#she's just a notorious thrill seeker

[cervicrazed]

Midnight eating a Graham Cracker after a hard day's work of escaping her cage and giving me a heart attack

[ravenclawboyy]

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑊𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐶𝐼𝐺𝐴𝑅𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑆 🍓 ₊˚࿐

‎‏♡‧ ⁺彡𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝑊𝑂 🚬 ⋆◞

—

- ✧ A year had passed since Johnny Davis had given A/N a ride home on that quiet evening. Seasons came and went, and the little town stayed much the same — dusty streets, old diners, and whispers of the past mingling with the hum of motorcycle engines. But for Johnny, something felt different. The memory of the girl with the basket of strawberries and that playful smile had lingered in the back of his mind, like a song he couldn’t shake off.

One summer night, the Bike Riders were back at their usual spot, gathered around their bikes outside the same old diner. The neon sign flickered overhead, casting a soft, buzzing glow onto the street below. Johnny leaned against his bike, a cigarette perched between his lips, eyes scanning the familiar surroundings.

That’s when he saw her again.

A/N was walking along the sidewalk, her steps slower, more measured than before. Her hair was longer now, falling in waves around her shoulders, and she wore a simple sundress that moved gently in the warm evening breeze. She looked older, but still young — like time had brushed past her without really settling in. There was a new confidence in her stride, a quiet self-assurance that hadn’t been there before.

Johnny’s heart skipped a beat, his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. She looked up and saw him. For a moment, their eyes met, and something sparked between them, a recognition, a memory.

She smiled, a slow, deliberate smile, and walked over to him. “Johnny Davis,” she said, her voice warmer but still holding that soft edge. “Still here, I see.”

Johnny chuckled, taking the cigarette from his lips. “I could say the same about you, A/N. You’ve grown up a bit.”

She laughed, a sound that was somehow both familiar and new. “Yeah, I guess a lot can change in a year.”

Johnny nodded, his gaze lingering on her face. “What brings you back here?”

Emily shrugged. “I come into town sometimes. It’s where the stories are, where things happen, you know?”

He nodded, understanding the unspoken words. There was a restlessness in her, a desire for something more than the worn-down house and the quiet life at the edge of town. “You want another ride?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “Maybe,” she replied. “But this time, I have somewhere else in mind.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

She leaned in, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something deeper. “There’s an old road up by the cliffs,” she said. “They say it’s dangerous, but the view is beautiful. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

Johnny hesitated. The road she was talking about was notorious, narrow and winding, a place where thrill-seekers went to test their luck. But there was something in her voice, a challenge, a dare that he couldn’t resist.

“Alright,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Let’s go see it.”

A/N climbed onto the back of his bike, her hands finding their place around his waist, just like before. Johnny felt the familiar thrill of the ride course through his veins as he kicked the engine into gear and took off down the street.

They rode out of town, past the fields and the quiet houses, toward the cliffs where the road twisted and turned, hugging the edge of the steep drop-off. The wind was warm against their faces, and for a moment, Johnny felt like they were the only two people in the world, racing against the setting sun.

When they reached the cliffs, he slowed down, bringing the bike to a stop at a small overlook. The view was breathtaking — the town spread out below them, bathed in the golden light of dusk, the river winding its way through the valley like a silver thread.

A/N slid off the bike and walked to the edge, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Johnny stood beside her, his hands in his pockets, watching her take it all in. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

She turned to him, her face glowing in the fading light. “Thanks for bringing me here,” she said. “I knew I could count on you.”

Johnny felt a strange warmth spread through him at her words. “Anytime,” he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips.

After a few quiet moments, A/N turned to him, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. “Hey, why don’t you come to my house? I want to show you something.”

Johnny hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. Lead the way.”

They rode back to her place, the ride slower this time, the twilight settling into a deep, warm blue. When they reached her house, A/N jumped off the bike, her feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. She led him around the side of the house, down a small path that wound through a patch of tall grass.

“I’ve been growing something,” she said, her voice soft, almost secretive.

They reached a small clearing, and Johnny stopped in his tracks. There, behind the house, was a garden — a small, neat patch filled with rows upon rows of strawberry plants, their red fruits glowing like jewels in the dim light.

“I planted them myself,” she said proudly. “Every one of them.”

Johnny looked at her, surprised. “Why strawberries?”

A/N smiled. “Because they’re sweet,” she replied simply. “And they remind me of being a kid.”

She walked over to one of the plants and picked a strawberry, holding it up to his lips. “Here, try one.”

Johnny took a bite, the sweetness of the strawberry flooding his mouth. For a moment, he forgot about the cigarette in his pocket, the bike waiting by the curb. All he could think about was the taste of the fruit and the girl in front of him.

She laughed softly, and Johnny felt something stir inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Emily picked another strawberry, this time gently feeding it to him with her fingers. He could feel her warmth, the softness of her touch, the lingering scent of the strawberries on her skin.

He leaned against the garden fence, watching her move among the plants, her face glowing with joy and mischief. She turned back to him, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “You’re different,” she said quietly.

Johnny’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something more serious, more thoughtful. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s just you who makes me feel that way.”

A/N blushed and looked away, but there was a smile on her lips. “Maybe,” she echoed softly.

They stayed there for a while, sitting among the strawberry plants, sharing stories and fruit, the night air filled with the scent of sweetness and smoke. For that brief moment, time seemed to stand still, and the line between the innocent and the savage blurred in the moonlight.

When Johnny finally left, he couldn’t stop thinking about her — the girl with the strawberry garden and the smile that made him feel like a different person. As he rode away, the taste of strawberries still lingered on his lips, mingling with the scent of his cigarette smoke.

And he knew he’d be back.

End..

tags : @xxanaduwrites / @tickettride / @pacifymebby / @iridescentprose / @mayfieldss / @zablife

[verxsyon]

·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ❞

it’s summer: the season of thrills and bittersweetness.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. bronya, dan heng, gepard, jing yuan, sampo, seele, & serval x gn!reader

✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. headcanon (written) ; 0.6k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. modern au, summer romance au ; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. one night stand (sampo), unrequited love (gepard)

✧ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚. omg vera comeback! i’m finally free from classes and i’m off from work for three weeks so yay proper summer break! oh yeah, i finally got bronya! my seele’s no longer gf-less. so this is supposed to be bittersweet with ambiguous endings throughout but uh, my mind went elsewhere with most of them lmao. hopefully this makes sense; my writing’s pretty rusty. special thanks to pigeon from the teahouse server who came up with the title!

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐚. a sheltered heiress who is secretly a thrill seeker. at night, she sneaks into an underground club where she hangs out with the only person who doesn’t treat her any differently despite her status. on very last visit, she reveals she’ll be married soon and her mother discovered her escapades, forbidding her from such activities. that doesn’t stop you from crashing the wedding and presenting a (fake) ring to object to the marriage, having you as her spouse instead.

𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠. a tenant under your grandparents as well as an assistant of their small business. his aloof personality is intimidating at first, not saying much as he accompanies you around your grandparents’ residence, but there’s more to him in his eyes. his nightmares catch up with him the moment he falls for you, and now he has to repress it to keep you safe. the more he pushes away, the more he wants to yell for help, and you hate to come home with a guilty conscience.

𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝. an estranged friend who has been serving the military, and is spending his off-duty at home. you haven’t seen him in years, so it is expected to start off awkwardly, but the two of you are glad to see each other again. besides reconnecting with friends and family, he wishes to resolve his biggest regret, being unable to confess his love for you. but maybe it should stay that way when he meets your fiancé, and all he can say is congratulations.

𝐣𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐮𝐚𝐧. a playful businessman who visits the bar just for his new favorite bartender. your coworker is gone for the entire summer, so you become the target of his flirting. at this point you’ve known the guy for a while, except he has a son who you’ve met at the bar, both terrible in acting and flirting. soon his infamous father arrives, not surprised that his son is there and is happy that he finally met you, his “partner”. perhaps you’ll await an explanation on your date.

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐨. a notorious thief who stole your precious belongings along with your dignity one fateful night. within this season, you’re set to finish your bucket list, however, thanks to a certain someone, there aren’t enough funds. speaking of which, he sees the nearest person and pulls you into an alleyway to hide from the police. recognizing each other, he offers to help you with your bucket list as a deal. not only did he steal your things, he stole your heart as well.

𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞. a free spirit with a rebellious streak. she’s invited to the road trip, viewing it as an opportunity to assess her strength and explore more of the world. the beginning starts off rocky, her clashing with you about meticulous things and the others are trying their best to diffuse the situation. if the arguments teach you one thing, the girl is honest. the one thing she isn’t is when it has to do with her crush on you, hoping the arguments will come in handy.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐥. a fairly popular musician whose name you’ve never heard of until your friend drags you to attend her concert. forced to listen to her setlist before the big day, you slowly become a fan and are able to memorize some of the lyrics. while outside one day, you’re so in the moment that a stylish woman excitedly says she recognizes the music. the brief friendship results in her contact info and gratitude for your support. then you realize, you know who she is now.

✧ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. if your url is in bold, it means i can’t tag you!

@kamiyatos​​

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween Shana 🎃🎃🎃🎃!!!!! I'm a super fan of your work, especialy the Harry Potter stuff; can we get some Andromeda Tonks in siat please? (Maybe her fellings on her daugther getting maried in the house she grew up in and was later kicked out of ?) Love you 💗💗💗

Andromeda likes Percy.

He's unfailingly polite, doesn't have a soulmate, has a government job, and comes from a family notorious for being staunchly liberal to the point of possible disaster.

She likes Cedric too, although she's not exactly heartbroken that her and Amos won't be in-laws.

He does, however, seem a little boring. Her daughter has tended towards rebels and thrill seekers and not buttoned up, serious boys who spend their energy monitoring the minutia of import taxes. Andromeda doesn't expect him to last long, expects that Nymphadora was more enamored with the thrill of the chase than anything else.

He moves on from Barty's assistant to Fudge's, which is a bit surprising. She hears some rumors that he was offered the position of Head of the Department of International Co-operation, but she very nearly laughs when she hears it. The boy is still a teenager, if only just. A talented paper pusher, perhaps, but no one is putting him in charge of any departments.

A year later his face is splashed across the front page of The Daily Prophet.

Umbridge and Fudge are behind bars, along with dozens more crooked ministry officials, and even more lose their positions in the aftermath. He achieves in two years at the ministry what others have been trying to do for decades.

Maybe he is a match for her daughter after all.

[contentloadingandstuff]

🎉Celebrating Hu Tao's birthday!

No fifteenth of July can go without a party with Director Hu. Be it a small one with just you and her closest friends, or a larger event for everyone to enjoy, there’s always something planned. 

When it comes to the guests, Hu Tao isn’t very restrictive - the more the merrier! Not only does the fun increase with each person, but so does the gift pile…

Since Wangsheng is the main provider of funerary services in Liyue, Hu Tao can’t complain when it comes to the budget. She doesn’t have a lot of personal expenses, so she will have plenty saved up. 

Organizing a party using money earned on death? It’s quite dark indeed, but Hu Tao would just shrug if you’d mention this. That’s life, she’d reply. 

When it comes to the place… If you weren’t there for a second opinion, Hu Tao would see nothing wrong with throwing the celebration inside the funeral parlor. Considering that such a place would likely kill the mood (and be horrible for her business' reputation), Hu Tao would choose to go for a big campfire in the great outdoors. That removes the locale’s expenditure, and lets her invite more people to the event. Fresh air is also a plus.

A compulsory guest would be Xiangling, not only because she’s a great friend of Director Hu, but also because she will gladly be the chef for the event (as long as she gets to experiment with the dishes a little).

Hu Tao’s mind is just bursting with ideas. How about a rap or a poetry battle? The winner gets ice cream, and the loser has to eat Jeyun Chillies raw - the higher their spot on the leaderboard, the more of them they have to endure. Poor Chongyun…

Twister! Whipping up a playing field consisting of a bamboo mat with a colored cloth on top is no biggie for her. Hu Tao will gladly find out - who is the most flexible of her friends? Maybe she’ll get to learn something about your capabilities even, hehe.

She always liked a good archery competition. And maybe some javelin throwing as well? Javelins… That gives her an idea - spear fishing! Or just fishing in general if that turns out too challenging, boring or direct for the guests. 

And when the night falls, ghost stories! Throughout the year she had come up with plenty of new and thrilling tales, and she just can’t wait to share them. It has been a long time since she saw Xiangling squeal in fright after all.

If those prove to be not exciting enough, Hu Tao will take it to the next step - a ghost hunt. She’ll set things up with her befriended, playful, ethereal pals, of course. She wouldn’t want to get anybody hurt - wild spirits tend to be unpredictable, and, although rarely, very violent. 

When Hu Tao, the notorious thrill seeker, finds herself with people who want to go “off-road” with the paranormal, she will not find the strength to refuse. With her spear firmly in hand, she will lead her team into the darkest of corners, looking for a good scare. Maybe that will finally make you jump - it’s hard to scare you. No fun. 

Whatever the attractions may be, they for sure won’t be boring. Not when it’s Director Hu’s birthday!

Thanks for reading!

[dopscratch]

introducing: the Scoutbros

i'm feeling creative, so i'm gonna introduce you all to my headcanons for scout's family, including the basically-ocs that i've designated as his brothers! you're welcome to use them anywhere if you happen to actually like them, with a couple rules

credit me please this is the one scrap of originality i have

if you make any tweaks, headcanons or changes, please do not parade them as fact!

SHOW ME, LINK IT TO ME, GIVE ME WHATEVER CONTENT YOU MAY MAKE WITH THEM I LOVE THE SCOUTBROS

obviously these rules only apply to the oc-ones and not the canon characters (except rule 3, give me your tf2 content...)

all images are from that one scene in my Runs in the Family animatic you know the one- and represent fairly young versions of all of them! i think i designed scout to be like 10 there.

anyway, without further ado, my headcanons/ocs:

Starting with Scout's mother, I've headcanoned she really likes J names. Her name is Jolene and Spy's name, whatever it is, probably starts with a J too. Most of her kids come from different fathers, hence their varied appearances. Also her last name is Fitzgerald for the memes. That's pretty much all I have here

Scout himself also remains pretty much unchanged. His childhood nickname was Germ because Jeremy and also he's a little pathogen the kid is obnoxious :)

Josh is 1 year older than Scout and is the resident daredevil. He’s a thrill seeker and holds the record for the most broken bones in the family, both at once and total. Scout may have broken this record during his time as a merc, but since he’s not really supposed to talk about it (and it’d be nearly impossible to keep track of on the battlefield with Medic healing) Josh remains on top. He has darker/deeper brown eyes and hair.

Jay is 2 years older than Scout and a hyper tech nerd who finds it difficult to focus on most things for more than one minute. He loves pranks, often pulling them on his brothers and anyone unlucky enough to be close by. He’s 100% a memelord (Saxton invented the internet early it could happen!!). He’s a blue-eyed redhead.

Jason is 5 years older than Scout. He’s twins with Jake (coming next!). He’s also a criminal. To be fair, he’s not really more of a criminal than his other brothers, he just continued being a bit of a menace into adulthood and is terrible at covering his tracks, resulting in him landing in jail more often than not. If someone in the family is going to get caught for a crime, it’ll most likely be him. He also occasionally takes the fall for his other brothers, be it voluntarily or not. He’s absolutely awful at planning but can often think on his feet well enough in a crisis. He has paler brown eyes and black hair.

Jake is Jason’s twin (so also 5 years older than Scout). He’s a nicer guy, polite, but an adept fighter. He tends to keep a cool head and can get out of a lot of bad situations, the opposite of his twin (he is the younger twin which he used to be a little self-conscious about). He’s also Bidwell. He legally changed his name because the scoutfam is a little notorious what with the many many troublemakers that come from it. I think this is the perfect origin story for him because there’s no way Saxton Hale would hire an assistant without assessing their combat ability.

Jessie is Jack’s (coming next!) right-hand man, 7 years older than Scout. Scoutmom Jolene forgot the masculine way to spell it was ‘Jesse’ so now this tall, buff, intimidating man has to live with a name that many would point and laugh and call a girl’s name (not that ‘Jesse’ would be any better in the spoken word). Though it was a bit of an embarrassment in early childhood, mostly going by his initials, he’s moved past it, growing confident and comfortable with his name. He’s generally stoic and hard to rattle, though he has a more chaotic side and likes helping out with Jay’s pranks. Though he’s slower to anger, he holds a long, lifetime grudge. He has darker brown eyes and black hair.

Jack is 9 years older than Scout and the ruthless leader type. He specializes in organized crime, but in a kind of wholesome way. He’s very protective of anything he’s deemed his territory and will keep his little circle safe. Family comes before anything for him (absent fathers don’t count in his books). He targets overeager gangs, corrupt officials, big businesses challenging smaller local ones, and other threats to his community in various less-than-legal ways. He has blue eyes and black hair.

James is the oldest son, 12 years older than Scout. He filled in as a sort of father figure to the family as it grew and was the leader of the scoutbros’ chaotic outings until adulthood, when he eventually decided to pursue a stable, normal job. Still, he sticks around and occasionally accompanies the group for old time’s sake. He’s generally the most responsible, followed by Jake and Jessie. He has brown eyes and a light brownish hair, a similar shade to Scout’s.

and that’s all of em! hope you enjoyed this wild ride through my brain. i think the tag is free so #scoutbros will from now on be referring to my particular band of silly dudes unless anyone has any objections!

also, feel free to ask me any questions!

[experthiese]

PUBLIC VS. PRIVATE INFORMATION.

Feel free to refer to this when deciding how much your character should know about Lupin, especially if they're from outside his canon and have no pre-established basis on if/how well they know of each other.

PUBLIC. Accessible to everyone.

He is the grandson of Arsène Lupin, notorious French gentleman thief, and the third generation to continue in this line of work. No treasure is said to be outside of his reach once he's set his sights on it, and as a result he's been granted the title of the world's most wanted thief.

He's a master of disguise, and (much like his predecessors) is able to perfectly mimic another's appearance, voice and mannerisms with minimal observation needed beforehand. Only tiny details, such as his mask not showing sweat where real skin would, are able to give him away.

He is affiliated with Daisuke Jigen, Ishikawa Goemon XIII, Fujiko Mine, Laetitia Bresson, and more (verse/relationship dependent).

His 'eternal rival' is Zenigata Koichi of Interpol, the only man able to consistently capture Lupin, even if it's only for short bursts of time.

Zenigata has arrested and successfully imprisoned him on multiple occasions. However, Lupin has managed to find a way to escape from every single prison he's been put in, often relying on the assistance of his gang.

He's said to be in love with every woman in the world, though his prized paramour is Fujiko. He will never stop trying to win her affections, no matter how often he's betrayed or rejected.

His preferred weapon is a Walther P38 and it's kept on his person at all times.

A calling card is always sent to his chosen target pre-heist, detailing the item to be stolen, and the time/date of his appearance. It's signed with his name and peanut caricature.

He was once married to Rebecca Rossellini, well-known heiress and secret thrill-seeker. When he left Italy to continues his crimes travels, she didn't follow him.

SEMI-PUBLIC. Still accessible, but lesser known.

He's bisexual. His attraction to men is just greatly overshadowed by his womanising.

He's a mostly self-taught polyglot and remains at least conversational no matter where in the world he travels. He's also fluent in some dead and computer languages.

The details sent on his calling card are specific, and he sticks to them rigidly. Lupin will leave the premises once the window has passed, regardless of if he managed to snatch the treasure or not.

He's an art connoisseur and can tell a real piece from a forgery with a single glance.

All car maintenance is done by him. He's very proud of all three of his vehicles, and does his best to keep them in top condition for as long as possible. A lot of his wealth gets re-invested into fixing them up after a heist.

Lupin doesn't kill. That's one of the rules of his game, and it's one that he's unlikely to try and bend. He has people to kill for him, if necessary, but he himself refuses to take a life until it's the only option left.

This no-killing rule is one of the biggest copycat downfalls, and often the thing that gets them discovered. Thief he may be, but Lupin has a strict code of ethics he's set for himself.

He's intelligent. Many underestimate him because of the silly, childish persona he performs, failing to realise that this is not only a deliberate part of his plan, but necessary for his success. Any foe becomes easier to beat when they forget just who they're going up against.

He's a capable scientist, and uses this knowledge for his heists. All of his gadgets, smoke bombs, and knock-out gases are handmade and often re-evaluated to ensure they have maximum efficiency.

He can work any vehicle, be it designed for the land, skies, or water. He's an especially good stunt driver, so naturally prefers to use motorcycles or cars whenever possible.

PRIVATE. Available only to Lupin's closest.

Lupin doesn't dream, nor does he get nightmares. His REM sleep, or if he's even capable of achieving it, remains a mystery to everyone.

He is the legal wife of Onabes, an art collector. Despite his best efforts, the divorce papers were never completed, and thus their marriage remains binding.

The addresses of all his safehouses. In order to remain untraceable, Lupin's constantly selling off property and purchasing new ones, and rarely bothers to inform anyone about these developments unless necessary. His chosen locations range from penthouse city apartments, to countryside mansions the size of a small village, to cozy coastal bungalows. He has hideouts in every conceivable corner of the earth.

He's afraid of octopi, squid, and similar cephalopods. They freak him out big time.

Lupin will, on occasion, allow Zenigata's men to "recover" the occasional stolen artefact. Usually these are ones of historical/cultural significance or gems that he just can't sell for a good price. He has no interest in keeping these items; they've already served their purpose and gone to show that he can take them.

He sneaks into Interpol a lot. He's always disguised as different people of varying levels of importance, and loves to catch up on the latest water cooler gossip (and start some of his own). As a result, he's gotten a pretty good understanding of a lot of Interpol officers and knows more than they'd probably want him to.

All of Lupin's heists and their accompanying details (such as maps, blueprints, security routes, required technology and disguises) are all written down on paper and kept on Lupin's person. He's done far too much hacking to trust any sort of digital security system.

[wavehq]

enjoy limitless possibilities here in celestire islands, adrien agreste ( miraculous ), bonnibel bubblegum ( adventure time ), and osamu dazai ( bungou stray dogs ), where you can start the new life you've always longed for. make sure you read the checklist, as we'll be sending the discord link through ims! enjoy your new dream, achilles!

( miraculous, dupes not allowed. lee felix, he/him, transgender male. )  ——-  hey, is that ( adrien agreste ) hanging around ( the lighthouse )? i wonder what life is like for them, balancing working as a ( twenty-five ) year old ( fashion model & bartender ) and ( playing piano )? they’re notorious for being ( charismatic ) yet ( sheltered ), and i always seem to hear ( not strong enough ) by ( boygenius ) playing whenever they walk past. they’re known around the islands for ( chasing his cat down the street in his pyjamas after he escaped ), and they’re associated with ( the flash of a camera, cheeky grins & stressed, french, muttering ). last we spoke, they were telling me about a vision they had… something about their biggest regret being ( not being honest to himself, or his friends ), but it must have just been a bad dream. //  —  [ achilles ]

( adventure time. choi yena, she/they, transfemme. ) ——- hey, is that ( bonnibel bubblegum ) hanging around ( 375 bakery )? i wonder what life is like for them, balancing working as a ( twenty-eight ) year old ( geneticist ) and ( baker )? they’re notorious for being ( charming ) yet ( controlling ), and i always seem to hear ( house of balloons / glass tables ) by ( the weeknd ) playing whenever they walk past. they’re known around the islands for ( accidentally creating new bacteria in the lunchroom fridge ), and they’re associated with ( grown out hair dye, late nights and early mornings, coffee with too much sweetener, && the smell of strawberries, and bubblegum ). last we spoke, they were telling me about a vision they had… something about their biggest regret being ( putting her people in harms way to further her experiments. . . multiple times ), but it must have just been a bad dream. // — [ achilles ]

( bungou stray dogs, alan shirahama, he/him, transgender male. ) ——- hey, is that ( osamu dazai ) hanging around ( sugar and cream )? i wonder what life is like for them, balancing working as a ( thirty ) year old ( investigator ) and ( thrill-seeker )? they’re notorious for being ( enthusiastic ) yet ( compulsive ), and i always seem to hear ( baby hotline ) by ( jack stauber’s microscope ) playing whenever they walk past. they’re known around the islands for ( constantly having an injury of some kind ), and they’re associated with ( the clattering of shattered glass, being 7 steps ahead of those around you, illegible handwriting, & sleepless nights ). last we spoke, they were telling me about a vision they had… something about their biggest regret being ( trusting chuuya ), but it must have just been a bad dream. // — [ achilles]

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[queenofimagines]

It’s Happened Before

Request: “heyy can you do one where y/n normally plays hard to get around guys but when she’s really drunk one guy won’t leave her alone and jj saves her. When he takes her home he’s super sweet and y/n is all over him, he likes it because he has a huge crush on her but then he feels bad bc he doesn’t want to take advantage. At some point y/n thinks that he will take advantage of her in her drunk mind and she says it’s happened before. ((Also love ur writing sm))💜” by @maybebanks

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault

Notes: I’ve never written a fic with sexual assault before so I apologize if it’s inaccurate or insensitive in any way, I promise that is not my intention. If any of you find any discrepancies in my writing of it or find anything offending please let me know so I can fix it and so I can pay attention to it in the future. Thank you!

Also, this ended up being really long... sorry not sorry :)

You loved playing hard to get, and JJ loved that you never made it easy for him. He fell for your spit-fire attitude right away and since then had never stopped trying to make you his. If you were being honest, though, you liked this little game of cat and mouse that you and JJ had started when you met. You liked how he followed you around like a lost puppy, but you also took pride in the fact that you got the JJ Maybank, notorious for only ever having one night stands, to want you and only you.

Everyone knew of your little game, many already thinking of you as JJ’s girl and referring to you as such because of how inevitable it was that you two would end up together. You hoped they were right, and that you and JJ would end up in an actual relationship. You were young, you knew that you still needed to figure out exactly what you wanted out of life and where you wanted it to go, but to you, one thing was for certain: no matter what happened or where you went, you wanted JJ Maybank to be there. But you were scared, scared that he’d get bored of you, scared that he only liked you for the chase. You were by no means a thrill-seeker, often opting to go with the safer options when John B presented you guys with whatever adventurous scheme he had come up with. JJ, on the other hand, liked to run headfirst into danger without even so much as a plan, something that made you uneasy. You were sure that when the chase was over you’d have a few weeks of bliss before the realization that you weren’t actually what JJ wanted would hit him like a sucker punch and that he’d leave you like so many others had. What you didn’t know, though, was that JJ was by no means in it for the thrill of the chase.

JJ saw right through you. He knew that your quick wit was a way for you to cover up your fear and your pain. He knew that fear and pain caused you to lead him on this chase in the first place. And sure, he liked it when you played hard to get, but that wasn’t what drew him in. JJ fell in love with the way you cared about him and the other Pogues. He fell for the way you always seemed to have just enough time in your busy schedule to help Kiara clean up the litter that so many had carelessly left behind at keggers, how you always seemed to have just enough time to cook for John B when he wasn’t taking care of himself like he should have, how you always seemed to know exactly what to say to calm down Pope when he got anxious, how you always kept him out late enough so that he would just have to spend the night with you instead of going home, and how, when it was necessary for him to go home, you always seemed to “accidentally” leave your blankets in his room during winter when you knew it would be freezing. JJ fell in love with you because you cared about him in a way no one else had before, the chase you led him on was just part of the fun, but even without it JJ still would have stared at you as if you had hung the moon just for him.

It was the beginning of summer, and high time for you and the Pogues to throw yet another kegger to kick it off. You, for one, were more than happy to get uninhibitedly drunk to drown out the insecurities you had when it came to your maybe-relationship with JJ. You were on your fourth cup of beer by now, the party only having started less than an hour ago, and to say you were plastered was an understatement. You didn’t have a particularly high tolerance, you and the rest of the Pogues were very aware of that, but you didn’t care, you just wanted to get wasted and have fun. JJ knew something was up with you when you chugged your first beer right away as you weren’t the chugging type. All of the Pogues noticed your strange behavior too. They knew that you were the kind of person to sip your beer until you were buzzed and keep yourself in that state but never surpass it. JJ knew something was wrong and assured Kiara, John B, and Pope that he would keep an eye on you when they brought up that one of them should stay sober enough to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid. He reasoned with them, stating that since he was the only one of the four who hadn’t had at least three beers by this point that he would be the best bet to stay sober. The Pogues were confused, knowing JJ to be the first of them to get completely hammered, but they didn’t question him, instead agreeing and turning back to the party. What he neglected to tell them was that he had already made up his mind to stay sober and watch over you at the beginning of the party and that his decision to have only one beer, although it was more like half a beer since he was trying to be as completely sober as possible without it looking too suspicious, was purposely made before anyone else had even noticed how off you were acting.

You were unaware of the lingering eyes on you, you were also unaware that the eyes staring at your figure weren’t just JJ’s. A boy around your age, a Touron you guessed based on his sweatshirt which sported some college that you just knew wasn’t from anywhere near the Outer Banks, had seen you dancing with some old acquaintances of yours and decided it was time to approach you. You didn’t notice him coming up behind you, but JJ did, he didn’t dare make a move though, knowing you hated that macho bullshit and were perfectly capable of handling yourself, but he was still on edge when the boy placed his hands on your hips.

You thought the boy was JJ, really you did. But the second you pressed your back into him you knew you were sorely mistaken. You quickly turned around, eyeing the boy who had put his hands on you not mere seconds before, telling him to go away. You didn’t want him, you wanted JJ, and even your drunk self knew that you would never want to be dancing with anybody else.

“Come on, baby, let’s just have some fun,” the boy said, grabbing your hips again. But you resisted, pushing him away and beginning to walk away in the hopes that you could find said blondie.

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me,” the boy said, tightly grabbing onto your bicep. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you that it’s rude to ignore someone who’s talking to you?”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you shouldn’t be grabbing girls like that?” JJ responded, having seen the interaction from where he stood near the keg and immediately making his way over to you.

“Listen, buddy, I wasn’t talking to you.” The boy stepped closer to JJ, pushing you out of the way and causing you to trip and fall onto the sand. That did it for JJ, who began throwing punches at the Touron who dared lay a hand on you. The Touron didn’t stand a chance against JJ and you quickly realized that you would have to stop him from killing the boy.

“JJ,” you said meekly, hoping that your voice was loud enough to hear. You didn’t want to talk much louder, your head already pounding from the sudden shift of your body when you fell. But he couldn’t hear you, not over the sound of the crowd egging on the fight.

“JJ!” You yelled, already regretting the decision when you felt the throbbing in your head get worse. JJ stopped, looking over at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Can we just go, please?”

JJ slowly nodded, letting go of the Touron and carefully picking you up to take you back to the Chateau. He sat you down on the couch, beginning to move away to turn the lights on, but your grip on his hand was vice-like.

“Y/N, let me turn on the lights, alright sweetheart?”

“No, stay.” JJ couldn’t fight you when you looked so sleepy and utterly adorable. He made his way next to you on the couch where you proceeded to practically fall into his lap. JJ moved so that you were lying comfortably against him, sure that you would probably just fall right asleep. But instead of hearing your soft snores, he felt your hand reach up into his hair and your lips gently trail across his neck. His heart rate sped up, loving the soft attention he was receiving and pulling you closer, running his hands along your sides, only stopping when he heard your breath hitch and felt your body tense.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asked.

“N-nothing,” you responded.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He said quickly, afraid that you thought he only wanted to have sex with you and feeling like he was taking advantage of your state of mind by not stopping you from delivering the physical affection he craved. You quickly sat up, staring at him with watery eyes full of disbelief.

“You-you’re not going to...?” You trailed off, not wanting to say it.

“Sweetheart, I’d never take advantage of you like that. Even if you wanted to I wouldn’t let you, you’re not in your right mind right now and I need you to be fully aware if we do this.” He said, thinking that the tears in your eyes and the look on your face were caused by disappointment. Before he knew it you had launched yourself at him, tightly hugging him to you while you sobbed into his shoulder. JJ was beyond confused at this point but he knew that he just needed to be here for you right now. He slowly wrapped his hands around you so as not to startle you.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?”

“For not taking advantage of me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart, I’d never do that to you.” You sniffled, mumbling a response. He dearly hoped you didn’t say what he thought you said, but the waver in your voice at the words you spoke was unmistakable.

“It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.” JJ’s heart broke. Someone had taken advantage of you? He quickly pulled you away from him in order to look at you.

“Who?” He questioned. He was beyond angry, ready to fight the person who had made you feel like you needed to thank him for being a decent fucking human being. You shook your head.

“Some Touron a couple of months ago.” A couple of months ago? How did he not know? How could he have let that happen to you?

“We snuck away from the party, I thought he just wanted to talk but I was just being stupid. He was older and made me feel special so I followed along when he suggested we go somewhere else. H-he started touching me, I didn’t want him to. I told him to stop but he didn’t. He started kissing me and then we heard a gunshot. He bolted as soon as he heard it and I tried to come and find you guys.” You were sobbing at this point, not wanting to remember the moment having not fully processed the situation. JJ began crying too, angry that he didn’t protect you and angry that you had been struggling with this alone.

“No, no, no, that’s not your fault. You weren’t being stupid, okay? I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say, what could he have said? What happened to you wasn’t okay and he wasn’t sure how to handle it either, so he pulled you close to him, letting you cry into his chest despite the pain it caused him to hear your broken sobs. Soon you fell asleep, the rest of the Pogues having come back to the Chateau not too long after, quietly asking JJ if you were alright. JJ shook his head, silently telling them that they’d have that conversation tomorrow. They all nodded, John B heading to his room and Pope and Kie heading to the spare room to give you guys some space.

As JJ lay in the dark, calmed by your steady breathing, he stroked his hand through your hair and promised you that he would protect you, no matter what.

[rantceratops]

Just some random facts about Dragon’s curse. (The Imp in this case will refer to the dark entity/magic that takes over Dragon from the book.)

The Imp cannot take over Dragon and force her to finish reading the book. The magic doesn’t work that way, it cannot read its own book.

The Imp’s main embodiment is anchored to the Cursed Book Dragon carries. This is because Dragon did not finish reading it. However, both The Imp and Dragon are bound to the book due to the nature of the curse. If Dragon were to try and move too far away from the book, she would find herself unable to move further due to the magic binding her to it. Dragon probably does not yet know about this little feature, as she already keeps it on or very close to her at all times to begin with.

In saying that The Imp’s embodiment is more anchored to the book than Dragon herself, I would further explain like this: If The Imp were a physical entity, it only has its hand on Dragon’s shoulder. Nothing more, but it’s enough.

Imps in myth are notorious pranksters, tricksters, and attention seekers. Keeping that in mind, The Imp knows it keeps Dragon’s attention by having her do awful shit, and it loves that. It knows that Dragon can still see what’s going on, and uses that to full advantage. Not only for the thrill of it, but also likely out of spite for her not fully reading the book and giving in to it.

When Dragon is taken over by The Imp, it knows everything about her. What she likes, dislikes, who and what she cares about, etc. This is why a possessed Dragon is always going to attack or trick people she cares about. It, however, cannot use Dragon’s voice to speak.

The Imp cannot just take over Dragon constantly or permanently, as again, it only has a hand on her shoulder. This, however, is enough for it to be able to temporarily possess her body under certain circumstances.

The Imp can only get enough power to take Dragon over when she is giving in to fear/worry/distress/etc over hurting others. When Dragon isolates, she robs The Imp of any ability to take control because she’s at her calmest--if loneliest--this way. Unwittingly, Dragon fuels her own problem with stress, worry, and fear, which The Imp basically feeds off of in order to control her. (and because Dragon mostly worries while around people, this is usually when The Imp is able to strike)

If the curse is broken, ex. the book being burned, Dragon will remain physically an imp, but The Imp entity itself will be gone; she will no longer lose control of herself. But the changes were physical and cannot be undone. Dragon spent near a week sick, in pain, and fevered after she read the Cursed Book, and during that time her body was physically altered. She is stuck that way, it is simply how she is now.

Will add more if I think of anything. I swear I feel like I’m forgetting something.

(imagine how fucked Dragon could be if someone used that book thing to keep her from leaving somewhere)

[antoine-roquentin]

The new German left coalition, Aufstehen, aims to break the morbid consensus of perpetual ‘grand coalition’. Unsurprisingly Wolfgang Streeck, one of the few sociologists who would think to ask the question How Will Capitalism End?, is one of its partisans, making the case for the coalition in a provocative long-form article for Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. A long-time supporter of Die Linke, he sees in the emerging coalition the chance to realign the left on the basis of an orientation to power.

If the ‘realists’ of Die Linke coalesce with the left-wing of social democracy, they could legitimately aim to govern. They could break the deflationary fiscal regime, end the taboo on taxing corporations and the rich, end debt rules that prevent municipalities from writing off their debts and the government from credit-financing infrastructure, address class and regional inequalities, and abandon a decrepit US-aligned foreign policy of propping up some corrupt governments and bombing others. This is an agenda that most on the Left would support.

So why is there a need for a new coalition? Die Linke is surely the one German party that has consistently supported policies like this. What would yet another realignment achieve beyond a further step down the road to a fractal Left? What, given the ambition of Streeck’s agenda, is there to be ‘realists’ about? What is the issue over which there is such “moralising away of fundamental questions” that one needs a new Left?

The issue, at least for the ‘realists’, is immigration. Specifically, it is Die Linke’s commitment to open borders, and its repudiation of former leader Sahra Wagenknecht for dabbling in anti-refugee rhetoric. The ‘realists’ are the Wagenknecht wing, the ‘sectarians’ are the delegates who voted against her. Unable to win the argument in Die Linke, the ‘realists’ are betting on a new political vehicle. This is the aspect of Streeck’s case that I want to comment on. Or rather, because he submerges the argument in the general rhetorical sweep of his recent Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung article, this is the part I want to expand on.

One has to admire, first of all, the parsimony of Streeck’s political taxonomy. As far as arguments on the Left go, there is only one fork in the tree of possibilities. On one branch, we find ‘realists’, accommodating the anti-immigrant sentiment which the Alternative for Germany (AfD) capitalises on. On the other, ‘sectarians’, sacrificing political efficacy to moral posturing, and using the AfD’s far right politics to avoid the issues they raise.

If these sound like the sorts of one-dimensional protagonists one might encounter in a morality fable, they are. Nonetheless, Streeck says, the prevalence of preening sectarians means that the “big questions” are suppressed. Capitalism, democracy, climate, war, “globalism” and “national statehood” are off the agenda while purists ineffectually worry about the “niceties of national and international asylum law”.

From this, one might get the impression that the ‘realists’, led by Aufstehen founder Sahra Wagenknecht, are desperately keen to stop talking about refugees. Yet one thing that one really can’t say about them is that they’ve driven refugees down the political agenda. It may not be the issue they spend most time talking about, but it is the issue that defines them as distinct from their opponents on the Left. Granted that they do, in fact, also talk about war, climate, inequality and capitalism, that wasn’t ever controversial in Die Linke.

Indeed, it was Wagenknecht who chose to make refugees the issue, in a deliberate and predictably controversial break with Die Linke’s policy, by attacking Angela Merkel from the right, beginning in August 2015. Merkel had, in response to a popular sentiment in favour of letting in Syrian refugees, undertook a short-lived pirouette to Wilkommenskultur. The Dublin Regulation, an EU law which says that member-states have to process applications from asylum seekers, was suspended. The purpose of the law is to ensure that migrants who arrive in destinations like Greece, Italy and Spain, stay there. It is linked to an apparatus designed to deter refugees from making the journey to Europe, from illegal ‘pushback’ agreements with Greece and Turkey to the harassment of rickety boats on the Mediterranean seas by Frontex operations. But Germany, for a brief moment, said it would welcome the refugees.

One would be entitled to be a little cynical of Merkel. Though often mistaken for some sort of bleeding-heart liberal, she had cheerfully baited migrants and Muslims, and declared multiculturalism a failure, and bears significant responsibility for the fortification of ‘Fortress Europe’. But when Wagenknecht attacked her, it was for suggesting that Germany could handle the refugee inflow. She later blamed Merkel’s “uncontrolled border opening” and police cuts for causing a major attack carried out by an ISIS supported in Berlin in December 2016.

Nor was Wagenknecht, in making this claim, weighing in with an argument that was under-represented in the political spectrum. The giddy thrill of transgression that palpably comes with such ostensibly hard-headed ‘realism’ is entirely unwarranted. Her argument that open borders was to blame echoed the AfD. The complaint about police budget cuts echoed the social-democratic vice-chancellor, Sigmar Gabriel. More broadly, in attacking the momentarily liberal-sounding Merkel fom the right, Wagenknecht was cutting with the grain of established government policy and rhetoric. There are, further, many ways to describe what such rhetoric does. For example it, demagogically, leverages the emotional response to a devastating event to advance a political argument. But one thing it definitely doesn’t do is break the mould, forcing the long-neglected issues of capitalism, democracy, climate and war back on the agenda.

Still, what if the argument was correct? Shouldn’t that be the most important thing? Should political correctness censor the truth? What could be more typical of the moral Left than its fidelity to abstractions over mucky realities? Anis Amri, the Berlin killer, was after all an asylum seeker from Tunisia: QED. I will not evade this, but I will just briefly pause to point out what might not be obvious, viz. that majority of terror attacks in Europe continue to be carried out by citizens of Europe, not migrants, and that the UN’s study could find no evidence of any correlation between migration and terror. So there is already a problem with conflating border controls with counterterrorism.

That said, Anis Amri was definitely not the beneficiary of any “uncontrolled border opening”. Amri had arrived in the Italian island of Lampedusa by boat in 2011, like tens of thousands of other migrants fleeing the turbulence of the Arab spring. He was held in a detention camp for refugees. Why is there a detention camp for refugees in Lampedusa? I’ll come back to that. When thousands of the detainees rioted, in protest against the notoriously awful conditions – which the island’s mayor compared to a concentration camp – he was among those locked up for it.

It was in a European jail that Amri was spotted and recruited by the jihadists who would link him to ISIS. He was already in the Schengen Zone when he migrated to Germany in July 2015, shortly after his release but before Merkel’s announcement. And while he did apply for asylum, he was turned down and scheduled for deportation – like most asylum applicants in Germany. While the deportation was going through the courts, he was under surveillance by German security services. They determined that he didn’t pose a threat. They were wrong, of course. But neither in the detail nor in the big picture does the Amri case prove anything about Merkel’s suspension of the Dublin Regulation, let alone that Germany is a soft touch and that refugee controls are too lax.

So, far from thinking asylum is a marginal issue, or a distraction, Wagenknecht and allies clearly think it an issue worth fighting over. One for which they are prepared, at key moments, to say things that are emotive, grossly inaccurate, and just a little bit sleazy.

It is clear enough what Wagenknecht was trying to do, and what the ‘realists’ in Aufstehen are now trying to do. Die Linke had been suffering from a prolonged political stalemate. Far from gaining amid capitalist crisis and eurozone turmoil, it had seen its vote stagnate since making a small gain in the 2009 Federal elections. In 2017, it was beaten into fifth place by the FDP and the AfD. The Left Party lost eleven percent of its voters to the AfD between 2013 and 2017, although a far bigger share of far right votes came from the CDU/CSU, and more still were previous non-voters.

Wagenknecht and her allies think this is because Die Linke is out of touch with its ‘traditional’ supporters. The older, less educated manual workers in the East who voted AfD are not reached by squeaky-clean, sanctimonious middle-class activists crying about dead refugees. The rage against refugees, they think, reflects a misdirected class anger on the part of the poor. This poor man’s economism patronises people. It treats them as victims of an astonishingly crude form of ‘false consciousness’, taking no account of the elaborate systems of perception and values in which such beliefs are grounded. Not to mention the sheer stubborn, cussed delight with which people invest their beliefs. It doesn’t ask what it might mean, in terms of their attachment to hierarchies and competition, if people are more offended by refugees than by class injustice.

Yet it is not just an argument about false consciousness. Rather than alienating those who vote for the AfD, the ‘realists’ proceed, the Left needs to understand and address their legitimate concerns, then give them a radical gloss. In an article written with playwright Bernd Stegemann for Die Zeit, Wagenknecht rebukes the Left for feel-good purity, oblivious to the fact that refugees compete for “scarce resources at the bottom of society” and can be a little bit scary and strange at times. Notice that Wagenknecht and Stegemann aren’t, themselves, claiming to be affrighted by refugees with their strange ways. I suspect they would be mortified to confess to such a disposition. For that reason, the attempt confer a certain rationality and grown-up dignity on an everyday prejudice reeks of condescension and bad faith.

It is also, finally, illogical. There is no evidence that the anti-refugee position is driven by any practical experience of competition or brushes with any frightening foreign culture. To the contrary, the AfD vote in 2017 was highest in the areas with the lowest share of foreign-born population: an utterly typical pattern. By that time, moreover, Wagenknecht’s rhetoric had been prominently broadcast across all media for two years. If it was going to woo those racist voters, one might have expected it to do so by then. Instead, it may well have given some voters the motivation they needed to jump ship.

As Aufstehen was launched, Wagenknecht and Stegemann co-wrote another article for the Nordwest-Zeitung, calling for a “realistic” immigration policy, steering a convivially middling course between two unpalatable extremes: “the resentment of the AfD” and “a limitless welcome culture”. Such a policy would fund those volunteers looking after refugees, without allowing people smugglers “to dictate which people can reach Europe by illegal means”. This is a soothing formulation. Realism. Who wants to be unrealistic? Smugglers. Who wants to be on their side? Neither this extreme nor that extreme. Who doesn’t want nuance?

The ‘realists’ are in no way breaking new ground with such rhetoric, so familiar from centrist triangulation. It is not as exciting as blaming open borders for terrorism, but it is utterly conventional for the politicians who empower traffickers by criminalising refugees, to then blame the traffickers. And even, when the predictable casualties wash up in their dozens, even their hundreds, on an Italian beach, threaten to bomb them. Yet, in a world where transport is becoming ever cheaper, what is it that gives exploitation-mongers such leverage? Why, to put it more concretely, has there been a spike of drownings in the Mediterranean in recent years, as those rickety boats run by the traffickers sink?

The number one reason, according to the UN’s International Organization for Migration (IOM), is the ramping up of European border controls, including strategies of “illegal pushback” by land. These strategies have been formalised by Merkel in deals with both Turkey and Greece. Deals which have been faulted for violating Article 4 of the European Convention on Human Rights, outlawing the collective expulsion of aliens.

These policies didn’t follow a huge influx of refugees. The flow of irregular migrants, only a minority of whom were refugees, had fallen sharply in the 2000s. The share of irregular migrants as a proportion of the population has varied from 0.38 to 0.77% of the total European population. There was a short-lived spike in 2015, driven by the Syrian civil war: with one million arriving by sea alone, according to data kept by the IOM. In 2016, it fell to 387,985 by land and sea. In 2017, the figure was 176,452. In a continent of 741.4 million, with over five million born each year, and even assuming that every single new arrival was accepted and then contributed nothing by way of work and taxes, this is simply not the crisis-inducing burden that Wagenknecht has claimed.

It is always a risk to play the numbers game. For a lot of people, any number is too high when it’s refugees and immigrants. They have been defined in advance as a problem, by newspapers, politicians and policies intended to demonise them. To downplay the number of refugees implies that it’s just as well there are fewer, because ‘they’ are indeed a problem. Worse, this tends to have a retroactive effect. If new migrants, refugees or not, are defined as a problem and a burden, then it follows that they must always have been a problem and a burden. Therefore today’s citizens, whose parents and grandparents arrived as migrants, are always potentially a problem and a burden. But it is useful to underline just how separated from reality anti-asylum rhetoric has become.

The logical position, if you’re anti-trafficker, is to wind down the panic, and roll back the policies known as ‘Fortress Europe’. Rather than spending €25bn over six years to expand the EU borders apparatus, let more refugees in and let them build new lives. And, to her credit, Wagenknecht has in the past voted against asylum restrictions, and called for such invidious measures as the Dublin Regulation to be permanently cancelled. Yet, that increasingly is not the tenor of her rhetoric around immigration. And nor, in view of the publicity around Austehen, will it be the tenor of the new organisation.

It would be convenient to dismiss this as mere political opportunism. And, in part, it is: to give up difficult strategic terrain for short-term, tactical gains, is the essence of opportunism.

Nationalism and anti-immigrant racism have long been major pull factors drawing millions to the Right. The centre-left traditionally attempts to neutralise it, electorally, by appropriating it. Shortly before losing the federal election in 2005, Schroeder unavailingly mimicked Merkel’s attack on multiculturalism, worrying that immigrants were failing to integrate, creating “lawless zones or parallel societies”. Their coalition partners, the Greens, joined in: “integration is no game”, they said, abjuring multiculturalism “if it means that anyone can do whatever they want”.

This was not a response to a real situation. Multiculturalism had never meant anyone doing “whatever they want”. Germany was not dotted with “lawless zones”. But the SPD and Greens believed that others believed in this fantasy, and it was easier to attempt to ventriloquise them than abandon their hardline neoliberal reform agenda. It is difficult not to see an echo of this in the Wagenknecht strategy, from demagoguery about terrorism to middle-steering, difference-splitting rhetoric about the AfD. But, even in cynical, electoral realpolitik terms, it doesn’t work. It never works. It merely sustains the emotional basis for racism, what Spinoza called the ‘sad passions’. And those who want immigration-bashing can usually smell a bullshitter and will vote for the real Armani. If the radical-left doesn’t defend immigrants and challenge the racism driving the AfD vote, even at the cost of offending the sensibilities of potential voters, no one else will. And the beneficiaries will be the Right.

It is not just opportunism, however. This is where Streeck’s piece does usefully clarify the stakes. In his sophisticated analyses of capitalism’s modes of crisis management, and the brick wall it hit in 2008, Streeck has repeatedly asserted the legitimacy of the national state against globalisation. If capitalism is to be subordinated once more to democratic control, the key strategic locus for that control is the nation-state, which is not just a material fact but a legitimate civic and political community. In this he opposes the necessarily rooted nationality of democratic citizenship to the cosmopolitanism of investors and bankers.

For Streeck, as for Lafontaine, Bernie Sanders, and many others on the social-democratic Left, immigration controls are essential for any viable left-wing government. If you have open borders, Streeck warns, it is harder to regulate labour markets and suppress wage inequality. You can’t take account of what infrastructural capacity there is to support migration. A “pragmatic” policy would dispense with such abstractions and determine socially-just criteria for admissions and exclusions. Points systems, for example, as well as means to keep out undesirables. Given, moreover, that Streeck accepts the nation-state as the only viable locus of social solidarity and democracy, open borders is morally unacceptable. Hence, he worries about fellow citizens – AfD voters, one presumes – being declared “Nazis and racists” because they don’t want the collective goods they have financed through taxation “to be declared morally liable to being expropriated”. It is not clear whom the expropriators are supposed to be here, if not migrants.

Of course, believing all of this need not lead one to engage in the kinds of public baiting that some of the ‘realists’ have. One could believe every word of the above and still think that there should be fewer and less restrictive border controls than there currently are. One could, as Streeck does, flatly dismiss the open borders position, much as one might dismiss the case for flying saucers, without thinking that one can somehow bait-and-switch racist voters. There are as many varieties of ‘realism’ as there are ‘sectarianism’.

Yet, the fact that in the case of the ‘realists’ he lauds, it does lead to demagogic baiting – and soft-peddling the argument with the AfD, and vague genuflections to the ‘issues’ they raise – is grounds for questioning it.

Is it really plausible to oppose nation to capital in the way that Streeck and so many other social-democrats do? How ‘cosmopolitan’, really, are investors and bankers? Are they not wholly dependent on nation-states to furnish them with stable currency and infrastructures and advance the global institutions which entrench property rights, investor rights and capital mobility? Are they not largely integrated into their respective national states? Has the strength of the nation-state really waned, or is it more the case that the position within nation-states of subaltern groups, and their democratic self-expression, has waned? Is the Left’s task to re-empower national states and to rally round the civic communities subtending them, or to shift the balance of power within them?

On the question of migration, it is not clear that what Streeck adumbrates by way of strengthening the nation-state’s role is in any sense inconvenient to capital. In what way would a points system, for instance, not subordinate labour mobility to the interests of capital, and further entrench labour market segregation? In what way is it better for workers that states assume more right to restrict their mobility in the coming years? Presumably the idea is to use tighter borders to create tighter labour markets and support wage claims supposedly threatened by competition from migrant labour.

This is known as the “lump of labour fallacy”, neglecting as it does the fact that migration tends to increase total employment, rather than raise competition for existing employment. Even in the Schengen Area, where the ‘pull factors’ are shaped by institutionalised precarity, weak unions and emaciated welfare, there is little evidence of such effects in the aggregate. Even having a points system in place, however, doesn’t stop migrants from being blamed for low wages, despite the paucity of evidence. To put it bluntly, whatever immigration regime you have, there will always be people falsely blaming social problems on immigration. Not because it’s the fault of immigration but because some people are xenophobic or racist. Why should the Left give ground to this?

Finally, is the nation-state really the exclusive plausible basis of democracy and social solidarity, as Streeck suggests in his debate with Adam Tooze? The Left didn’t always think so. Much of its history has been characterised by social movements and alliances which deliberately practiced democracy and solidarity on scales other than the nation. This is a matter of taste, no doubt. But I prefer the Left that is uncompromisingly in solidarity with migrants and refugees, recognising them as class brothers and sisters, to the Left that will throw them under the bus for the mirage of “political power and responsibility”.

[theshatteredrose]

The Treasure Seeker: Saga 1 - Chapter 1 (Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction)

Summary: Dragoon Drayce Pendragon comes from a long line of notorious treasure hunters and rebellious archaeologists. When he is asked by Prince Ramus himself to enter Yggdrasil, his goal isn't to be the first to reach the highest branch or defeat the strongest monster. His goal is to document every myth and find every treasure rumoured to be inside - and outside - the mysterious Yggdrasil. To do that, however, he needs a guild. Fortunately he has inherited his own ridiculously large guildhouse to house them in!

Pairings: To be revealed later, but honestly go all out, I don't mind :P

Warnings: The usual - gayness, bro-ness, male relationships of all kinds, violence, action, swearing, fluffiness, doing my own shit and ignoring canon

AN: Yay, finally starting an EO5 book~! I’ve been talking about it a lot so I thought I better bite the bullet and start it :D Before I start, though, I need to clarify a few things. One; I am not necessarily following canon here. I’m taking some canon information and just running with it because, well, why not? I’m doing my own thing and making up my own shit, as I usually do. There will probably be a few spoilers here or there, but I won’t go into great detail. So, yeah, no asking why I didn’t do this or why I did that when it wasn’t in the game. I’m taking some artistic liberties here and running with them.

Two; I’m going out of my usual norm and trying something different. Instead of a 40+ chaptered novel, I’m going more for short saga series, concentrating on a floor at a time. Ambitious? Absolutely. How far will I take it? Let’s see~

That’s all I can think of at the moment. I’m excited about finally starting a new series and I hope you’ll enjoy reading this as well. I’ll try to update at least once a week, but I’ll be sure to warn you if I can’t.

Ok, enough of that! Hope you enjoy reading and be sure to check out my other sites and leave encouragement because that is always greatly appreciated~

Wattpad | AO3 | FF.Net

Chapter 1:

~*~*~*~*~*~

The horse driven carriage rambled along the stone paved roads that led into the city of Iorys. The sun was high in the sky of clear blue, not a cloud to be seen. But what was the most notable was the large tree that stood above the bustling city. With its far reaching branches, reaching well beyond the limit of the naked eye and the twisting, some would say spirally dancing trunk and spiralling roots that reached deep into the earth.

Yggdrasil.

The mythical Tree of Life, as some cultures claim.

Drayce rested his elbow upon the window of his carriage and stared up at the mighty tree. While many found the tree to be daunting, with its twisting branches and mysterious glows of purple and blue seen higher up, Drayce saw it as a dream come true to be finally allowed to traverse the mysterious labyrinth found inside.

For over a thousand years the tree and any exploration had been completely forbidden in the wake of the devastating Legendary War. It had been magically protected by powerful Celestians and feverishly guarded by Earthlain royals.

Though Yggdrasil had been sealed away, the myths and legends of the mighty tree continued still. And with it, the seemingly never ending gossip and tales of powerful treasures. The most famous, in the treasure hunting community at least, was the legendary treasures that the infamous and dangerous royal simply known as the Despot had acquired and then hidden, for he was the one responsible for the devastations of Yggdrasil all those years ago.

Drayce knew all about the treasures and myths of the Legendary War. He, after all, came from a long line of feisty treasure hunters and rebellious archaeologists. The Pendragon Boys as they were often known as. With his skills as a dragoon, there wasn't a place on this planet that he wasn't willing to venture.

Tearing his gaze away from the tree, Drayce looked down at the scroll in his hand. The one with the royal Iorys seal.

To think that he was lucky enough, that his family was notorious enough, to be asked by Prince Ramus of the Earthlain people to visit and to, hopefully, work with or for him in the hopes of recovering ancient treasures that were lost during the Legendary War.

Honestly, it was a dream job for anyone, let alone someone who had been raised as a treasure hunter and archaeologist.

His request to visit Iorys came at the best time, actually. His grandfather left him the deed to his ramshackle guildhouse before he took off on a so-called “Merry Adventure”. Adventures he was prone too. Old age hadn’t slowed him down in the slightest. But there was a good reason for that now.

His beloved wife passed away just a couple of months ago. And since then, he had been on many adventures.

Though it was probably wrong to think, but Drayce did believe that after his grandmother's death, his grandfather simply lost the plot and threw himself back into exploration in order to hide his grief at his beloved wife's death. And to, perhaps, mourn on his own for a while.

He could understand why his grandfather would do such a thing. His grandparents had been married for well over 50 years. Childhood sweethearts. He loved her to bits. They were also so affectionate in a sweet way. And his grandmamma was such a beloved and key figure in his life that Drayce himself still felt the sting of her passing. She was and always well be sorely missed by many.

It probably didn’t help matters that many people from the treasure hunting community and their village believed that his grandmother, or Grandmamma as he called her, died from a broken heart. Drayce felt that it was true. He knew it was. He just…couldn’t remember who or what it was that broke her heart.

Drayce idly rubbed at his right temple with the heel of his palm as he fingers curled into his short red hair. His Grandmamma’s heart must have been broken about the same time he lost part of his memories. When he was about nine years old. He could remember vague things of his childhood, but they were just that. Vague. And they didn’t make sense.

He couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. Something important. Something that was…very important to him. A part of him.

“Hey, Hotshot, quit daydreaming, we’re almost at the centre of Iorys.”

With a shake of his head, Drayce pulled himself from his thoughts and lifted his gaze to look at the blue-haired man that sat across from him in the carriage. With his narrow eyes and stern pout constantly on his lips, Blayke, his best friend, looked like the perpetual sour-puss. He was oh-so easy to rile up, though, and had a limit supply of patience.

But as a fencer, he was sharp-witted, quick on his feet, and willing to fight by Drayce’s side no matter what kind of trouble they found themselves in. Sure, he would bitch and moan at Drayce about it later, but Drayce knew he enjoyed the thrill of danger and adventure, too.

And Drayce love rubbing that in his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Drayce said as he carefully placed the royal scroll into his red jacket and rested his elbow on his knees. “Do you think we should visit the Royal Council first, or stop by the guildhouse and drop off our belongings?”

Blayke folded his arms across his chest. “It’s your call. But personally I think we should visit the Council Hall first. Knowing you, you’ll get caught up inspecting every nook and cranny at your grandfather’s old guildhouse that you would forget to visit the Council at all.”

Drayce gave him a disgruntled pout. “Wow, rude.”

Blayke, however, just gave him a bland look. “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t say you were wrong, only that you were rude,” Drayce quickly countered with a grin.

As per usual after their bantering, Blayke just rolled his eyes and ignored him. Well, appear as if he was ignoring him.

When Blayke heard that Drayce had virtually been summoned to Iorys by the Council, he agreed to accompany him. Something along the lines of Drayce needing a keeper because he would often get too caught up in his treasure hunting duties that he would forget to eat. Or something like that. But Drayce was fairly certain, almost a hundred precent certain, that Blayke was just using that as an excuse to cover up the fact that he enjoyed and dreamed of being an explorer as well.

Besides, Drayce couldn’t traverse the labyrinth alone. He was energetic and gung-ho for certain, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that trapesing along the dangerous paths of the ancient maze alone, without any prior knowledge at least, would be all but suicidal.

“But you’re right. Let’s head to the Council Hall first,” Drayce said. “Prince Ramus would be waiting, after all.”

With a nod of his head, Blayke unfolded his arms and turned in his seat to speak up to their driver, directing him to stop by the council building first. They then fell into silence as they turned their attention to the passing scenery outside of their windows.

The streets of Iorys were bustling with people of all shapes and sizes. Some dressed in normal attire, seemingly going about their normal lives, while others were in explorer clothing, weapons and shields at their sides. And there were quite a large number of would-be adventurers to be seen. The four races of Earthlain, Celestian, Brounii, and Therian mingling together effortlessly, all excited to venture into the labyrinth and hopefully place their guildname into the royal achieves as the one to have conquered the labyrinth.

Seeing everyone, seeing all the potential explorers increased Drayce’s own enthusiasm and energy. He couldn’t wait to establish his own guild and head into the labyrinth himself. He had heard so many tales and myths regarding the mysterious but naturally formed pathways, after all.

After a few minutes of openly admiring the beautiful scenery of Iorys, the driver of their horse-driven carriage announced to them that they have reached their destination.

Drayce was the first to step from the carriage with Blayke close behind him. He took a few moments to stretch his legs and to look around. The first thing he noticed, besides the marble white architecture and brick red roofing tiles of the Council Building was the fact that the building was perched atop of a rocky curvature overlooking the city below. And that the thick truck of Yggdrasil was so close, almost as if he could reach out and touch it.

He would also get vertigo if he tried to tilt his head back enough to look up at its tallest branches.

From where he stood, he could sense the magmatic energy of Yggdrasil. And how it seemed to reach beyond even the heavens.

It was truly beautiful.

“I’ve asked the driver to wait for us here,” Blayke’s voice pulled Drayce from his thoughts. “So let’s get going.”

Drayce nodded his head as he turned his gaze away from Yggdrasil and followed Blakye to the entrance of the Council Building. As they walked silently up the stone steps, they both noticed that groups of explorers were venturing in and out as well. Some appeared to be excitedly talking amongst themselves, while others appeared huffy and annoyed.

Their varying expressions were most likely in response to a particular mission. Drayce had heard on the grapevine that though the labyrinth was open to explorers, they weren’t willing to have anyone and everyone enter at will. A mission was created to prove themselves, not only as explorers but as citizens of Iorys.

Made perfect sense, but many were no doubt annoyed at the so-called restrictions.

As they made their way inside, Drayce had to pause once again to admire his surroundings.

The architecture was incredible. Exquisite. The sandstone pillars with gold trimmings, the chess-inspired flooring of precision made stones of high quality, the marble statues that stood at attention; time and loving dedication was clear to be seen.

The building had to be more than three-hundred years old. He could tell by the mosaic designs on the walls and ceiling. Yet it was in remarkably good shape. Well taken care of.

Hmm…since it was made over three-hundred years ago, there was the high possibility that there were hidden servant quarters and passageways. There would also be quite an extensive library. Perhaps even a hidden library.

In the years after the Legendary War, there was still a great amount of uncertainty. The architects of that time period were renowned for creating secret safe rooms and passageways. Preparing for the possibility of another devastating war.

Blayke hitting the back of his head with his hand pulled Drayce from his musings and he immediately turned to look at him with a disgruntled pout. Before he could mutter the words “You didn’t need to hit me” as he raked his hand through his short red hair, something he always did just after Blayke physically pulled him from his ponderings, the blue-haired fencer arched an annoyed eyebrow at him.

“We’re here to explore the labyrinth, not the council building,” he said, seemingly responding as if he had somehow read his mind. Or simply knew what he was thinking.

The fact that Drayce had been holding his chin as he stared at his surroundings and mumbling under his breath probably gave it away, too.

“Try to keep your head on straight when you’re speaking with Prince Ramus,” Blayke continued to scold and fuss.

Drayce rolled his eyes and reached into his jacket to pull out the scroll requesting his presence. “I promise not to make a fool of myself and get us kicked out. But get ready to run before he calls the guards.”

Entering into a long and brightly lit hallway that was lined with white statues of various classes and standings, they approached a set of stairs where other explorers had gathered. At the top of the small staircase was a figure in royal garbs flanked by two guards who watched everyone with caution.

A young man, seemingly no older than sixteen, with dark blue hair and bright blue eyes, smiled politely at Drayce and Blayke as the two approached him. “Hello,” he greeted simply. “Are you explorers wishing to enter the labyrinth?”

“Well, yes,” Drayce said as he held out his summoning letter to the young man. “But for good reason.”

The young man looked both puzzled but expectant as he took the scroll from him. As he unfurled his, his eyes widened and for a fraction of a second, an expression of excitement appeared in his eyes. He soon squashed that, however, with a look of royal politeness.

“Ah, yes, thank you for coming all this way,” he said as he handed the scroll back to Drayce before he bowed his head slightly as he introduced himself. “I am Ramus, Prince of Earthlain Royalty. Please, call me Ramus.”

“It’s nice to meet you, and to be here,” Drayce said in earnest. “My name is Drayce Pendragon,” he introduced himself and reached around to loop an arm around Blayke’s neck in order to drag him closer and to poke his cheek with his finger.

“And this is my partner in crime, Blayke.”

Blayke immediately frowned and squirmed in Drayce’s grip, tugging at his arm with both hands. “I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” he all but hissed.

The corner of Ramus’ mouth twitched for a moment, as if wanting to break out into an amused smile, but royal protocol seemed to prohibit it, so he simply nodded his head.

“Come, let us speak more in my office,” Ramus said as he turned to lead them.

Drayce released his hold on Blayke and silently the two followed the young prince. After a moment of walking along plush blue carpet and taking a few corners, they reached a set of doors with gold trimming of eccentric designs. With a single push of his hand, Ramus opened one of the doors and motioned for Drayce and Blayke to step inside before him.

Ramus’ office was as grand and beautiful as the architecture outside the room. A large desk made of red wood, polished to a bright sheen was situated in the middle of the room, surrounded by cabinets and bookcases, all filled to capacity.

True to his treasure hunting nature, Drayce felt the urge and need to look through the bookcases and drawers for anything hidden or interesting. He, however, shook it off as even though he meant no harm, the need born out of sheer intrigue rather than malicious nosiness, it was still seen as highly intrusive to dig through someone else’s belongings.

But, man, were his fingers twitching.

“Again, thank you for coming all this way,” Ramus said as he led Drayce and Blayke to his desk and to the two chairs that sat before it. “It is reassuring to have someone from the famous treasure hunting clan here in the city of Iorys.”

Drayce smiled a friendly smile as he sat down and rested his hands atop of his knees. “It’s an honour to be here,” he said, sounding like a true professional. Wouldn’t Grandmamma be proud?

Ramus moved to the other side of his desk, of which honestly looked too big for him, and sat down in a red-velvet, high back chair. That also looked too big for him. “Do you mind if I get straight to the point?” he unexpectedly asked.

“Not at all,” Drayce immediately responded. “In fact, I prefer it.”

“Thank you,” Ramus once again spoke politely before he folded his hands atop of his desk and a serious expression appeared on his face. “I’m sure you you’ve already concluded to the reason why I’ve summoned you here. And in short, yes, I wish for you to find information on the whereabouts on the lost treasures of the Legendary War.”

Ah, just finding information? Drayce was hoping to actually find the legendary treasures, too. Not so much for himself, but more so to keep them away and safe from others as, if legends and tales were any indication, these treasures were so important, so powerful that the Despot himself hid them in magically sealed vaults. These treasures were reputed to be powerful.

Myth or not, it would be best if they don’t fall in the wrong hands.

“Yeah, I know all about the Lost Treasures,” Drayce said as he leaned back into his chair. “Legend says that the Despot took the knowledge and information of whereabouts of his precious treasures with him to his grave. These treasures were so important to him that he created vaults to seal them away in. Vaults with three locks; a physical lock that requires a key, a magic lock that requires a spell to release, and a mental lock that requires the one trying to open the vault to solve a seemingly unsolvable puzzle.”

“Doesn’t legend also say that there are at least ten of them?” Blayke asked. “And that doesn’t count the myths and tales regarding the Despot’s most trusted war generals and commanders. They have their own legends about their ruthlessness before and during the war.”

Ramus gave them a sympathetic look as he nodded his head. “Yggdrasil itself has many myths and legends pertaining to it. Tales of before and after the Legendary War. In the search for information regarding the Lost Treasures, you are likely to encounter other fables of hidden treasures, too. Perhaps some tales that are meant to draw you away from seeking the Lost Treasures.”

Yggdrasil was over a thousand years old. Plenty of time for legends and myths, as well as beliefs and cults, to rise and fall.

So much to learn and find.

“Sounds awesome,” Drayce said as he smiled broadly. “I can’t wait to get started.”

Ramus smiled an honest smile but he soon frowned slightly. “But…” he unexpectedly paused for a moment to bite his lips together. “I can’t necessarily allow you free reign of the labyrinth. Well, not yet. There are certain protocols in place. Even for professionals.”

Drayce immediately knew what he was inferring. “Ah, you want to test my mantle with a mission, right? The same one that other guilds and explorers are having to complete?”

Ramus gave him a small, polite smile and almost hesitantly, as if afraid of offending him, nodded his head.

“No, that’s completely fair,” Drayce replied good-naturedly and smiled when he saw Ramus’ shoulder drop a fraction in relief. “I didn’t come here expecting special treatment or to step on anyone’s toes. Besides, this mission would be a good indicator to what to expect in the labyrinth. A win for the both of us in the end.”

“I’m honestly pleased by your understanding and enthusiasm,” Ramus said, his smile still courteously polite, and yet appeared more sincere nonetheless. “If you wish, I will give you the information and supplies needed to start on your first mission now. There is no need for you to rush, though, as you have only just arrived in Iorys. Please take your time. You will need to form a band of fellow explorers first, yes?”

Drayce nodded his head. “This is our first time visiting Iorys, so I’m sure there’s still a lot for us to see outside the labyrinth, too. But we will take the first mission now. At least register for it.”

“Hm,” Ramus simply said as he rummaged around in his desk before pulling out a parchment of paper and a form of some kind. “I suggest that you visit Egar, the guild leader, and register a guildname for yourselves.”

“Good place to start,” Drayce answered back idly.

“Would you like for me to suggest an inn where you can take up lodgings?” Ramus asked as he handed over the documents.

Drayce shook his head as he reached forward to retrieve the information on the first mission and pushed himself to his feet. “Nah, we’re good,” he said with a smile. “We have a place already planned.”

Ramus looked somewhat surprised, but that soon turned to intrigue. “But this is your first time setting foot upon Iorys’ soil, yes?”

“It is,” Drayce answered before a large grin slipped across his lips. “But I’m from a longline of treasure hunters, remember? I have connections. My grandfather owns an estate here in Iorys. We have all the accommodation we need. Don’t you worry too much about us.”

With a few polite farewells, Drayce and Blayke walked out of the Council Building and back to their awaiting horse and carriage.

Their next stop was his grandfather’s estate, where they were to meet up with Ashton, his father’s trusted understudy who had already migrated to Iorys a few months before. And after that? Well, looks like he would need to head out into Iorys and find some willing guild members to drag along on his adventures.

Shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

[hynpos]

✍🏻️!!

Valentina Mercier is a trouble maker. She’s action-oriented, sticky-fingered, a fearless risk-taker and thrill-seeker. She’s beautiful, tall, and rich. With her spare time when she’s not causing trouble, she likes to partake in all kinds of physical activities: rock climbing, boxing, cave diving. She has a notorious reputation for causing trouble, and has been banned from nearly all bars in the area, but she lives for it. She starts fights just because she can, and she always has Sebastien with her to back her up. If she gets bruised, she wears it like a badge of honor and laughs it off. She doesn’t like many people, but Sebastien is her closest confidant, friend, brother, etc.

appearance-wise: African descent, impossibly tall (and made taller when she wears her stilettos), close cropped hair, iconic dark red lipstick.

pinterest board

[pinktheoristcollector]

It was supposed to be a journey that would save her life, when U.S. immigration officials brought a 7-year-old girl named Ajlee from an asylum-seekers’ camp in the Mexican border city of Matamoros to an emergency room in Brownsville, Texas on Dec. 11. That same day, they also transported two women in need of urgent care: Yanet, with a possibly cancerous tumor, and Yoladiz, who is going blind from an untreated parasitic infection.

But the next day, all three were back in Mexico, living in tents in Matamoros with no access to the medical care they needed—despite agency guidelines requiring border officials to allow asylum-seekers with known medical issues to remain in the United States.

And attorneys and medical professionals say there are many more like them: individuals with health issues who’ve been caught up in the Trump Administration’s Migrant Protection Protocols, or MPP, which requires asylum-seekers to stay in Mexico while their cases are adjudicated in the U.S. Those with serious illnesses or disabilities should be exempt, but dozens have have been turned away at ports of entry and told to wait in Mexico because of MPP, according to seven lawyers and medical professionals who spoke to TIME. Human Rights First, a nonprofit, has documented several accounts of asylum-seekers, including pregnant women, children and adults with seizures, children with prosthetics and children with cerebral palsy, being returned to Tijuana, Mexicali, Juárez and Matamoros, which it calls a violation of the United States’ own immigration policies.

The MPP policy has faced legal challenges since it was implemented in January 2019, but in May, a federal appeals court allowed it to remain in place while a lawsuit challenging it continues. Meanwhile, the number of asylum-seekers who have waited on the Mexican side of the border for court dates has reached at least 56,000 since the end of November, according to the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse, a data and research organization at Syracuse University.

The federal government’s rules state that members of “vulnerable” populations, including those with physical and mental health issues, are permitted to stay in the U.S. through the duration of their asylum cases once they present themselves to U.S. asylum officers. But Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officers have the final say, according to the agency’s guidelines.

The agency declined to comment on what further guidance or rules exist in determining who is considered vulnerable and therefor exempt from MPP. CBP spokesperson Richard Pauza in Laredo, Texas, tells TIME the agency cannot discuss individual cases for privacy reasons, but he says all claims are handled on a case-by-case basis.

Attorneys from Matamoros to Tijuana who spoke to TIME say the system leaves asylum-seekers at the mercy of whomever happens to be working at a port of entry on the day they arrive. It also means they must have a lawyer determined to fight for them.

“You have to be very insistent and you have to not give up,” Jodi Goodwin, a Texas attorney who volunteers in Matamoros, says of the lawyers who watch for asylum-seekers with clear medical or disability issues. When they meet one at a port of entry, they guide that person over the border and present them to CBP officials. Many agents aren’t familiar with the rules, she says. “You have to say that you want a supervisor, and you have to show [CBP] the guiding principles and make them understand what the law actually says,” says Goodwin. “You have to really be an advocate.”

But that doesn’t always work.

“I’ve seen uncontrolled, severe high blood pressure, people who had heart attacks, people who have had stomach cancer,” says Helen Perry, a nurse practitioner and executive director at Global Response Management, a nonprofit that provides volunteer emergency medical care in crisis areas. “There’s no consideration for the conditions that they’re being returned to. They’re just sent back so unceremoniously.”

In October, border officials allowed a 29-year-old deaf and non-verbal woman and some of her family into the U.S. from Matamoros, but only after a team of lawyers threatened to sue the agency. It was a major achievement, says Carrie O’Connor, an attorney who was involved in the weeks-long effort to persuade CBP that the family should be permitted to remain in the U.S.

Goodwin tells TIME she fought successfully to enable two children with down syndrome — one eight-month-old and one 10-year-old — to remain in the U.S. But she couldn’t persuade border officials to exempt a child with epilepsy and a child who had an amputated leg from being sent back to Mexico.

Once there, their chances of gaining access to advance medical care in Mexico are very limited, says Erika Pinheiro of Al Otro Lado, a legal aid nonprofit in Southern California. “It’s really difficult to access care in Mexico because of the type of status that [the Mexican government] gives people when they’re returned under MPP,” Pinheiro, who is based in Tijuana, tells TIME. “It’s like the same visa you would get if you’re visiting Mexico, so it’s difficult for people to use that to access the public health system.”

For those with health issues, the struggle is made worse by the perils of living in tents without basic services, in a notoriously dangerous city like Matamoros. The U.S. State Department urges Americans not to travel there for risk of kidnapping and crime.

In the U.S., although health care is expensive and can be difficult to access, resources are often donated by networks of doctors and other medical professionals throughout the country.

“In other areas of the world there would be a camp hospital or some local referral system when they need medical care,” says Perry. Perry runs the GRM project in Matamoros and was involved in Ajlee, Yanet and Yoladiz’s cases. “The reality for them is that literally 25 feet away across the river in the United States, we have all of the medical care that all three of these patients need,” Perry says.

Ajlee’s predicament became clear when a pediatrician from the U.S. visited the Matamoros encampment across the bridge from Brownsville in early December and determined that she needed surgery for a fistula — an internal abnormality that was causing her to defecate out of two locations and exposing her to serious infection. It likely was the result of colon surgery when she was a newborn.

Greg Shay, the doctor who examined her in Matamoros, accompanied lawyers when they presented Ajlee to border officials on Dec. 11, asking that she be taken to the U.S. to see a specialist. Ajlee, along with Yanet and Yodaliz, were taken to the Valley Baptist Medical Center’s emergency room in Brownsville, but Perry says the hospital could not help them.

“These aren’t conditions that need an emergency room,” Perry says. “These are conditions that need specialty care.” So the three were returned to Border Patrol custody and sent back to Matamoros the next day, Perry and Shay say.

Valley Baptist Medical Center did not immediately respond to TIME’s request for comment or for verification of the ER visit.

Yanet is aware she likely has uterine cancer, Perry says. “She knows that the prognosis of her condition is not good, but she also wants to join her family in Las Vegas.”

Yodaliz is going blind and needs to be treated for a parasite in her eye, Shay tells TIME. If she could access the proper care, she could be treated and lead a normal life, he says.

CPB officials refused to allow either woman to return to the United States, but on Tuesday, after receiving complaints from attorneys and advocates, they agreed to let Ajlee and her mother back in. That night, she slept in a Texas hotel room—a big leap from the weeks she’d spent living in a tent in Matamoros.

On Wednesday, Ajlee and her mother were flown to Baton Rouge, La., to meet with their sponsors, according to Kim Hunter, Ajlee’s attorney. Volunteer medical providers have ensured she will receive the medical care she needs there.

“It’s a mixed bag,” Hunter tells TIME. “Certainly we’re thrilled for our client, and her daughter.”

But noting the struggle it took to get the ailing girl to safety, she adds, “It shouldn’t take an army of lawyers and advocates to secure the release of one child who is in grave medical danger.”

[newstechreviews]

It was supposed to be a journey that would save her life, when U.S. immigration officials brought a 7-year-old girl named Ajlee from an asylum-seekers’ camp in the Mexican border city of Matamoros to an emergency room in Brownsville, Texas on Dec. 11. That same day, they also transported two women in need of urgent care: Yanet, with a possibly cancerous tumor, and Yoladiz, who is going blind from an untreated parasitic infection.

But the next day, all three were back in Mexico, living in tents in Matamoros with no access to the medical care they needed—despite agency guidelines requiring border officials to allow asylum-seekers with known medical issues to remain in the United States.

And attorneys and medical professionals say there are many more like them: individuals with health issues who’ve been caught up in the Trump Administration’s Migrant Protection Protocols, or MPP, which requires asylum-seekers to stay in Mexico while their cases are adjudicated in the U.S. Those with serious illnesses or disabilities should be exempt, but dozens have have been turned away at ports of entry and told to wait in Mexico because of MPP, according to seven lawyers and medical professionals who spoke to TIME. Human Rights First, a nonprofit, has documented several accounts of asylum-seekers, including pregnant women, children and adults with seizures, children with prosthetics and children with cerebral palsy, being returned to Tijuana, Mexicali, Juárez and Matamoros, which it calls a violation of the United States’ own immigration policies.

The MPP policy has faced legal challenges since it was implemented in January 2019, but in May, a federal appeals court allowed it to remain in place while a lawsuit challenging it continues. Meanwhile, the number of asylum-seekers who have waited on the Mexican side of the border for court dates has reached at least 56,000 since the end of November, according to the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse, a data and research organization at Syracuse University.

The federal government’s rules state that members of “vulnerable” populations, including those with physical and mental health issues, are permitted to stay in the U.S. through the duration of their asylum cases once they present themselves to U.S. asylum officers. But Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officers have the final say, according to the agency’s guidelines.

The agency declined to comment on what further guidance or rules exist in determining who is considered vulnerable and therefor exempt from MPP. CBP spokesperson Richard Pauza in Laredo, Texas, tells TIME the agency cannot discuss individual cases for privacy reasons, but he says all claims are handled on a case-by-case basis.

Attorneys from Matamoros to Tijuana who spoke to TIME say the system leaves asylum-seekers at the mercy of whomever happens to be working at a port of entry on the day they arrive. It also means they must have a lawyer determined to fight for them.

“You have to be very insistent and you have to not give up,” Jodi Goodwin, a Texas attorney who volunteers in Matamoros, says of the lawyers who watch for asylum-seekers with clear medical or disability issues. When they meet one at a port of entry, they guide that person over the border and present them to CBP officials. Many agents aren’t familiar with the rules, she says. “You have to say that you want a supervisor, and you have to show [CBP] the guiding principles and make them understand what the law actually says,” says Goodwin. “You have to really be an advocate.”

But that doesn’t always work.

“I’ve seen uncontrolled, severe high blood pressure, people who had heart attacks, people who have had stomach cancer,” says Helen Perry, a nurse practitioner and executive director at Global Response Management, a nonprofit that provides volunteer emergency medical care in crisis areas. “There’s no consideration for the conditions that they’re being returned to. They’re just sent back so unceremoniously.”

In October, border officials allowed a 29-year-old deaf and non-verbal woman and some of her family into the U.S. from Matamoros, but only after a team of lawyers threatened to sue the agency. It was a major achievement, says Carrie O’Connor, an attorney who was involved in the weeks-long effort to persuade CBP that the family should be permitted to remain in the U.S.

Goodwin tells TIME she fought successfully to enable two children with down syndrome — one eight-month-old and one 10-year-old — to remain in the U.S. But she couldn’t persuade border officials to exempt a child with epilepsy and a child who had an amputated leg from being sent back to Mexico.

Once there, their chances of gaining access to advance medical care in Mexico are very limited, says Erika Pinheiro of Al Otro Lado, a legal aid nonprofit in Southern California. “It’s really difficult to access care in Mexico because of the type of status that [the Mexican government] gives people when they’re returned under MPP,” Pinheiro, who is based in Tijuana, tells TIME. “It’s like the same visa you would get if you’re visiting Mexico, so it’s difficult for people to use that to access the public health system.”

For those with health issues, the struggle is made worse by the perils of living in tents without basic services, in a notoriously dangerous city like Matamoros. The U.S. State Department urges Americans not to travel there for risk of kidnapping and crime.

In the U.S., although health care is expensive and can be difficult to access, resources are often donated by networks of doctors and other medical professionals throughout the country.

“In other areas of the world there would be a camp hospital or some local referral system when they need medical care,” says Perry. Perry runs the GRM project in Matamoros and was involved in Ajlee, Yanet and Yoladiz’s cases. “The reality for them is that literally 25 feet away across the river in the United States, we have all of the medical care that all three of these patients need,” Perry says.

Ajlee’s predicament became clear when a pediatrician from the U.S. visited the Matamoros encampment across the bridge from Brownsville in early December and determined that she needed surgery for a fistula — an internal abnormality that was causing her to defecate out of two locations and exposing her to serious infection. It likely was the result of colon surgery when she was a newborn.

Greg Shay, the doctor who examined her in Matamoros, accompanied lawyers when they presented Ajlee to border officials on Dec. 11, asking that she be taken to the U.S. to see a specialist. Ajlee, along with Yanet and Yodaliz, were taken to the Valley Baptist Medical Center’s emergency room in Brownsville, but Perry says the hospital could not help them.

“These aren’t conditions that need an emergency room,” Perry says. “These are conditions that need specialty care.” So the three were returned to Border Patrol custody and sent back to Matamoros the next day, Perry and Shay say.

Valley Baptist Medical Center did not immediately respond to TIME’s request for comment or for verification of the ER visit.

Yanet is aware she likely has uterine cancer, Perry says. “She knows that the prognosis of her condition is not good, but she also wants to join her family in Las Vegas.”

Yodaliz is going blind and needs to be treated for a parasite in her eye, Shay tells TIME. If she could access the proper care, she could be treated and lead a normal life, he says.

CPB officials refused to allow either woman to return to the United States, but on Tuesday, after receiving complaints from attorneys and advocates, they agreed to let Ajlee and her mother back in. That night, she slept in a Texas hotel room—a big leap from the weeks she’d spent living in a tent in Matamoros.

On Wednesday, Ajlee and her mother were flown to Baton Rouge, La., to meet with their sponsors, according to Kim Hunter, Ajlee’s attorney. Volunteer medical providers have ensured she will receive the medical care she needs there.

“It’s a mixed bag,” Hunter tells TIME. “Certainly we’re thrilled for our client, and her daughter.”

But noting the struggle it took to get the ailing girl to safety, she adds, “It shouldn’t take an army of lawyers and advocates to secure the release of one child who is in grave medical danger.”