#ipse

[himpunid]

Sekda Sherman Harap IPSE Bisa Menuntaskan Kemiskinan Ekstrim di Boalemo

Sekda Sherman Harap IPSE Bisa Menuntaskan Kemiskinan Ekstrim di Boalemo #HimpunID

HIMPUN.ID – Sekretaris Daerah (Sekda) Sherman Moridu berharap kepada Ikatan Pengurus Sarjana Ekonomi (IPSE) Provinsi Gorontalo, bisa menuntaskan kemiskinan ekstrim di Boalemo. Hal itu disampaikan Sherman saat menerima kunjungan kerja Ikatan Pengurus Sarjana Ekonomi (IPSE) di ruang kerja Sekda Boalemo, Rabu 5 Oktober 2022. “Harapan kepada Ikatan Pengurus Sarjana Ekonomi ini, bagaimana bisa…

[nooradeservedbetter]

ghali comunque unico milanese che si salva dopo la rivoluzione

[probablygayattorneys]

Great job to everyone at @phoenixwrightzine ! Everything is insanely high quality and I can’t wait to get a closer look!

[ross-nekochan]

Cari giapponesi,

Sappiate che per come stong mo, un poco di mix LIBERATO-GEOLIER-MADAME messo proprio A CANNONE per i prossimi mesi estivi non ve lo leva NESSUNO.

Yoroshiku.

[idlyingabout]

IT CAME HOME AHHHHHHH @phoenixwrightzine

[eucyon]

have you been to any museums & if so which is your favorite? do you paint?

museums are one of my favorite places to go especially when traveling. art, science, history etc… all are great. my favorites I’ve been to are probably the smithsonian museum of natural history and the chinati foundation.

as for painting, not really. i do watercolor sometimes but mostly I just sketch if anything

[antonomase]

Me writing a thrice glow up scene :

My characters, enduring it :

[hjdem]

Grandi Fotografi

"La fotografia non riguarda l'oggetto fotografato. Riguarda come l'oggetto appare nella foto."

"Se fossi di buon umore quando ho scattato durante il giorno, allora se avessi sviluppato subito la pellicola, avrei potuto scegliere una foto perché mi ricordavo come mi sentivo bene quando l’ho scattata, non necessariamente perché è stato un grande scatto. Ogni fotografia è una battaglia di forma contro il contenuto. Le buone sono sempre sull’orlo del fallimento.”

Garry Winogrand

[alexnormalex]

(Andreas Rauscher)

[blackpanther371]

(Andreas Rauscher)

[solidwaterworld]

Volevo che era vero.

[pbj913]

I graduated from the University of Georgia’s Destination Dawgs program last May

[chetipo]

[seaslugfanclub]

Hi I'm a big fan of yours and I really enjoy the villains and y/n interactions. Btw I want to ask what made frollo develop feelings for y/n.

Do Judges dream of park attendants?

(Frollo x Reader)

TW: description of Panic attacks

————————————————————————

Out of all the Disney villains brought to life by Disney, Frollo is having the hardest time. All of his beliefs, everything he had sacrificed in his life have been destroyed in an instant the moment he opened his eyes in this Infernal theme park

Frollo doesn’t actually believe he’s alive anymore, that the Disney parks is his divine punishment

Though deserved, everywhere he goes he’s ostracized and humiliated. His fellow villains love to single him out to needle him, especially Hades.

He’s so tight that if you shoved a piece of coal up his ass, two weeks later you’d get a diamond

It’s obvious in the film that his mental psyche is as fragile as communion wafers, and this has been amplified to 100 now that he’s in a completely unrecognizable reality.

He hasn’t slept in months, barley eaten (he excuses this as religious fasting) and rarely talks to others

The only person who tried to regularly interact with Frollo is that scrappy park attendant, (Y/N)…

Usually it’s quick conversations, greetings and goodbyes, “how are ya?”s, and sometimes brief smiles. Something that both disgusts and confuses Frollo, a strange prickling feeling in his cheeks whenever he makes eye contact with (Y/N)

Panic attacks have become a regular occurrence for Frollo, usually when the sensory nightmare of Disney parks get to much for him, although he usually isolates himself to avoid being so vulnerable

Most of the time Frollo’s able to keep his emotions in check until he’s alone, so most of his panic attacks come out at night

One night his episodes were really, really bad, everything Frollo had tried to hold in finally boiled over, leaving the ex-judge crumbled to the ground, frozen in terror.

He didn’t need a fireplace to feel the licks of flames on his skin, and no matter how hard he clenched his hands over his ears, Frollo couldn’t stop the chanting echoing in his head.

It felt like a lead weight was on his chest, and dark spots were crawling into his vision, threatening to pass out

Frollo was too lost in his own head, mumbling prayers to himself as the crackling of fire and chanting drowned out all sounds, even the light creaking of his bedroom door opening…

“Pr- preces meæ non sunt.. dignæ Sed- sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremer igne…. Pie Iesu Domine,Dona ipse requiem…. Preces meæ non—”

“Frollo?”

The feeling of a hand resting on his head broke Frollo out of his mumbling. Through blurry vision the ex-judge made out a figure crouching above him, their hand slowly petting his hair. The sensation of soft fingers on his hair felt grounding, with each stroke the flames began to lull…. Has an angel finally come to end his misery?

“Frollo? Are you alright?

The black spots around his vision began to subside, as his teary eyes cleared enough to see the worried face of (Y/N), the young park attendant. At any other point in time, Frollo would’ve flinched away from their touch, cursing them out for having the gall to lay their filthy hands on a holy man, but all of his senses had failed him, and their touch had quelled the flames and disembodied chanting around him.

Starving for any source of familiarity, Frollos trembling hands reached to clutch onto (Y/N)’s pants,

“Je ne peux plus faire ça— Je—”

“Frollo, please- I can’t understand you…” (Y/N) pleaded, at a loss at what to do with the pathetic man before them.

(Y/N) was finishing their shift for the evening, their final task was to check on each villain to make sure they were set for night. They were walking down the hall to check on Sher Khan when they heard a thump behind Claude Frollos door, wall muffling the sound of weeping. Knocking on the door brought to response, and worried that the old man might’ve actually fallen and couldn’t get up, (Y/N) slowly cracked open the door.

Instead of being immediately kicked out by the ex-judge, French curses thrown at them— they found Frollo slumped against his bed, mumbling latin to himself, his eyes a thousand miles away.

(Y/N) was at a loss, they had never seen Frollo this desperate, this deep into despair. Even when they watched the “Hunchback of Notre Dame” and his song “Hellfire” was he this vunerable. This was unfamiliar territory.

But panic attacks were familiar, especially with how to deal with them.

“Frollo? You’re alright… Your minds just working against you right now.” (Y/N) hummed, continuing to pet Frollos silver hair,

“Here, I’ll be right back,” gently removing Frollos hands, (Y/N) grabbed a spare glass from his nightstand before rushing into the bathroom. Turning on the sink faucet, they filled the glass with cold water then crouched below the sink to open the drawers. They grabbed neatly folded a face towel, a Mickey Mouse insignia embroidered in the corner— (Y/N) wet the towel, making sure that it was thoroughly soaked then grabbed the glass, walking back into Frollos room, the man still on the floor, pale face just watching (Y/N).

“Try to drink something, I know you might feel nauseous, but I promise this helps,” They offered the glass to Frollo, who continued to just stare at (Y/N). After a few seconds between them, He hesitantly reached out and took the water with shaking hands.

As he began to take small sips, the cold water cooled his throat, and he could feel the water cool his insides as he swallowed. The flames were dowsed.

“It’s already 11, you must be exhausted… I think it’s best to try and sleep. Don’t even worry about changing, just get comfortable. I always feel better when I lie down.”

Helping him up, they watched patiently as Frollo collapsed into his bed, not even bothering to pull up the sheets. As he lay on his back, he finally closed his eyes, only for them to open again when (Y/N) lifted his bangs to place the cold wash-cloth on his forehead. His pale cheeks prickling again at the feather light touch of (Y/N) fingers and the cooling sensation of the cloth on his skin.

“Uh— whenever I get an attack, anything cold helps me bring myself back to reality.. and uh, and a wet washrag stays cool for a while, I like to wash my face with it to feel refreshed.” (Y/N) offered quietly, having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with Frollo.

Frollo was at a loss, never— never has he been the subject of such care from another human before, not as a boy, not from the church, not even from his lord. How could he even react to this? It was all to much.

He was tired, mentally and physically, darkness beginning to overtake his vision again, but this time from pure exhaustion.

Risking it a final time, (Y/N) gave Frollos hair one last pet, “I’ll find a way to take you off schedule for the rest of the week, I wish I could get you months off… I’m sorry. But for now, get some rest ok?”

With a final smile, they turned to resume their rounds, already late to check up on the others, but before they could step away from the bed, a hand grasped their arm, stopping them.

Turning back around, they looked down at Frollos pleading face, an almost manic look in his eyes.

“Stay… please… at least until I’ve fallen asleep..”

With wide eyes, (Y/N) looked down at him shocked, before sighing.

“Of course.. try to rest now.” They relented, taking a seat at the foot of Frollos bed. The others could wait.

Silence fell over the two, (Y/N) waiting patiently as a good 15 passed. Just when they thought he had fallen asleep a whisper escaped him,

“mon ange..”

And with that, sleep overtook Claude, no longer able to fight off his exhaustion. Warmth enveloping him as he dreamt of feather light touches and scrappy park attendants.

————————————————————————

Sorry if this feels forced or too OOC 😅, I just love Frollo so much, and taking care of others is my love language. When I tell you I need this man whimpering—

Translations:

“Pr- preces meæ non sunt.. dignæ Sed- sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremer igne…. Pie Iesu Domine,Dona ipse requiem…. Preces meæ non”:

My prayers are worthless, Yet, good Lord, graciously grant that I be not burned up by the everlasting fire. Lord, all-pitying, Jesus blest, Grant myself Thine eternal rest.

“Je ne peux plus faire ça— Je—“:

I can’t do this anymore—I can’t—

“mon ange..”:

My angel..

[artemisxtyler]

When the explosions and screaming began, Art did her best to blend into the shadows. She needed to figure out what the hell was going on before she chose her next moves.

A person sauntered up to her, a cruel smile twisting their mouth with a gleam of amusement somehow managing to glint in the black eyes above it. “Ah, shit,” Art muttered, feeling her training start to kick in. When the person reached for her, she ducked, shifted into gear, and began chanting, the Latin of the exorcism coming back to her from memories long burned into her mind.

“Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo, Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus deus. Gloria patri.”

Smoke poured from the person, and their body collapsed as the smoke fled and vanished into the chaos. Art . . . or was it Artemis again for now? . . . caught them, feeling a sense of desperation begin to pound in her veins. Demons out just sauntering around like they owned the place? What in God’s name was going on?

Dragging the unconscious victim inside the nearest open doorway, Art did her best to make them comfortable. “Well, fuck!” she spat out. “And me with only a handful of fucking tools on me. Shit. Fuck. Damn.”