#Fireflies|Remy and Beth

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats {{because tumblr}}

Heavily her brows furrow as she offers him a sidelong glance, both morbidly curious about what he means when he says that side of him, and if maybe that's what she sees in his aura. But then she's overcome by a wash of far more human and sensible a thing; guilt. He stops his actions based on what she has said. That much is obvious, even to her.

"I nevah meant to ruin your plans," she says softly as if tone and sincerity could ameliorate whatever damage or pains ~real or imaginary~ she had caused. Because it was absolutely her way to feel as though she is doing something wrong. That in turn sows the seeds of fear that he will eventually, and sooner rather than later, find it much easier to go about his business without her. Another revolution of thought and she arrives at another fact she doesn't know how to sort. And that's largely that she has come to allow herself to be so immensely dependant on Remy and that she is no better off now than when she'd first arrived in the city. Not in terms of survival. The hodgepodge of abilities she's had the misfortune to develop allow her to adapt physically into whatever environment she's thrust into, albeit briefly. There seems to be an arbitrary deadline of sunset to sunrise or vis versa. No, it's far worse than she'd allowed herself to realise. The weakness is emotional. "Don'...don' be mad," she whispers and maybe her hand clutches his side a little harder than she intended. There's a new blend of fear there that had nothing to do with restless spirits. "An...don' t'row me away, try an' mahalo. If wan f' stay, I'll make dem be quiet. Dey no gonna boddah you." She might be including herself in that last little sound.

[thepeterssite]

Hayden Panettiere Net Worth

Who is Hayden Panettiere?

Hayden Panettiere, born as Hayden Leslie Panettiere, is an America based actress, model, singer and activist who is famous for the portrayal of cheerleader Claire Bennet in NBC’s television drama Heroes from 2006 to 2010. Besides, the actress is also known for playing the main role of Juliette Barnes in ABC/CMT’s television series, Nashville since 2012. The actress has also appeared in many movies like The Object of My Affection (1998), Remember the Titans (2000), Raising Helen (2001), Scream 4 (2011) etc.

Hayden Panettiere was born on August 21, 1989 in Palisades, New York to Lesley R. Vogel, former soap opera actress and Alan Lee “Skip” Panettiere, a fire captain. Her younger brother Jansen Panettiere, is also a fellow actor. The actress enrolled at South Orangetown Middle School, New York. However, she dropped out to manage time for acting career. Nevertheless, she was taught at home and also had private teachers from grade 9 till the completion of high school.

Beginning of Career

Hayden started her career as a child actress at a small age of 11 months. She had appeared in the commercial of Playskool toy train. At the age of 5, she made her professional acting debut as Sarah Roberts in ABC’s soap opera, One Life to Live. She did the role from 1994 to 1997, and earned a good sum of money which had contributed in her net worth. Later in 1996, the actress appeared as Megan Blackwood in a TV film, How Do You Spell God?

Subsequently, in year 1998, Hayden Panettiere played the role of Lizzie Spaulding in CBS’s television series, Guiding Light. The same year, Hayden made her movie debut through film, The Object of My Affection. She had appeared as Mermaid in the particular film. Besides, she also voiced Dot in a film, A Bug’s Life. In year 1999, she starred in a TV miniseries, Too Rich: The Secret Life of Doris Duke, and in a television series Touched by an Angel.

Hayden Panettiere, then, appeared as Sheryl Yoast in film Remember the Titans in 2000. The following year, she starred as Natalie Scheffer in film Joe Somebody. She also had a minor role of Ashley Black in Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. In 2002, she starred as the main character Maddie Harrington in Fox’s television series Ally McBeal. Besides, she played the role of Young Jeanne de Saint-Remy de Valois in film The Affair of the Necklace. She earned good salary from these works which contributed in her net worth.

Works from 2004 to Present

In the year 2004, Hayden Panettiere appeared in two films; The Dust Factory and Raising Helen. The following year, she starred as Channing Walsh and Gennifer “Gen” Harwood in films Racing Stripes and Ice Princess. Later in 2006, the actress worked in three films; Bring It On: All or Nothing, The Architect, and Mr. Gibb. Further, Panettiere portrayed the role of Claire Bennet in NBC’s television series Heroes from 2006 to 2010. All these too helped her to increase her net worth.

Eventually, Hayden Panettiere worked in various movies like Shanghai Kiss (2007), Fireflies in the Garden (2008), I Love You, Beth Cooper (2009), The Cove (2009), The Forger (2012), Custody (2016), etc. These movies too helped her in the increment of her net worth. Besides, the actress has been playing the role of main character Juliette Barnes in ABC/CMT’s television series Nashville since 2012.

Net Worth

Hayden Panettiere is a talented actress who has worked in many films and television series. All these works have helped her to earn the net worth of $11 million U.S. dollars. All the films she had acted in have paid with salary of $2,000,000. Besides, she owns a luxurious house of $2,635,000 at Hollywood Hills. Moreover, the actress earns $75,000 from an episode of Nashville. The actress also owns cars like Lamborghini Gallardo that worth $200,000 and Porsche Cayenne of $56,000 U.S. dollars.

Must Know Facts about Hayden Panettiere

Real Name: Hayden Leslie Panettiere Date of Birth: August 21, 1989 Profession: Actress, Model, Singer and Activist Height: 5′ 0″ Partner: Wladimir Kiltschko (2009-Present) Children: 1 Twitter: 756K Followers in Twitter Net Worth: $11 Million

The post Hayden Panettiere Net Worth appeared first on etcNepal.com.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats {{from here cause Tumblr, amirite?}}

A tiny flinch or perhaps deep throb of pulse meets his glancing fingers against her wrist. She isn't used to people deliberately touching her, especially once they learn who...or rather, what...she is. Not that he'd been shocked to learn she wasn't human despite how easily she passes for one. Remy has never really shown fear. She's beginning to wonder if he's capable of it. "Is kind of you to say." And it is. Even if it isn't true, but she doesn't need to say that aloud. "I don' undahstan...how does eatin' togeddah give ya insight?" Her brows knit over her gaze which seems to once again hover between the tip of his nose and the centre-point of his chin. "An' for wha' is wor'd, I am sorry dat dey treat ya poorly. Not very pono...ah..." Her hands come up and wave airily as if she can find and pluck the right word she wants from the very aether around them. "People kinda suck." She never really pays attention to the tip he leaves ~generous by anyone's standards~ but she dips her head and glances at hand. Then she slowly raises her head again. Her voice is a ghost of a thought. "F' I could change dat about you...way dey look, anyway... I don' t'ink I evah would. Jus' cause somet'ing different don' make it any less beautiful. I hate dat anyone made you feel dat way. I nevah would." The conversation is heavy and it hits close to home. Her shoulders sag as she murmurs an apology and slips out of her chair, only to stand and wait for him to rise.

[brooklynislandgirl]

How much fapping is too much fapping

Things That Make You Squirm || Accepting

"Well, I s'pose..any kine is really too much, if you t'ink about it. Exposin' yaself t' nicotine, even if it much healt'ier dan smokin' cigarettes, or toxic metals like nickle, chromium, tin, lead, aluminium. Not to mention acrolein dat can cause irreversible lung damage, an' of course da polypropylene glycol..." Clearly Beth had misheard him, had mistaken the shape of Remy's lips though that seems to not as common as when she speaks to other people. And when he repeats the word? She confesses to: "I don' know what means dat." It's a slow process and she can almost feel him wanting to tell her 'nevermind' which is something she's far more used to than she should ever be, but Remy seems to have a wealth of patience for her. With a little creative sign language and a deliberate careful enunciation she goes from knitted brows and nodding along to the revelation of wide, wide, yes, and her mouth forming an almost perfect "oh." Yes, okay. "Uhm. I'm not sure? Medically speakin' I'd say when it start to chafe or hurt? Even all da lubrication natural or oddahwise won't stop a friction burn completely. But I mean...as long as ya havin' fun an' dere's no pain. Well, you know your body bes'." She looks away then. "An' before you aks...I don'...I don' really practice self-stimulation. Don' really get any kine out of it an' it just...it feels so very pointless."

[brooklynislandgirl]

♡ he thinks he is slick about it

Hung in My Heart || Accepting

She sits on the log, watching the forest come alive with the soft glow of fireflies, so much more at peace here than she is in the city. The entire drive out ~because she asked, she knows. This wouldn't be his choice if he were the one making it~ had been made in a stony kind of silence; uniform, heavy and tinged with grey. Might have continued on while she and Remy sat there, but then one of the bugs lands on one of her outstretched fingers, so little in comparison to his. "Dere's..." Her little voice is soft. It is hesitant. "Dere's a man. An' he promises dat...dat he'll fight for us, an' need us t' help him fight for oddahs. Dat we shouldn' have to be afraid any more. Dat we shouldn't hate....hate ourselves for not bein' like...dem." She tilts her head toward him, eyes wide and dark and serious. "Come wi' me, Remy. Help me find him. I...I don' wan go wi'out you."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats  {{xx}}

One of the most minor aspects of her mana ~mutation, they call it, and it’s the nicest word she’d heard about it~ is the ability to see injuries, past and current, in any individual she gazes at. Most of the time she has to will it intentionally. Sometimes though she simply blinks and her gaze is drawn to it. When she first started noticing this particular gift…Beth had been horrified. She’d only noticed the first time she’d stepped into the ER after just over three months of mourning the passing of her brother, the other half of her soul. Every injury seemed to scream at her. Regardless of how calm the patient happened to be. The smell of blood so strong it turned her stomach but made her hungry, too. It had terrified her then, and that feeling still lingers now. His scar carries a softer song, which in turn allowed her to be able to touch it. There’s a lifetime of emotion in it and she finds herself feeling tender things for him. She flinches when he says the M word. She draws her hand back toward herself and drops it in her lap, the same place she allowed her gaze to fall. “F’ wha’ it’s wor’d….I t’ink your eyes are beautiful.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

For le fluster meme: Remy propped an elbow on the table, manners be damned, and flexed the long fingers carefully. "Got asked what dese were for earlier. Didn' quite tell de truth. Well 'sides from pool playin', 'n de esthetique, dose Ah 'fessed up to, de gloves...well dey help keep de mos' important fingers sof'n supple f'findin' de peach pit. De one dat don' come from no tree, dat is." He shrugged smirking, withdrawing his arm from the table and pocketing the hand, finding one of the many essentials he kept in his pocket and fidgeting with it. "Cuz dey sure as heck ain' hidin' m'fingerprints wid half dem out in de open, dunno what half-witted soul started spreadin' dat dumb rumor."

Little Fires Everywhere || Accepting

It's an almost animalistic reflex, the way her eyes drop from his face to his hands when he waves his fingers though she makes no move to try to take hold of him or otherwise touch them. She tries her best to keep her hands to herself and she's never quite sure if some how or some way there will be a spark or some other sign of their abilities. Even in private, even in his home, where they so often end up spending their time. It is a fear she hasn't yet learned to let go. The gloves do nothing to detract from their length, their shape. If anything, the black against his skin only enhances their best qualities. She greedily takes in the details as he offers them, once more tracking his mouth and eyes once she's noted his hands. She'd wondered about the reasons herself but had never had the gall to ask. Her natural temerity doesn't quite allow it. The aesthetic she understands. Shooting pool makes sense too, that's why there's chalk for the stick and chalk for the hand, one needs to keep limber and to not stick to the wood. But that's when he loses her, when he starts talking about fruit. Ripe and full of sweetened juices, she's never known a peach to be difficult to consume though most of the time people prefer the processed and canned variety rather than the fresh. Partially because they don't have access to tree-grown fruit, but the so called modern world offers things that are fast and easy and…that isn't what he's talking about, or so he says. The confusion marks itself by a faint furrow of her brow, the way she tilts her head. She isn't exactly staring at him but rather her gaze trails off beyond his shoulder and he can all but see the way she's wracking her thoughts in search for the right answer. "Mebbe someone ya cheated or someone ignorant? Unless you can change ya prints organically?" She tries to be in the moment but she doubles back. "I..I don' t'ink I undahstan'. If not from da tree, do ya get ya peaches from farmer market?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

69. What turns you off?

Generating Steam Heat || Accepting

The question isn't surprising, not with the way her fingers circle around his wrist and halting the slow climb of his fingers up the trellis of her thigh. Without his gloves there's a combination of textures at the border of her skirt hem. The words are breathed against the length her jaw. Tactile expression that she cannot misunderstand because there's a solidity to it and somehow it bypasses her ears and etches itself full in her brain. She groans almost soundlessly and the hand that had been recently lodged in his hair slides down across his cheek and drops to his shoulder. She pushes herself up and away from him, the sparks between them becoming banked. She's not angry, she's not even annoyed. She wouldn't call it hurt either. She isn't sure what the question makes her feel. "I..I don' really know," she says eventually. She twists her lips to one side, equally ambiguous as her answer as to whether it's a frown or merely a subconscious facial tick. "Mebbe mo' beddah question is wha' works for me. I…I like deep breath-stealin' kisses, gentle bites. I like da way ya hands feel on my skin." She glances up into his face, past his fine features and into those black and red eyes that intrigue her beyond words. "I t'ink dat mebbe I don' like so much how in movies an' in some stories when da man talk stink…ah… say mean stuff. More dan jus' vulgar, but I'm not real use t' talking like dat eiddah. But callin' ya woman a female of loose morals-- s word, uh dat oddah one….means same kine ~implyin' bein' paid for sex~ is really gross." She knows that's muddled but she's not about to spell it out any further than she already has. "Degradation in general. When I work as a nurse I got enough urine an' defecation on me dan I care t' t'ink about an' I don' see it havin' a place when ya try f' make love wi' someone. Don' wan someone who only interested in me because of da family money an' prestige, t'inkin' dat dey can use me like a personal ATM. An…An I don' like roses." She scoots back on the sofa toward its arm, setting him free. "Wha' about you? I mean you have more experience, not da kine of man who get turn what wi' ya charm an' ya handsome good looks, so I feel like ya have way more experience. Are dere any t'ings you really like dat I should know about?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

Advent Calendar: Day 20 @lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats​

Beth has practically bitten her nails down to the quick with nervous anticipation, and not the kind that leaves that warm, wonderful, and above all else, liquid feeling down below the pit of one’s belly. She’d had no problems finding all of the ingredients at Whole Foods, and even conversed for a few minutes with each of the departments about best practices when it comes to cooking and storing leftovers. She spent days leading up to the moment reviewing every single how-to video she could get her hands on and read then reread recipes until her eyes felt like they were going to cross forevermore behind her glasses. She’d been as absolutely methodical as possible, even with the help of cats whose little paw-prints in the flour she’s done her best to clean up. She wants everything perfect, a way to thank Remy for all that he’s done for her over the course of the year. It isn’t often that people go out of their way to help someone else unless there’s something to get out of it. Cut off from her family and all the privileges and perks that come with the name, she’d washed up on his shore like so much flotsam. But he took her under wing just the same. Protected her and showed her how to make her own way. There is no end to her gratitude. There is no end to her devotion. Even when he waves it off and laughs, eyes glittering. He tells her it’s nothing, calls her little bird. She might very well be, but while she enjoys it, she isn’t the singer her brother used to be. So she sets about making him as lavish a Christmas as she can; knitted black cable-knit sweater and matching fingerless gloves. It doesn’t really snow here, but New Orleans can get shockingly cold. And of course, she’s making them dinner. Whenever Beth thinks of winter holidays in general, she thinks of warm homes and families gathered around some sort of feast. There’s practical reasons for this, of course. Using up the stores gathered from the harvests that won’t last deeper into winter, and the carb-and-calorie load up will make the leaner season easier to bear. But more than that, there’s something about the cold and the dark that inspires conviviality. Maybe it’s the added warmth of closeness. Maybe it’s the desire to tell stories while cuddled close to the fire. A sense of peace while the earth rests. It’s those latter things she wants to give him more than anything else. The joy of a meal, taken in good company. The warmth from the day’s long cook. The rest and the dreams that would be filled with sweetness. He deserves both so much better and nothing less. So she is just setting the last plate on the table when she hears him unlock the door and she lights the candles she’s dug up from his utility drawer. The food isn’t the prettiest but none of it’s over or undercooked, and more particularly she’s made it from scratch. Even down to the slightly more golden than necessary beignets. And despite still being in the confines of a questionably splattered apron, her eyes are aglow and her smile bright as the promise of spring still three or so months in the making. She meets his gaze and her voice is soft as fog. “Joyeux Noël, Remy.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

What is your muse’s opinion on gossip? Do they ever gossip, encourage it, discourage it?

A Little Bit Of This and That || Accepting "Oh, no, I'd nevah." She doesn't know why the man's opinion of her should be so important to her beyond the obvious, but it is. He's the only friend she's made in her new life and were he to abandon her due to a defect of character, she wasn't likely to survive very well. Beth absolutely believes in death by loneliness as much as she believes that honesty is the only way to live. Which means she's providing context to her possibly too quick an answer. "Firs' of all... I don' hear people really good. Mos' of da time if I no can see deir mout' or deir eyes, den I... well. You say 'Wan some coffee?' an' I might heah you say 'bring him loam fossils'. Makes collectin' information an' sharin' it like some weird game of telephone. "Second, people tend t' make fun of me when I talk bird, because it's easier and familiar to me. I'm sure where an' how you grew up, ya undahstan'. Our pigin is nevah much different dan ya creole or cajun. In fact, in academic circle, dat's wha' dey call it, Hawai'ian Creole. But I been told no can speak, no can make conversation li'dat. "An' lastly..." Her gaze drops from his midnight-and-pomegranate eyes, down to his mouth, then down to their feet. Lastly, no one really cares what Beth has to say. She's not the most interesting person in the world, nothing she could want to say is earth-shattering in any way, and there've been people like her, people who have lived with that ugly M word banner over them far longer than she has. "It's kinda rude, an' I find it abhorrent."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats  {{xx}}

Scraped, scrimped, scrounged, and at least once, stolen. Not that she felt bad about that last bit, she’s known too many like him. All hot air and sweaty hands swiping at things he had no business pawing at, the kind that believes an excess of money makes him exempt from basic humanity. He never saw the quick little fingers that plucked several bills from his wallet. It had been more than enough to actually rent a questionable room in the poorest of the wards for several nights, or one really nice room in the heart of the quarter and maybe something to eat to go along with it. Not that she had ever been afraid of the cold or the damp. If anything, this is the type of weather that would find her standing along the levies or on a sea wall, arms outstretched and toes planted in the surf, embracing all that her mother sent her way. The problem is that it was dark, too. Not merely nightfall, soaked in neon and sodium or halogen glow ~the kind that drowns stars in its pollution~ but rather something so deeply aphotic that it gnawed on the last of her nerves. She’d hurried through the streets, everything she owned tucked into the sea bag she carried on her back, to the one place she knew was safe. Utterly without invitation though she has an excuse she couldn’t get past numb lips and a dried up throat. Remy has a soft spot for strays and what is she if not one of the most bedraggled of them? But when she arrives, save but for his actual feline companions, the apartment is empty. Mercifully she has an in-case-of-emergency key and she pulls it up and out of her shirt. His cats barely acknowledge her presence and why should they? She does not smell like him nor does she smell like delicacies from the outside world. She is little more than warm living furniture. She leaves her shoes at the door. Her bag is just inside his bedroom and she borrows several hangers to put things up on the shower rod to dry. This includes the things she’s wearing, as she’s soaked to the bone, which necessitates a regrettable thievery of one of his shirts. She takes the opportunity to shower, to brush her teeth, cleans up after herself every step of the way. Her circumstances can be atrocious but her manners are not. She never wants him to think she’s trying to take advantage of his chivalrous generosity. She starts a fire easily enough, he’d already had it prepared. All she had to do was send the tiniest of Pele’s blood through the kindling for it to catch. Keep an eye on it so it doesn't get away or bank too low. A silent sign of someone being in the apartment so as not to catch him by surprise though she doesn’t think that happens as often as he pretends it does. That is, if he comes home. He isn’t always around and his absences oscillate from hours to days. She is only cognizant that she’d half-dozed off when she hears movement, and she hides herself away into the bedroom until she’s certain who it is. After which she hesitates. Words are still elusive much to her own frustration. Still even as she waffles about how to present herself, she hears that sound he sometimes makes that is almost a purr of sound and knows he knows. It makes everything so much easier. She settles on him, unconcerned about the closeness, or in fact their lack of modesty. Everything important is covered ~barely~ and with the chill she can feel on his skin, the damp in his hair, it doesn’t seem to matter that much. His palm smoothes up across unobstructed skin and bone when he reaches out for her in turn. She doesn’t flinch away as she might have done for so many months after they’d met. Her skin knows his. She has drowned in the depths of his coal-and-blood eyes, beautiful like nothing she’s ever seen before. Oh but before she can melt into him, mould to his planes and curves, she feels something else. The ache of muscle and bone is as loud to her as the thunder that grumbles beyond the windows. If she were to look at Remy, really look, she’d see the road-map of injuries that scattered the battlefield of his body. She can’t help herself. Her gaze pours down from his eyes to his lips, following the shapes they make when he calls her his little bird. One hand rises up and lays two tiny, delicate finger tips against his mouth, the other hand flattens against his shoulder. It’s a trickle at first. Almost like the feeling of a sigh if she’d exhaled hard enough for it, but she hasn’t. Her eyes half-close as the feeling grows, a radiating warmth from somewhere inside her. It envelopes those pains and tenderly strangles them until they cease to exist.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats  {{XX}}

She blinks when his hand warms hers, holding her in place, tethering her at his side. Not the first time someone’s done that, not the last, but she doesn’t flinch any more. Not the way she did in the first days of their original meeting and further associations, looking like she was about to come out of her own skin at the slightest glancing brush or even certain sounds that were hard to pick up sometimes. Skittish might be the kindest word for it. For years now she could hear the whispers. At first she thought that she’d been so disobedient a child, so terrible a thing, that demons had found ways to torment her that even the Admiral could not, taunting her with their whispers and desires. But eventually she’d heard others; the lost, the confused, the angry, and the wretched. Just as she could hear the living and all their needs. She stood at the precipice of the Veil itself, a speaker for both sides, an advocate when needed. If she looked closely enough, she could see a stain on his psyche, where it spilled out in inky strands across his aura. Something dark, something she does not care to see. “You don’ heah dem? Pain an’ grief in some. Joy because dis was da happiest time in life for oddahs. An’ jus’ benea’t dat…somet’ing…hungers. Craves because it starves. An’ dat…I don’t wanna look too close at. It…it scares me.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

"Do ya always be 'pologizin' even if it ain' ya fault?" Remy lit a cigarette, a habit he was trying to kick but he wasn't sure the motivation to do so was really there anymore. Dark eyes cast back and shrugged, exhaling before he spoke as to not make his mouth more obscured. "Don't gotta tell me. 'N don't go 'pologizin' if'n ya don't wanna."

“...’M’ sorry.” It’s automatic. Regardless of how the question is posed it exposes a flaw in her character or at least in her demeanour, one she can’t really help. At least this time she doesn’t flinch away, closing herself off bodily as if to ward off a blow that’s never come. She doesn’t know how to tell Remy that it’s a coping mechanism. That it is a safety manoeuvre to keep herself safe even when there’s no immediate danger before her. It is also a symptom of experiencing unspeakable trauma growing up, one that’s led her to believe that she is the root cause of all the terrible things happening around her. She knows she’s a burden. She knows she makes mistakes. She knows so many things that never find their way out of her mouth to be free. Her gaze slides easily from his face down into her lap, where her fingers are knitted together. “I nevah mean f’ upset you.” She speaks so quietly that anyone else might not hear her at all. But she needs him to know she doesn’t mean whatever it is she’s done, which she’s clearly unsure of. These weeks of being under Remy’s wings have been the least turbulent that she’s experienced but there’s still a soft sort of desperation wrapped around her. If he chooses to part ways, she will be lost and alone again in an unfamiliar city. “Can I make i’ up t’ you some way?”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Fig: Something my muse sees as forbidden but still desires

Fruit Basket || Accepting

“Remy Lebeau,” she drawls...her own dialect suspiciously similar to his, and she flashes him a particular kind of look. “I am one of da las’ true innocentes in dis world. An’ I have no idea wha’ ya could possibly mean. But if ya wan be one bon homme, you might point me in da direction of dese....forbidden t’ings.”