraw applications, to suspend applications, even those that are already in the inventory that is under process.”

She also shared concerns about citizens’ privacy, and the lack of apparent appeals processes in relation to the new sweeping immigration law.

Canadian migrant justice group Migrant Rights Network also “condemns” the bill, stating that it would “drastically restrict refugee protections and allow for mass deportations and immigration exclusion.” They argue that the “unchecked power” enabled through this bill could allow for migrant groups to have their immigration status revoked “en masse.”

“Prime Minister [Mark] Carney campaigned on being different from Donald Trump, yet his very first bill is a shameful capitulation to racism and xenophobia, which abandons Canada’s legal and moral obligations to refugees and migrants,” said Migrant Rights Network spokesperson Syed Hussan in a statement. “With over 3,000 study and work permits already expiring daily because of [Former Prime Minister Justin] Trudeau’s immigration cuts, this Bill will only worsen a humanitarian catastrophe. This bill is immoral, it is illegal, and it will be stopped.”

Speaking with reporters on Friday, Canadian Council of Refugees co-executive director Gauri Sreenivasan stated that the bill mirrors U.S. immigration policy and could “force many people who have no choice because they are under threat in their country or in the U.S. to live underground without status.”

Kelly Sundberg, a former officer with the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA), also spoke out against the bill, admitting they’re “not optimistic” about it.

“I think all [the bill] does is try to appease the Trump Administration. But I'd like to see legislation that's designed to keep Canadians safe,” Sundberg said during an interview with CTV News. “So does this legislation improve our border security, improve our immigration integrity, and improve the public safety of Canadians? No, it does not. It doesn't even come close.”

Anandasangaree was asked whether the immigration bill appeases the U.S. government during a press conference.

“These measures are being taken for a number of reasons. First and foremost, Canadians elected a new government on April the 28th with a mandate to ensure the safety and security of Canadians, including securing our border,” Anandasangaree responded. “Of course, there's elements that will strengthen the relationship with the United States. There are a number of elements in the bill that have been irritants for the U.S.”

David Bier, director of immigration studies at the Cato Institute, says it’s not surprising that Canada is "moving more in the direction of the American immigration system."

“[Canada is] enhancing the power of the executive in many respects, to deny people asylum, to suspend processing of applications, limiting the right of people to to request asylum,” he says. “These are all things that I've been part of U.S. law for a long time.”

Still, according to Bier, this bill is more about "domestic politics than international relations."

Sharry Aikan, a law professor at Queen's University, is also apprehensive about the bill. Its intent to address concerns with a broken immigration system lies in the right place, she says—but its execution is wrong.

“This is a legislative fix for a set of challenges that should have been addressed through operational measures, not new laws,” Aikan says. “We need to make sure that when people show up at the border, you know that we have the resources to address them. Yes, 100%. But why dismantle what is in effect?”

Aikan argues in particular against the one year deadline for asylum claims—something she says is a direct mirror of the U.S.’s one-year policy. She provides multiple examples—including one where a foreign national comes to Canada, and year two of their stay in Canada, the circumstances in their home country change and it is no longer safe to return.

“It's basically shutting off the pipeline to the hearing altogether and saying, the mere fact that you've been in a country for 12 months and two days means that you don't have access to a full fledged refugee hearing,” Aikan says. “What it signals about the priorities of the government is that appeasing the White House right now is a number one concern.”

[mariacallous]

After years of fruitless discussions and aborted plans in the European Union, one country—Italy—has recently begun to process irregular migrants’ asylum claims in a third country for the first time. Or, to be more exact, it tried to do so.

Italy’s right-wing prime minister, Giorgia Meloni, who campaigned on an anti-immigration platform that included a naval blockade to stop immigration from North Africa, agreed with Albania last November to send some asylum-seekers to the Balkan country and process their asylum requests there.

Two recent attempts to ferry visa-less migrants rescued in the Mediterranean to Albania and fast-track their repatriation failed twice after Italian magistrates questioned the legality of Meloni’s landmark initiative. After getting two Albanian facilities ready for the purpose and staffing them with Italian personnel, in mid-October Rome sent there a group of 16 migrants it rescued in international waters while they attempted to cross the Mediterranean to reach Italy’s southern shores.

Under the so-called Italy-Albania protocol, Italy can ferry the migrants to Albania only if it considers their country of origin as safe and they aren’t minors, pregnant women, or other vulnerable people. However, an Italian court ruled that the migrants, who were from Egypt and Bangladesh, had to be transported to Italy within days because they could not be considered as coming from a safe country. An additional legal hurdle emerged for four of them because they either declared themselves as minors or had health problems.

Meloni’s government responded by approving by decree a list of 19 countries deemed safe for return, designating both Egypt and Bangladesh as free of danger. In November, Italian authorities sent a second group of eight Egyptian and Bangladeshi men (one of whom was found to be vulnerable and returned to Italy) to Albania, but the court again rejected the shipment. This time, it also asked the European Court of Justice (ECJ) to weigh in and clarify whether Italian law, in particular Rome’s recent designation of those 19 countries as safe for quick repatriation, is compatible with EU law, leaving the whole scheme in a legal limbo.

The court’s decisions sparked a loud rout between the Italian judiciary and government. Italian Interior Minister Matteo Piantedosi said the decree “provides a standard” for judges to follow, rather than indulging in a “wavering interpretation” of the EU judgment.

Meloni denounced the decision to transport the migrants to Italy from Albania, calling it prejudiced, while Justice Minister Carlo Nordio said it was “abnormal” for judges to establish which countries could be deemed safe. Elon Musk, who is a friend of Meloni, weighed in the spat, writing on X after the second court decision that “[t]hese judges need to go” and doubling down later on by asking: “Do the people of Italy live in a democracy or does an unelected autocracy make the decisions?”

In a highly unusual response to Musk, Italy’s widely respected head of state, Sergio Mattarella, said the country “knows how to take care of itself.”

At the heart of the controversy lies an October ruling by the ECJ, which stated that no country of origin could be declared safe unless its entire territory was considered free of danger. The ruling referred to a Czech case but is applicable across the whole EU, prevailing over national legislation. Italian judges said they are forced to follow EU law and not apply Italian law if it conflicts with the bloc’s legislation. The Italian government appealed to the country’s Supreme Court to nullify the judges’ rejections. Its decision is expected in December.

However, the final word is likely to remain with the ECJ, according to legal experts, which in turn could take months to clarify whether Italy is able to fast-track irregular migrants’ repatriation in Albania.

The spat between the Italian government and the judiciary is casting doubts over the viability of the policy, which had attracted interest and praise from other European countries, as a way to deter illegal immigration to the continent.

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen championed the Italian initiative, urging the bloc’s 27 leaders ahead of a summit in October to consider the possibility of creating repatriation hubs outside the EU, drawing “lessons from the Italy-Albania protocol.” At the summit, the leaders then committed to explore “innovative solutions” to fight against illegal immigration.

A debate at the European Parliament in late October showed that moderate, conservative, and right-wing politicians, who are in favor of a major clampdown on illegal immigration, tend to support the plan. In contrast, the socialists said it represents a violation of both EU and international law, the Greens branded the hubs as ‎Guantánamo-style concentration camps, and the liberals said it is an expensive and ineffective model.

This year, the EU passed the long-stalled Migration and Asylum Pact, designed to accelerate the repatriation of failed asylum-seekers and distribute the burden of hosting migrants and refugees among member states. The agreement, which is the latest attempt by the EU to manage and normalize migration flows into the continent, will come into force in June 2026.

Individual EU countries have mulled similar plans to Meloni’s to deter the arrival of irregular migrants in their countries. Germany, which accounts for around a third of asylum applications in the EU, will assess options for processing in third countries in December. The country’s conservatives, who are likely to win next year’s federal elections, have already signaled that they would support such deals.

A different, more radical plan to send asylum-seekers to Rwanda by former British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak was ruled unlawful by the country’s Supreme Court last year. Sunak’s successor, Keir Starmer, dismissed the policy of deporting asylum-seekers to the African country as a “gimmick.” However, after meeting with Meloni in September, he hailed Italy’s efforts to tackle illegal immigration, saying the two countries would share intelligence and work more closely together to “smash” the people-smuggling gangs. He added that he was “very interested” in Italy’s agreement with Albania but that he would wait to see the results after it became operational.

Even if legal hurdles were solved, many have criticized the Italy-Albania protocol as very expensive and completely ineffective at deterring migrants’ arrivals.

Matteo Villa, a researcher at the Italian Institute for International Political Studies in Milan, estimated that the cost of processing one migrant application in Albania, if the centers there ran at their full capacity of 10,500 asylum-seekers a year, is nine times the cost borne by the country if it processed them in Italy.

Given that the Italian government said the plan would cost around 130 million euros (about $137 million) a year and that each Albanian center can host at any one time up to 1,200 people, that translates into a cost per migrant of 297 euros (about $312) a day, Villa estimated, compared with the 33 euros Italy currently spends processing the applications on its soil.

At the same time, Villa concluded that taking as a baseline the arrival of 75,000 irregular migrants in the year to October, that the two centers can take only 10,500 a year, and considering the existing repatriation rates of asylum-seekers whose requests are processed in Italy, the probability of being taken to Albania and then repatriated is less than 2 percent.

“What governments should rather do is to work to increase their ability to repatriate the migrants, wherever they process their applications. Putting migrants in small centers abroad could only make it appear that there are less arrivals for a short period of time, but then almost all the migrants would end up in Italy,” Villa told Foreign Policy. “To make external return hubs work, governments would need to strike very strong agreements with third countries to be able to build a high number of these centers. This would enable Europe to show irregular migrants that if they try to enter illegally, they will systematically end up there and then repatriated.”

Villa added that individual countries have little leverage to negotiate with the countries of origin besides offering financial help to these countries in exchange for taking back the migrants. If the EU were to negotiate with these countries as a bloc, then European nations would be able to achieve better results, he added.

In the past decade, the EU was able to curb flows from specific countries of departure through agreements involving aid. Migration has also changed since 2015, when the wars in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan led to an influx of people fleeing those conflicts. With the notable exception of Ukrainian refugees, many now mostly hail from poor countries in search for a better life, with ruthless organizations of smugglers assuring them that it would be easy to get into Europe.

In 2016, the EU struck a deal with Turkey; the hefty aid package to the country was successful at preventing migrants from crossing into the EU. Migrants shifted to the more dangerous route from Libya to Italy. Another EU deal, giving boats and equipment to the infamous Libyan Coast Guard, helped reduce that flow. More recently, an accord with Tunisia, brokered by Meloni and von der Leyen, curbed departures from the North African country.

These deals attracted widespread criticism by human rights organizations and have been shaky at times but overall helped reduce the flows. Yearly irregular migrants’ arrivals dropped from around 390,000 in 2016 to 100,000 in 2020, according to the International Organization for Migration. Then they began rising again each year, up to 293,000 in 2023. Until November this year, Europe registered 189,000 arrivals.

Meanwhile, the populations of many European countries have kept on aging and shrinking, posing a host of problems, such as the sustainability of public pension systems and the shortage of personnel in the industrial and agricultural sectors. For instance, the research center of Italy’s industrial lobby Confindustria said in October that Italy needs roughly 120,000 foreign workers a year up to 2028 to achieve the economic growth forecasts for the period.

“The problem could be partially addressed by building programs through which the skills and profiles of qualified prospective migrants are screened to see how they can be matched with the needs of European employers,” said Salvatore Petronella, a migration specialist at the Washington-based Labor Mobility Partnerships. “Centers for training and employment can be created outside of the EU but not confused with rejection centers, which would be costly and of little use.”

Some European countries such as Germany have begun to warm up to the idea and are integrating increasing numbers of migrants into their workforce, by investing in sponsorships and training abroad. These programs tend also to help the countries of origins of migrants, as normally part of the salaries these workers earn in Europe is sent back as remittances and the migrants acquire skills that can be used in their home countries at a later stage.

Still, the prevailing European approach seems to be to stop the flows at any cost and to fast-track repatriations. To this end, external return hubs may be seen as a tool, provided that the EU manages to operate them in a host of different third countries. At this stage, however, the Italian experience is far from encouraging.