#i wrote this in a frenzy because my mind was literally about to collapse from work

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen.  The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”  

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”

#monster romance #demon x reader #reader insert #monster x reader #female reader #my writing

[yoontopia]

𝟯𝟴. “𝗜 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵” + 𝟰𝟳. “𝗗𝗶𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿?” | 𝗸𝘁𝗵

pairing: kim taehyung x reader; genre: tooth-rotting fluff you have been warned, established relationship; words: 1.5k

Part of the ‘100 ways to say I love you’ drabbles. Requests for these are currently OPEN

Groggily, you blinked open your eyes. Your bedroom slid into focus, the sunlight streaming in through the window. Groaning, you sat up, cracking your back and turning to check your phone which was sitting on your bedside table. It flashed 6:30 am.

Pushing your blanket off, you shivered as the cold air hit your bare feet. You got out of bed and shuffled into your bathroom. Brushing your teeth and washing your face while still half-asleep, you hummed a tune you’d been hearing on the radio recently. Feeling slightly more awake, you made your way out of your room and into the kitchen.

Sighing, you checked your cabinets – you only had cereal left – a grocery run was in order later today. The apartment was quiet, and you sat down at the island and poured yourself a bowl of cereal, relishing in such a rarity. Your eyes wandered to the wall next to your little kitchenette, a small smile forming on your lips, mouth still full of cheerios.

Your boyfriend, and current roommate, the one and only Kim Taehyung had taken the liberty to spend far too much money on a polaroid camera and some film and had printed out an unnecessary amount of photos to hang up on your living room wall. You had to hand it to Taehyung to commit to the aesthetic though, for even you admitted the pictures looked cute. They varied from photos of you and your friends, to solo candid photos of you he’d felt like taking, to photos of you and him on various outings. There were several pictures of Taehyung’s little Pomeranian dog, Yeontan, who you were convinced he loved more than you.

Taehyung had crashed into your life like a whirlwind – literally. He’d rammed into you right outside the café you’d always frequent, a full cup of iced americano in one hand, successfully ruining your favorite dress shirt and breaking the glasses he’d been wearing all in a matter of seconds. He’d spent the next twenty minutes squinting at you and apologizing and you’d spent them cursing at him.

The next day he’d waited for you outside the café, a brand-new dress shirt in his hand. It had taken a few more chance encounters on campus for the two of you to stumble into a somewhat friendship, and then a few more for him to one day shyly ask you out.

And now here you two were, some half a decade later, still attached at the hip. You had to admit, when you’d said yes to the handsome boy with the wide smile, you hadn’t expected it to turn serious, and you sure as hell hadn’t expected to move in together. But things happen, and you’re glad they do. If you’re the strong ocean wave approaching the shore at full speed, then Taehyung is a rock, standing tall and strong for you to crash into. He grounded you, the calm to your frenzy. His easy-going outlook on life had managed to soothe you.

The man in question was currently away on a business trip. Taehyung’s love for photography had landed him in the wedding business where he worked as a professional photographer. He was away at some destination wedding and you cursed at him for enjoying some beautiful island with wide beaches and hot climates while you slaved away at your nine-to-five office job in the freezing cold and rainy weather.

As if on cue, your phone rang, vibrating harshly against the kitchen island. A familiar boxy grin lit up the screen and you chuckled. Speak of the devil.

“Huwwo?” you said, mouth full of breakfast.

“Lemme guess, honey nut cheerios?” came Taehyung’s familiar voice. You hastily swallowed down your food.

“Leave me and my cheerios out of this Kim,” you warned. You heard him chuckle on the other end, the familiar sound making your toes warm. You missed him.

“Hey its not my fault you chose to enjoy the most disgusting cereal in the world.” He said, voice tinged with amusement.

“Shut the fuck up you fruit loop freak” you snapped. Taehyung mock gasped. “Bitch you know they’re pure sugar!”

“And what of it!” he yelled back. You couldn’t help it, you laughed. You picked up your now empty bowl of cereal and dumped it in the sink.

“How’s the wedding?” you asked, walking into your living room and collapsing on the couch. You had a few minutes to spare before you absolutely had to get ready for work.

“Horrendous,” he replied. “Today, the groom tripped during a shoot and face-planted in the sand. Some even went into his mouth.” You let out a loud guffaw.

“What’s so horrendous about that?! That’s hilarious.”

“I know, I couldn’t help it – I laughed at him and he told me to shut up.” You could hear the pout in Taehyung’s voice.

“How dare he! I like your laugh – let me fly over there and give him a piece of my mind!” you said, trying to sound threatening. You heard Taehyung laugh on the other end and grinned. He really did have a nice laugh.

“No need no need, I’m due back in three days anyway,” he said conversationally. “Oh right – did you get my letter?”

“Your letter?” you asked incredulously. “You wrote a letter?”

“Just a postcard,” he said airily.

“Why?!”

“I felt like it! Do you realize that the digital world has rendered old school methods of communicating obsolete?”

“I’m aware,” you said mildly. “No, I haven’t received your letter. Shocker! Considering post is atrociously slow and tends to get lost.”

“Have faith in the system!” he yelled. “I think you’ll get it soon – I wrote and sent it two days ago.” You sighed. Taehyung really did know how to commit to the aesthetic. This was such a Taehyung thing to do you weren’t even surprised anymore.

“Fine I’ll wait for it. But hey – I must get dressed for work. The ceremony is tomorrow right? Send me a cute picture!” you said, standing up. “TEXT it.” You added.

“You want a picture of the bride and groom?” he asked, curious. You pretended to contemplate.

“I wouldn’t mind. But I really want a picture of the guy they hired to take all the photos.”

“Hmmm, and why is that?”

“I’ve been told he’s drop dead gorgeous, and I just wanted to see for myself.”

“Is that so? Well I’ll keep that in mind.”

Laughing, you bid him a goodbye, tossed your phone aside and rushed around getting dressed for the day. Emerging from your room fully dressed, you grabbed your bag and started to head out when you noticed a pile of mail had been slipped in through the slot in your door. Remembering what your boyfriend had said, you leaned over and checked.

Sure enough, there was a postcard, or really it was a photograph. It was a picture of Taehyung in swimming shorts, looking heavily sunburnt standing on a beach, his arms spread wide. He’d scrawled the words ‘SEAS THE DAY’ next to himself in the sand. Grinning, you stared. Was that it? He’d said he’d written you a letter.

Without really thinking too much about it, you turned it over, moving to put it and the other mail on the kitchen island before heading out, before you noticed words on the back of the photo as well. You blinked, reading and re-reading the question he’d printed neatly on the back of the photo. Your world spun for a second before you were reaching for your phone and dialing the only number you had ever bothered to memorize.

“Hello?” Taehyung answered, sounding sheepish.

“If this had really gotten lost somewhere, what were you gonna do?” you asked him shakily.

“I’d have asked you in person of course,” He answered promptly. “Are you gonna answer me now? Or write a letter with your answer back? Because I really don’t think I’ll get it before I lea-” but you cut him off.

“Yes.” You said, and there was a rather pregnant pause on the other end.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Yes.” You repeated, your tone final. Another pause.

“Ok, but we’d need to search for another photographer for it. Since you know, I’ll be occupied elsewhere.” His tone was serious, but you could hear the happiness in his voice. He was smiling.

“Shut up Tae,” you mumbled, trying to stop yourself from crying and laughing at the same time. Taehyung laughed.

“Go to work little chick,” he said warmly. “I’ll see you in three days and then we can make it Facebook official.”

“Oh my god you are such a dork.” You said, choking on a small sob.

“But you love me!” he reminded. And you had to agree.

#taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #bts #bts fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung #kth #writing

[ninvic-rbs]

Day 22

Boy i’ve been waiting for this one. So i decided to do some really weird aus, meaning ive been rewatching some stuff and hallucinating lol. Okay so in order you have the bbc version of sherlock (10/10), the greatest showman (10/10) and money heist (11/10, strongly recommend). And then an old reapertale doodle bc ive seen literally zero reapertale grillster fanart and its so aesthetically pleasing i just had to

And as a little extra i guess, i wrote this thing for @silverskye13‘s bodyguard au, which has been pretty active lately, so lets keep the ball rolling. Please keep in mind that 1. i don’t really write and 2. this is the first time i try to write in english, so any feedback is appreciated. Enjoy, i guess

Gaster bent down to reload for the third time already. In his frenzy he almost fell out of his seat, or maybe that was the way the car was moving. Normally they wouldn't really have to run away, with Grillby being able to either kill or scare the others enough to be left alone. But whatever gang was so adamant on capturing the doctor had quickly figured out that normal magic attacks wouldn't get them anywhere. So now, the people on the car chasing behind them were wielding bright orange water guns. Which looked about as ridiculous as one might expect, but had proved efficient; if the way Grillby was hunched and clutching his chest with one hand was anything to go by. The elemental was driving, and he had given Gaster his gun and he was trying to lose them. It was the first time he was shooting with anything that wasn't his blasters; and he was quickly realizing that he had really bad aim when shooting with his hands and not his soul. Between that and how small the targets actually were from the distance, he hadn't hit a thing in the last ten minutes. He was getting frustrated, which didn't mix well with his growing anxiety for the elemental. Grillby looked like he was in agony; most of his shirt completely soaked and sticking to his body. From where he was, Gaster could see almost half of his face had been completely put out. And he wasn't even allowed to pass out. "How's that going?" Gaster could barely hear him above the howling of the wind around them. The elemental sounded tired. "I can't hit them! They're moving too much!" "S'a bunker nearby. We need some time... try to aim for the tires." The skeleton immediately lowered his aim. Even thought the target was considerably bigger, it still took him a few attempts before the tire exploded and the car suddenly started made a sharp turn right and out of the asphalt. That was such a good idea! How had he not thought of that before? He decided to blame his panicked state. Before he sat back down, he saw the vehicle come to a stop and the monsters inside immediately get to work on changing the tire. The skeleton knew it wouldn't stop them for long, but hopefully for long enough. He decided to focus his efforts now on helping the elemental as much as he could, before he realized that he had no idea how to heal that sort of thing. The only thing Grillby had had to recover from before had been exhaustion. How did you tend to a put out fire?! Should he pour gasoline over him? He didn't know! "Grillby, how can I heal this?" He asked, his anxiety for the other's life making his hands shake. "How can I heal you? What do I need?" He wished he could just use green magic. "Just... anything flammable. And liquid. That normally... works..." he was getting weaker. Suddenly, the car screeched to a stop, almost throwing Gaster off his seat. Before he had time to react, the elemental had already opened the door on his side and was painfully getting out, carrying the small bag that contained his belongings. The skeleton quickly followed him, remembering to pick up his own bag. When he caught up, he noticed Grillby could barely walk. Without thinking, he put his arm around the other's and let him use his body as a crutch; although the elemental barely noticed. "Are you okay?" which was a stupid question, of course. "Yeah" he slurred, as if it was fooling anyone. "S'not too far, but we can't leave the car near the entrance." Gaster nodded. Although they were only walking for a total of three minutes, it felt like a small eternity. The skeleton's anxiety at an all time high; constantly looking over his shoulders and checking if the gang had managed to catch up, and trying to keep Grillby steady; even if his walking speed was declining and he put more and more weight on Gaster as they advanced. When they finally stopped, the elemental slumped to the ground, and the skeleton would have thought he had passed out if it weren't because he had started digging around some bushes. Just when the skeleton was about to ask what he was doing, he heard the sound of metal, and in a few seconds a small hatch had opened before them on the ground. It was dark inside; the only discernible thing a ladder leading down to it. "You go first, s- Gaster." The skeleton wanted to argue, but he knew from experience it wouldn't get him anywhere. So he just nodded and climbed down as fast as he could, almost falling once. It wasn't as deep as it had seemed, and he still couldn't see any light switches or anything of the sort. But that didn't worry him right now; as he was looking up and anxiously waiting for the elemental to get to the floor so he could work on healing him. As Grillby started climbing the ladder down, he stopped a second to close the entrance behind them; and the mechanical whirring that followed assured the skeleton that no one was going to follow them down there. Slowly, Grillby made his way down. But when there were only two steps left he collapsed, and he would have fallen to the floor if it weren't for Gaster's lighting fast reflexes in grabbing him with blue and yelping in surprise. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no...!" he murmured in a panic, moving the elemental and settling him on the first surface he saw; which happened to be a couch in the nearest room. "What's... wrong?" Grillby's voice was barely a whisper. The skeleton quickly looked at him, only to have his soul-wrenching fear grow when he noticed that the elemental looked barely conscious. "Nonono, don't fall asleep! You hear me?! Hey, Grillby, c'mon, stay with me!" "...t hurts..." Gaster almost wanted to cry. He had never seen the elemental in such a weak state, and he had to act quickly if he wanted to keep him alive; because a quick stat check confirmed the alarming rate at which Grillby's life was fading. He prayed to every god he had ever heard of that there was some alcohol in the bunker. "I know, I know, I'm going to fix that. Just... stay here. Try not to move, and don't fall asleep." He had already turned around to leave when he felt a weak hold in his wrist. "P-please don't leave... it's cold... I'm scared, Gaster..." came an almost inaudible plea. The skeleton's soul could have broken right then and there. He felt a knot on his non-existent throat when he spoke again. "I'll be back in a minute, okay? Don't worry, I'll be right here if you need me." He softly let go of the elemental's hand and took off running without wasting another precious second. He quickly realized that the bunker was a bit more like a subterranean house than a refuge. It had too so many rooms; it was probably thought out to be lived in for at least a couple of months. He hoped they didn't have to stay that long. Without stopping for a second, the skeleton stumbled somewhere he suddenly realized was the kitchen. He almost fell twice in his rush to open every single cupboard; his hope growing when he found most of them were full of either nonperishable food or utensils. He finally found what looked like a minibar next to the fridge and immediately grabbed the biggest bottle he saw, which turned out to be whiskey. Within the next three seconds he was already back by Grillby's side, feeling a wave of relief when he didn't see only dust on the couch but still rushing to open the bottle, knowing how close the elemental actually was to it. The way his hands were shaking made him take a few more seconds than necessary. "H-hey, Grillby, are you awake?" Gaster was sure he wasn't, but he seemed to wake up at this. When he saw the open bottle, he took it without a word and started downing it desperately. The skeleton blinked, and before he could react the elemental had already drunk more than half of the liquid. He separated the bottle from his mouth and for a few seconds his flame flared up in deep blue colors before settling back down on reds and oranges that were duller than their normal color, but worlds better than how it had been before. And upon checking his stats, Gaster sighed a breath of relief at his slowly growing health. He sat on the couch next to Grillby's legs, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion of the day hit him at once. He could have fallen asleep right there, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the elemental just yet. The elemental that, when he looked up again, he realized was staring at him, even if groggily so. He immediately became worried again, and quickly asked; "Is everything okay? Does anything hurt?" But Grillby only continued staring. The skeleton was about to check his stats again when he finally spoke. "You shouldn't have to... do stuff like this. I'm sorry I'm so bad at my job." He was said it slowly, his voice barely a whisper. He looked like he was falling asleep. After a small pause, the elemental added, his voice even lower; "I wish I could make you happy." Gaster suddenly froze. He didn't know how to react. What had Grillby meant by that? Was that about his job? But he only had to keep him safe, nothing else. And he wasn't bad at it; Gaster was alive, wasn't he? But that other phrase... was... was that...? But there was just no way that was what was going on here... right? He felt his face grow hotter. But, if not that, then what had he meant?   "B-but that's not your job" was the only thing he could blurt out after a few seconds. Not that it was important, since, he noticed, the elemental had already dozed off. The skeleton wasn't sure what to do for a couple of seconds. Eventually he sighed and settled back down, getting as comfortable as he could. He tried not to think about what had just happened as he finally let himself drift off to sleep; the soft crackling of the fire next to him the only sound in the room.

#undertale #fanart #my art #fanfic #grillby #gaster #grillster #grillstertember #hope this is good enough #im gonna make an ao3 acc and post it there in a couple of days #im not good at writing but that doesn't mean im not gonna try #i have a couple more things in the works #by the way #also #you should reeeeeally check out money heist #im lowkey giving away were im from #but its such a good show #i think its on netflix #sorry but ive binged on it for the past 3 days and im pumped

[shamera]

I know it’s been awhile, but I’d like to offer a plot bunny for your thinking pleasure to the part of you that still loves FF13: Hope Estheim as Jojo Rabbit

I literally just watched the movie after I got this and the parallels are FANTASTIC I LOVE IT THANK YOU and there is at all times a large part of me that loves FFXIII and Hope is my number one baebhu. XD

Hope never considered himself the bravest child in his class, but he also never thought of himself a coward. Uninterested in what others deemed fascinating, maybe, smart enough to know when to run away, maybe... But when the noises started in his home and it was only him and his mom for the week since dad had to leave for a trip to Eden... 

Well. He first suspected ghosts. Then critters, maybe, although that was absurd in Felix Heights and he was outraged by his own theories because despite his mom’s interest in strangely grown foods, she was fastidious and he wasn’t raised to be an untidy child-- there was no way that any critters would survive in the steel walls of their home. Thus armed with a free afternoon, a flashlight, and a recording device in case they did have to call animal control because Hope wasn’t dumb enough to try and tackle this on his own when he knew next to nothing of what could be in his walls (if lucky, it was just incorrectly placed pipes), he made it a mission to investigate the noises around his home. 

What he didn’t expect, crouched down on all fours and frowning at lines near the wall like the scraping of furniture, was for the wall to open up and for a woman to dart out like lightning, fast and strong as she scooped him up in one fluid motion to bind his arms and cover his mouth before he could even think of shouting in alarm.

His little recorder fell to the ground with a clatter as his legs dangled.

“Fang!” A pitched, feminine voice protested as Hope tried to scream against the hand cupped firmly against his face. “Fang, stop!”

It wasn’t just one-- but two-- women who darted out from the darkness where the wall opened up, both dressed in strange clothing. He couldn’t see the one holding him tightly with one arm locked around his arms and torso and the other covering his mouth (and nose) smelling of dust and earth, but he could clearly see the other, who looked thin and young with wide green eyes and sallow skin as if she hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. 

“Don’t hurt him,” the girl said, arms up in a calming gesture, “let’s just let him go, okay?”

“Not now he’s seen us,” was the tone of an older woman behind him, the one holding him so tightly he could barely struggle enough to kick. The voice was strange, the accent was strange, and their very persons inspired a spike of fear in him that was more than the fact that they were strangers in his home, holding him hostage. “Shouldn’t have been rummaging around, this one. Everything would have been fine had you run along outside the house to play with your little friends.”

Hope could barely manage a choked off noise at a pitch he would have been embarrassed by any other day. They--!

“He’s just a kid,” the younger girl said mournfully. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Yeah? Well, kids grow up and then suddenly they’re the enemy between one day and the next. They’re all like that here.”

“Not everyone.” The girl said quietly, and they must have shared a look that Hope wasn’t privy to before after a very tense minute where Hope was sure that he was going to be killed via having his neck snapped by the steel arms trapping him, he was finally set back on his feet again. 

Only to collapse as his nerves refused to cooperate with him. 

The girl who spoke up for him knelt on the ground before him, smiling tentatively as Hope shook and tried to push himself away from her, only to hit the unforgiving wall. 

“Hey there,” she said gently, as if speaking to a scared animal, “you’re Hope, right? I’m Vanille. You don’t have to be scared.”

Enemy, the woman (Fang) said. 

“You’re from Pulse,” he blurted out, brain misfiring in his shock and fear. He could see the girl before him flinch slightly, but barely registered it as his mind raced with panic because how how how the war was supposed to be so far away! The latest information said that they suspected there were spies in Bodhum, but even that was distant to him and how could anyone have reached Palumpolum? 

Pulse was hell, the textbooks wrote. Filled with monsters and death, and the people who resided there beastly and gruesome in order to survive the world below them. Those from Pulse were raging war on Cocoon because they wanted the floating planet for themselves, because Cocoon was peace and oasis and protection, and they didn’t care that there were already people who lived there who wouldn’t be able to survive the brutal fires of Pulse. 

“Yeah, and what of it?” The voice above him challenged, and Hope jerked his head up to look at the woman looming over him, a deep frown above crossed arms. “You got a problem with that, kid?”

If he had proper survival instincts, Hope would have shook his head and gotten the hell out of dodge, but somehow a few wires must have gotten crossed because instead he snapped back from where he was still shaking on the ground, “You’re not allowed to be here! The Sanctum will find you!”

Because even if his dad wasn’t a Sanctum soldier, Bartholomew Estheim worked (peripherally) for the Sanctum, and he’s bound to find out about this situation, and Hope was really regretting the fact that he didn’t carry his boomerang on his person at all times because he was at home and his mom had laughed at him and pinched his cheeks when he mentioned how he should have a weapon at all times because of the war with Pulse-- she sunk her knuckles into his hair at the insinuation that she couldn’t protect her own son until Hope yelped and relented to only keep his pouch on him when he left the house. 

“Yeah?” In one quick movement that had Hope scrambling back until his knees were pulled to his chest in a futile effort to avoid the older woman because enemy enemy and threat as she grinned full of teeth, “guess what, then?”

“We’re allowed,” the younger-- Vanille-- interrupted, drawing Hope’s attention up to her even as he darted his eyes to her (too close!) companion, his heart racing a mile a minute. Vanille looked less threatening, and she was smiling apologetically at him. “Your mom let us in. So we’re not intruders.”

(”And why, pray tell,” Nora Estheim said with one arm over Hope’s shoulders as she tugged on his ear playfully and he made disgruntled noises and tried to lean away from her, “would you need a weapon at home? You know how I feel about this whole war, Hope. I don’t want any reminders at the dinner table, you hear me? None of your toys!”)

“And besides,” Vanille continued, leaning down slightly so that Hope was crowded by the both of them with no way to escape. She sounded a little regretful, adding before Hope could process the idea that his mom knew about this, knew that there were enemies hiding in the house and specifically told him not to carry anything that might help him fight back-- Vanille was pointing to her companion’s shoulder, and Hope followed her finger to see a seared white mess of lines on tanned skin. “We’re marked, you know.”

l’Cie. Whatever panic was running through his veins earlier was nothing to the blind terror behind his eyes now.

“You can’t tell on us,” the younger girl told him, and suddenly she was even scarier than Fang’s sharp smile. “If you do, then your Sanctum won’t just take us away, they’ll purge your whole family, too. Maybe your whole city. And that’s all your friends, isn’t it?”

Pulse, Hope thought through the thick haze of frenzied thoughts, was hell. Pulse l’Cie were even worse. 

Vanille was crouched in front of him now, looking demure and guileless as she rested her chin in her hands and attempted a strained smile. 

“So I’m afraid you’re gunna have to help hide us now too, Mr. Hope Estheim!”

#Final Fantasy XIII #Hope Estheim #Oerba dia Vanille #Oerba yun Fang #...so I wrote this directly in the response box #I am not skip-roping fandoms because I'm always in this fandom lol #I'm sorry this was literally written because I thought HEY YEAH #I SHOULD DO AT LEAST A LITTLE SCENE RIGHT AWAY #and honestly Fang and Vanille = <3 #Anonymous

[noramoya]

VERY EMOTIONAL AND SAD ! 😢💔😓

“HOW DOES IT FEEL WHEN YOU’RE ALONE AND YOU’RE COLD INSIDE ?” — MICHAEL JACKSON’S TRAUMA , WordPress.com

“The allegations and the accompanying relentless, decades long character assassination (that is still going on after Jackson’s death) took their toll on Michael Jackson’s health and psyché. In 1993, when the Jordan Chandler allegations came out, Jackson was on tour abroad, but due to the stress of the allegations his health deteriorated, he had to cancel shows due to dehydration and several times he collapsed backstage. In the fall of 1993, at the height of the Chandler frenzy, he wrote a song entitled Stranger in Moscow while he was touring the Russian capital. The song was released on Jackson’s 1995 HIStory album. It gives an insight into his state of mind at the time: the sadness, the loneliness, the pain, his collapsing world. As he put it in his lyrics: “Armageddon of the brain” – that’s how being falsely accused of a sexual crime feels like. Eventually on November 11, 1993, he had to cancel the rest of the tour because he developed a dependency on painkillers and he had to seek treatment.

During the 2005 trial we have seen Michael Jackson’s health deteriorate with each passing day and after his acquittal he had to spend some time in hospital to get himself together physically. Emotionally, mentally he could never really heal from the trauma before his untimely death in 2009. In the book “Remember the Time – Protecting Michael Jackson” Bill Whitfield, a bodyguard of Jackson’s, recalled this story from the last years of Jackson’s life:

“He didn’t trust strangers. Whenever he got caught in a crowd, he’d be real frantic and nervous. We were at a shopping mall in Virginia one afternoon. Javon had gone to get the car. I was waiting with Mr. Jackson by the exit with mall security. Somebody had recognized him and a small crowd had formed. He was signing a few autographs, waving to folks. It was a friendly situation, not a mob or anything. As Javon pulled up and opened the door for Mr. Jackson, this guy from the back of the crowd yelled out, “Fuckin’ child molester!” I heard it, plain as day. I looked at Javon; he’d heard it too. We were just praying that Mr. Jackson had missed it. But after we got in the car and drove for a bit, he leaned forward and said, “Guys, did you hear somebody say something back there?” “No, sir,” I said. “I didn’t hear anything. You hear anything, Javon?” Javon shook his head. “No, sir.” Mr. Jackson said, “I thought I heard someone say something very mean. I could have sworn. You guys aren’t lying to me, are you?” “No, sir.” We didn’t want to lie to him, but we knew what would happen if we confirmed it. Hearing someone call him a child molester? That would completely shut him down. He’d close the door and vanish into his room for at least a week, and we didn’t want that to happen. We drove on with nobody saying anything for the next ten, fifteen minutes, and then out of the backseat he said, “I would never hurt a child. I would slit my wrists before I ever did anything to hurt a child.” [1]

Perhaps we can get a little sense of what Jackson went through emotionally because of these allegations from a story told by a couple of his fans, Brigitte Bloemen, Marina Dobler, Stephanie Grosse and Sonja Winterholler, who traveled all the way from Germany to Santa Barbara to support Jackson during the trial. One day while waiting for him at the gates of Neverland, a bus carrying Jackson stopped and they had the opportunity to meet the star one by one inside the bus. Their story reveals an emotionally frail and very much wounded Jackson. It felt appropriate to publish this story on my website to remind my readers that while Michael Jackson might have been different to “normal” in many ways, he was a human being with feelings who deserves a fair and full representation of these cases instead of a verbal lynch mob and a witch hunt, and instead of the tabloid soundbites, cherry-picked out of context half-truths and lies that are often used against him in attempts at convicting him in the court of public opinion.

SONJA : “And there I suddenly stood — right in front of Michael stupidly saying “Hi Michael”. I tried so hard to remember the questions we had prepared and I had written down to ask him if possible, but now in this very moment, everything was gone. The only question that came to my mind and that would also make sense in this situation was “How are you?”— and so I asked him that Michael just stood there and didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me, but held my left hand with both of his hands very tightly. He then leaned over and kissed me on each cheek, but still he did not say a word. I was a bit confused and didn’t know what to do. So the next thing I asked him was “Are you fine?” He finally looked directly at me and bursted out, “No!” And he continued while squeezing my hand: “I just pretend to be fine, but I’m not – I’m not.” In the same second, he hugged me very tightly and I realized that he was crying. Oh my God, now I began to understand why he hadn’t said anything before. He had tried not to lose his poise and not to cry, but my questions didn’t help…

We stood there for quite a while just hugging each other. Michael sobbed a few times and I felt that he was shaking, although it was quite warm inside the bus. It took me at least half a minute to really understand that in this moment Michael was hugging me, crying and just showing and telling me his true feelings. Until this moment I had thought he really would be that strong and positive about the upcoming trial, like he had shown the public at the first arraignment a few days before. How naive I was! Of course, he was scared and of course he was hurt as much as one can be, facing these terrible allegations, when all he ever wanted to do was to help this kid, as he had helped so many sick children before and after that. Given these thoughts and feeling him shiver, I also had to fight with the tears.”

MARINA : “ I stopped when I saw Michael waiting at the top of the stairs, looking towards me. Sheepishly I said “Good morning, Michael” to him. At first he just looked at me not moving at all. It seemed he wanted to say something but after a few moments, he suddenly took my hands and pulled me up the two remaining stairs, kissed me on each cheek and embraced me tightly. In that moment all the pent-up tension, all the fear and sorrow for him, all the concern, all the sympathy but mostly all the love for him finally unloaded and tears streamed down my face. “I love you so much, Michael!” were the only words that came out of my mouth. Now Michael could not stay composed either, even though he had tried so hard, and so he broke into tears as well, while saying “I love you so much more”. He embraced me even tighter than before, trying to console me by caressing my head and back.

We both couldn’t stop crying and it seemed to escalate more and more. I felt and experienced in those moments, how totally upset, deeply hurt and broken Michael was by all the terrible things that went on in his life. He was not at all confident, as he had tried to show the world a few days earlier at the court building in Santa Maria. At some point Michael began to tremble from top till toe. It was so obvious that he desperately needed people in his life that he could lean on and trust and who believed in his innocence. For quite a while we simply held each other sobbingly, when he suddenly with a broken voice said ,“…you know they hurt me so much with this, they try to destroy me…” His whole body shivered badly as he said those words and I helplessly tried to console him as best as I could by caressing his back, yet found no words of consolation, because I knew the situation he was in was just terrible and to claim anything else would have been a blatant lie. “I know…, I know…” was all I could stammer and again we both had to cry so much, that we could hardly breathe. It felt like Michael was drowning and desperately tried to grasp at straws when he embraced me even tighter, it almost hurt. Yet in this moment of deepest desperation, he now tried to speak again, almost voiceless from all the crying, he croaky whispered in a desperate and beseeching way, “…but we must heal the world and help the children”. The way he uttered those words worried me more than anything, because they held a feeling of “Goodbye” in them, as if he tried to indicate that he would not be here with us for very much longer and needed us (fans) to fulfill his mission. Instinctively I answered: “Oh, we will – but we will do it together with you, Michael!”, trying to tell him that we all need him so much. By these words he literally broke down again and sobbed so badly that I needed to hold him up, in a way, and keep the balance for us both. Again we cried so much and it took quite a while until Michael suddenly found the strength to pull himself together. I tried to follow his example and both still shaking and our faces wet from each other’s tears, we finally said Goodbye to one another, before I shakily went down the stairs again, feeling completely worn out, heartbroken and empty.”

BRIGITTE: “Shyly and slowly I climbed up the stairs towards Michael, still avoiding to look up at him. I did not want to look him straight in the eyes, not to embarrass him and myself, so I just held out my hand towards Michael to say “Hi”. But before I could say a word, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards him and immediately hugged me tightly.

I was kind of hanging there, about two stairs lower than where Michael was standing while he was pulling me closer and closer. There was a small barrier in the bus to define a place behind the driver and prevent people from falling down which also had a handle for people going up the last stairs to hold on. And since I could not climb up all the stairs for Michael had grabbed me before, I happened to have this barrier directly in my stomach which was not very comfortable, especially since Michael was pulling me against it real hard and was not letting go.

Anyway, so early in the morning, being tired, frozen, nervous and confused, your senses are working quite selectively sometimes — so I managed to forget having this barrier pushed into my stomach after mere seconds. It was only after a while that I realized how warm Michael felt and that he tried to warm me up by rubbing my back with his hand. He must have felt me shaking like crazy. The sound that the rubbing on the jacket made finally “woke me up” and I could feel Michael was also shaking a bit and he was weeping on my shoulder. We both stayed like this for at least one or two minutes without saying anything. Then, I heard his voice whispering in my ear: “Go on the internet… ”. As I said before, I was not completely myself then and there, and I just heard something about the internet, and was wondering, what he is talking about. However, after finally concentrating and probably telling my ear to listen, I could hear him go on: “Go on the internet and tell them all, tell all the fans I love them so much and they should come next time to the court! It’s SO important to me!” Having said that, Michael pulled me even harder towards himself. I could barely breathe, but I responded: “l promise they will come – it meant a lot to us as well” (meaning it made us feel better, too, to be finally able to help and support him and to give back to him after he gave so much to the world for years). After that Michael started to cry again. I felt kind of helpless and confused, I was shaking and sobbing, but could not really cry. It felt more like being in shock, I instinctively started rubbing his back as he did before. He hugged and embraced me tighter for a few moments, I could feel him breathing and sobbing – then he finally let go. He stepped back a bit, held his hands pressed together in front of his face and quietly whispered “I love you”. I said “I love you more”, turned around in total shock and almost fell down the stairs I was still standing on. Just before going down the stairs further, however, I saw I still had the three postcards from Munich which we had written to Michael last night in one hand. They were a bit bended since they had been stuck somewhere between the barrier, Michael and me, but I turned around once more, said “oh and this is for you” and gave them to him. He said a quiet “oh, thank you” while still wiping away some tears.”

That cold January morning changed all of us. It was the most heart-breaking, most hurting experience of our life to feel that someone you love so much is hurting so bad, yet to understand that you are unable to truly help, besides supporting him with all your heart and by simply being there for him. But what impressed us the most and made us truly understand who Michael really is, was that even in those darkest and most hopeless moments of his life, Michael’s heart went out to others, to the ones in need, especially to sick and poor children and to our hurting planet! We understood that this is what Michael really was all about! He was about helping and loving and caring for one another! And no matter how many times people tried to ridicule, belittle and hurt him and even, like in the last years, tried to destroy him, Michael never lost his ability to love and care and his deep desire to help others! He simply loved more!” [2]

SOURCES :

[1] Bill Whitfield, Javon Beard, Tanner Colby – “Remember the Time – Protecting Michael Jackson” (2014).

[2] Brigitte Bloemen (Author), Marina Dobler (Contributor), Miriam Lohr (Contributor) – A life for L.O.V.E.: Michael Jackson stories you should have heard before (tredition, August 8, 2013)

CATEGORIES : MICHAEL JACKSON’S HUMANITY ...

TAGS : #child molestation trial, #false accusers, #false sexual abuse allegations, #falsely accused, #Michael Jackson, #sexual molestation allegations, #trauma, #trauma of being falsely accused

THE MICHAEL JACKSON ALLEGATIONS, WordPress.com.

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RO! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Pandora Lovegood. There was something so charming about your application. Pandora felt like so much more than the four paragraphs I wrote for her bio, and that’s because you made the character your own. I was so ecstatic when you ran the idea by me about Pandora being deaf, and you’ve written it in such a beautiful way. Being able to add onto her character in a way that not only makes sense, but further develops her before you’ve even had the chance to write her in-game leaves me so excited to see what you’ll do with her. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

name: Ro age: 29. Literal granny. preferred pronouns: Female. She/Her timezone: AEST (Australia) activity: I work full time and stress full time, but am usually around on my phone for plotting and chatting, and have a few hours a few days a week dedicated to writing. are you applying for more than one character?: (if so, list your preference in order) how do you feel about your character dying?: I am such a sadist, I am honestly all for it. I love crying over my poor dead characters. Provided it is not just a gratuitous death, but something to further the plot. I like to get in some decent character development first, of course! anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.) Obviously Pandora and Xenophilius’ relationship is v important to her character, I’ve kinda guessed at a few things here but of course nothing pertaining to him is set in stone!! ic details. full name: Pandora Lovegood. Born Pandora Min Jee Park. Nicknames Panda. Dora. Pea. Min

date of birth: April 8 1954. Aries. Born to Joon Woo Park and Hae Yun Fenwick. former hogwarts house: Hufflepuff sexuality: Pansexual. gender/pronouns: Female. She/Her face claim change:

more. how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

+ Compassionate. Unrelenting

- Impatient. Restless.

Silent and strong, it is all easy for others to overlook Pandora. A sweet little witch, her husband’s devoted carer. Always sipping on a steaming potion from a chipped porcelain teacup or blowing her nose on a delicate silk handkerchief. These lingering remnants of childhood illnesses she can never quite shake, ever a reminder that she can’t cure everyone - not even herself. That will never stop resilient Pandora from trying.

But look at her, really look at her and see the depth of the ocean. The brilliant, unrelenting mind constantly searching for answers others dare not seek. When one is found she asks another question, digging deeper until all the truths of the universe are laid bare before her. Pandora’s hunger for knowledge is all consuming, she will often forget to eat or shower for days until reminded by a concerned friend. Ceaseless hours are spent reading obscure books of dark artefacts and curses, diving deeply into long forgotten lore, searching out near extinct plants. No length is too far for a new discovery, Pandora would do anything for her patients. Since her time at Hogwarts Pandora has been no stranger to working herself into exhaustion. Impatient, Pandora will quickly grow frustrated if her research isn’t going her way. She will become tense while she continues to push herself to the point of self destruction, the delicate girl with bones of glass and skin of paper almost shattering. At times she is reckless, believing in her own great mind enough to test an experimental potion with no proof other than her own confidence that it will do good. It is a dangerous line to walk, Pandora has been lucky she has not yet caused any damage to a patient or friend that doesn’t know the true risks of what they are about to imbibe.

The person who faces the greatest risks in Pandora’s experimental healing is also the once that faces the greatest rewards. The one that needs her most. The one that Pandora needs, so desperately, to heal. No one is more important to her than her husband. Though some would call Xenophilius a mad man, they would say he is too far gone from reality. But he grounds Pandora, her shining beacon in a world blanketed in confused darkness. He is the only one to understand her. His words are her gospel, at times impossible to comprehend, she will never stop trying to decipher what he has to say. She wishes she could calm the screaming in his head and share with him the silence in which she finds so much solace. Pandora knows together the pair will find his much sought after cure. In doing so she knows they will be unleashing the full potential of Xenophilius’ mind, the likes of which the Wizarding world has never seen before.

Deaf from the age of five after a near deadly case of meningitis Pandora has never let the loss of one of her senses slow her down. If anything, it pushes her further. She can lip read comfortably and speaks in a soft, unsteady voice, though she prefers to communicate in sign language. Fed up with traditional spell casting Pandora dedicated time at Hogwarts to creating new methods of spell casting using sign rather than speech. A small book was published, Pandora hopes to see more inclusive magic being taught at schools and in the Ministry itself. The ceiling of the small tent she and Xenophilius now call home is strung with soft golden lights so Pandora can always see, and bright charms attached to the knocker on the front door to always alert her to visitors.

Just like many of the other new residents of Godric’s Hollow Pandora could not face living in a cottage that had seen so much death, the metallic scent of blood she knows all too well still heavy in the air. The shadows of the dead were still there, filling the cracks in the wall, whispering in Xenophilius’ ear. Almost every surface is covered in books, books from their own libraries, books filled with the neatly organised handwritten notes of Pandora and Xenophilius’ frenzied scrawl. The kitchen has more cauldrons than cooking pots, there are always several bubbling along, filling the room with coloured smoke and curious, heady aromas. The Lovegood home has become a makeshift clinic for the Order, Pandora has all the healing supplies she needs to treat most illnesses. Her compassionate warmth and open door has also made her kitchen a drop in spot for those who need a cup of tea and the chance to let out all the feelings whenever they need to talk. Pandora knows she is doing a good thing helping the Order, she knows this is what her cousin would have wanted. But the quiet girl that believes in her own greatness knows she has a world to save, not just one broken town.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

A half blood witch adored and accepted by her muggle family, Pandora truly cannot wrap her head around the reasonings of this war. There are many things wrong in the world, both Wizarding and muggle, there are many things worth fighting about. Blood status is not one of them. At first she found it foolish, more anti-muggle propaganda they had all heard a hundred times or more. But as the injured kept arriving at St Mungo’s in higher numbers, carrying dark curses, as the death count become a number so astronomical Pandora’s heart ached to the point she couldn’t breathe trying to imagine what that much death really meant she realised that this really was a war. It was at that time Benjy approached her, asking her to join, to fight, to heal.

She couldn’t. Pandora’s fight was at her husband’s side. Her fight was in the wings of the hospital with patients that needed her. She did all she could, splitting her time between the wards and the Order, helping where she was needed. She kept her eyes open as she worked her rounds, always seeking out information. She passed on everything she deemed of importance to the Order - names, places, curses. Pandora did her best to help. Though she would never admit it, not even sign it in pitch darkness, a part of Pandora she tried to keep buried deep within was grateful to have so much work to do. Her talents finally were being used to her full potential, she was needed. With so many people to heal the higher ups at St Mungo’s allowed her unauthorized methods to go forward without the usual testings and verification. She was helping more people she had ever dreamed possible.

The presumed death of her cousin shattered her. In a morbid reprise of the news of her father’s death Pandora collapsed in a faint upon hearing the news. Just as with her father Pandora felt his death should have been prevented, she should have been there, she should have done more for him. Pandora finally felt ready to fight, just as the Order decided upon retreat. Pandora knew that she had to follow them to Godric’s Hollow. Without as much work to keep her occupied Pandora’s mind is continuing to crack. Anxiety keeps her awake at night more often than her books, she stares at the posters of the missing hung so morbidly in the graveyard wide eyes shimmering with tears, bitten fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. The weight of all those lives lost is pressing down on her, Pandora isn’t sure how to fight back. She tries her hardest to keep herself occupied helping the Order. But with the fighting at a standstill Pandora has no one to heal.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

Pandora has no desire to stay in Godric’s Hollow. She is there because she believes it is what Benjy would have wished for her, because she thinks that is what is best for Xenophilius’ right now. Her own desires are less important than theirs. She agrees with the people that wish to carry on fighting, though she tremors at the thought of losing yet another person than she has grown close to.

What Pandora really wants is to get out of Godric’s Hollow and return to St Mungo’s. She knows there are still people there that need her. Pandora needs to be needed, she needs to help.

She sits quiet in meetings and conversations, as a mere associate of the Order she has no say anyway. But she pays close attention to what those around her are feeling and saying, she is sure she isn’t the only person that feels hopelessly stuck in this death filled town.

Pandora Lovegood: How does Pandora feel about being forced to stay in Godric’s Hollow, when she could be out helping those who have been wounded by this war?

Pandora feels utterly trapped in Godric’s Hollow. With no real work to keep her occupied she is restless and anxious, fixating on small problems, even creating problems just so she has something to do. The decision to relocate was made in haste and fear. It is a choice she is ever increasingly regrets. The only reason she is content in staying is Xenophilius, without the distraction of a world torn apart by war is that every book she reads, every potion she brews is dedicated to deciphering the voices drowning his mind. Pandora isn’t sure how much longer she can stay, the gnawing guilt in her stomach a constant reminder her skills are going to waste when so many people are suffering without her healing hands. extra.

Pinterest board.

if i were a season, i’d be late spring

if i were a time of day, i’d be sunrise

if i were a place, i’d be a quiet corner of a library

if i were a type of weather, i’d be a sunshower

if i were a scent, i’d be antiseptic cream

if i were a plant, i’d be a aloe vera

if i were an element, i’d be water

if i were a color, i’d be off white

if i were a song, i’d be Here comes the Sun by The Beatles

if i were an item of clothing, it’d be a clean white tshirt

if i were an object, i’d be a fountain pen

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be pride

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be diligence

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Epione, Greek goddess of soothing pain

Future plot ideas:

Pandora is ignoring her own mental health in order to look after those around her. She is in a fragile state and edging closer to breaking point. She may start turning to potions to help get through each day. It would also be very nice for someone to realise how much she is struggling and help her for once.

Pandora can take many risks when creating potions or perfecting a cure. She could trial a new potion on someone and end up doing more harm than good.

Pandora feels like a caged bird unable to sing stuck at Godric’s Hollow. She would like to start making occasional trips back to London/St Mungos to gather supplies and intel. She may learn more about missing Order members this way.

Pandora , Xenophilius mystery solving!!

#hp rp #rp #lsrpg #marauders rp #new rp #accepted

[jerseydeanne]

Hello Belgianeyes I wanted to follow up on what another submission had printed earlier. I don’t care if u post this. I will be up front with the fact I am not in PR like the submission before.

I would like to start with the fact I have followed the royal family for some time. Nearly 15 yrs. I enjoy the work the work they do, the poignant ceremonies, and have respect for the institution they serve.

I agree with some of the criticism leveled at MM, but the fact that the people don’t like her won’t bear on whether Harry dumps her or not. When PC was dating Camilla before they married, she was VERY unpopular. Other citizens literally threw bread at her in a market. She was physically unable to leave her home. And that was before Diana’s tragic passing. There was a PR campaign to spin her in a positive light. It worked.

As to the charge about publicity, MM has drastically changed her tune since late december. The pap walks have also become much less about showing off. If it was simply publicity, she would probably have returned to previous behavior by now if Harry wasn’t in some way still in the picture. She would probably have more articles explaining her side, no actress would want this level of negative attention. Her silence is rather telling. More telling than perhaps Harry’s. 

If they had broken up, I agree the press would have printed it. Just like they were we quick to join the bandwagon when the news was first released. 

Also, in regards to the statement. After the Daily Mail reported that William was furious with Harry for causing a firestorm, William released an unofficial retraction. William had Kensington palace insist BOTH brothers discussed the statement and agreed to put it out. EVERY other newspaper printed it except the mail. This shows two things. William released an unofficial statement directly to the press just like NYC says is impossible. And that both brothers were involved. That their press office was as well goes to show a handful of people made this decision, not just a panicked Harry. Although ill-advised, and probably coming from a defensive place, Harry did not issue that statement because he was afraid of MM. I will admit to laughing when NYC printed that.

As to the relationship, I will also be upfront in that I do not think MM would make a good duchess, you yourself wrote an excellent treatise on that on your other blog, but there is no evidence to show the relationship has ended, or that there is a massive conspiracy to cover it up. There is also a conspiracy stating PC murdered Diana, despite several investigations to prove otherwise. Most would agree that is complete rubbish.

Although it is fun to speculate, and look for clues, I want to thank you for keeping it at just that. There is a big difference between discussing the IG block, and discussing her possibly sleeping with an entire athletic team because some idiot on the Internet claims she did (I know that it’s not your blog), or discuss how much you hope the whole world disses her for the tramp she is, or discuss nude photos that may or may not exist and how everyone should see and discuss naked pictures taken privately by someone she trusted.

I will end this entirely too long missive by reminding everyone who it is you are sticking up for.Remember you are talking about a man that had to walk behind his mother’s coffin in a public parade for the world to gawk at him, even as others wrongly claimed his father killed his mother, and people wrongly agreed. You are talking about a man that had to publicly go to school, as tabloids happily printed that he is illegitimate, that his father wants to be Camilla’s tampon, that Diana’s lover thinks she’s squidgy (whatever that means), had wrongly printed the first love of his life’s family happily takes money from a dictator known to kill his own people. That had two separate relationships he was serious about collapse, because he wasn’t worth the trouble. Papparazzi, fuelled by frenzied speculation about an unfit partner, that literally chased his beloved mother to her death in a dirty Paris underpass, for a picture of her with a man after they already had dozens to prove the relationship existed. And then took pictures of her dead body in that car and published them. That Harry would find some of what is in the tabloids and in some blogs abhorrent is a FACT. That you are not just hurting MM is another.

I am sorry this has been so strong worded, I simply couldn’t figure out how to be less blunt with history. I just wanted us all to remember and learn from old mistakes. 

You are correct about not complaining about the behavior to one person and not including all of those involved, I will be sending my reminder to NYC, JD, and KUWTR as well. 

Thanks for taking the time to read this. As emotionally exhausting as all of this is, let’s keep the young man in mind with regards to his (admittedly bad) choice in lady.

thank you anon for a thought provoking letter

#jersey deanne anonthought provoking #submission