#La La Land Machine AU

[lollytea]

(Part 4 of La La Land Machine exposition posts!! I know I've made way more than 4 but this is the part that's going in chronological order. Like I've talked about Hunter and hunlow in this au before but this is his formal introduction, like Willow got in part 1. I also got quite a lot more followers since I last rambled about this AU so linking the other parts if they wanna catch up. And if they want, they can look through the tag for all the additional info.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Anyway, I lied. We are only BEGINNING to talk about the hunlow slow burn. It's taken me long enough to set up Hunter and everything he's got going on. It sets up hunlow but they're not really close yet. But it won't even take that long to get the next post out because I am so excited to talk about them more)

Hunter Wittebane has lived his whole life wearing masks. He's been an actor before he developed object permanence. He was memorizing scripts by ear before he could fully read by himself.

Job after job, set after set, role after role. His environment is not only cutthroat competitive, but it's always in motion. Things never sit still. The biggest stability in his life was his Uncle Philip, whom Hunter loved intensely. Even if it felt like the only way he could express it was by bleeding.

But Hunter was only allowed to bleed in private. And if he wanted his Uncle to stroke his hair back and keep telling him he was special, he needed to prove it. He needed to be the second chance that he was born to be.

Hunter struggles to really understand who he is. Because he is seldom himself. If he's not playing a character, he's only known as the legacy of the Hollywood gem, Caleb Wittebane, Hunter's late father.

Hunter was quite sheltered as a child. Other than being out and about for business reasons, he didn't really get to experience much of the world. If he wasn't working, he was usually confined to his Uncle's house. Or hotel rooms. The only outings he goes on that are considered "personal" are to church.

He loves to read and he'll devour whatever book he gets his hands on. Unfortunately his options are limited to what his Uncle believes is appropriate. Philip views the world as a depraved and lecherous place, as are the people that inhabit it. If it weren't for this world and its poison, his brother would still be alive.

And then he wouldn't need to waste his time replicating his brother's likeness in some aimless weak willed child who can barely comprehend how important his performance is in all of this.

Philip refuses to allow outside forces to contaminate his nephew. If Caleb's soul is going to live on in the way it should have, they can't make a repeat of last time. Caleb's replacement has to remain on the right path, or his legacy goes up in flames.

The Bible is one of Hunter's top comfort reads. It's the only book that his Uncle seems pleased to know he's interested in. And he's pored over the pages so many times that the familiarity is soothing. It also puts the fear of God in him. As do Philip's frequent lessons. He's shaping up to be a very faithful little Christian.

Hunter also watches a lot of (Uncle approved) television. He's a tiny chatterbox but is pretty starved of socialization. If his Uncle isn't around, he's stuck with the family assistant Kiki, who usually ignores him. TV and books are mostly responsible for Hunter's expansive vocabulary.

As a shy but precocious little boy, his best friends are sweet, comforting preschool cartoon characters.

Even though Philip's life seemed to orbit around Hunter and he worked day and night for the sake of his nephew's success, a lot of the time he just....wasn't around. Sometimes Hunter went weeks without hearing from him and was left in the "care" of Kiki.

Hunter was always left wanting. On those lonely nights when Philip was away, he would beg Kiki to call him so Hunter could at least say goodnight. All for the sake of holding the phone tight against his ear and hearing his Uncle's soft spoken "Sleep well, Hunter," so his world felt a little less cold.

If Philip even answered.

But when Uncle was home, Hunter found himself with some very guilty feelings and ungrateful thoughts.

The details are not important. By that, I mean Hunter is quite uncomfortable recounting the things that used to happen in the Wittebane house when his Uncle was home.

He said them aloud once. At the age of sixteen, when his breathing was in sync with the girl he had fallen in love with and her fingers were tracing gentle paths down his bare back. He felt like he had melted into a world where he could say anything.

It didn't stop his voice from wavering nor his throat from threatening to close up. It was like he was having a full body rejection of the admission. These were secrets meant to remain locked up in his chest until his heart went still.

But he said them. And after that, they couldn't go back to being unsaid.

He didn't say them again for many years. It wasn't until he was a grown man. He wrote them down and he told the whole world.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

The point is that when Philip was away, Hunter got lonely and wanted his Uncle back. When Philip was home and focused all of his attention on his nephew, Hunter wanted nothing more than for him to be gone again. He knew that was an awful thing to want and the guilt ate him alive.

Did he not love his Uncle? Of course he did! He loved him more than anything.

That's why it hurt so much.

Sometimes, his Uncle was a comfort to Hunter's anxious heart. He held him in his arms and hushed him when Hunter had nightmares. He was safety.

And other times, he was the reason for those nightmares and Hunter didn't feel like he could be safe until that man was out of the house again.

Maybe, no matter what happened, he'd never be truly happy with any situation he was put in. Maybe the state of "being happy" just wasn't real, but a thing TV made up. There was just something inherently empty and scary about being alive.

At least that's the conclusion the small boy came to. This remained his mindset as he navigated the big loud upsetting world around him, which only got bigger and louder and more upsetting as Hunter got older and his career grew.

The most glaring problem Philip encountered grooming Hunter in Caleb's image was that there's a drastic difference between a man who achieved the most undiluted burst of stardom in his twenties and a toddler. Hunter can not immediately slide into the dignified shadow his father left behind, because he's too young for the kind of dramatic roles that Caleb had dazzled the world with.

There was nothing available to little Hunter that Philip felt lived up to the standards of Caleb in his prime. Which was understandable but disappointing. So, with a heavy exhale, which made Hunter worry the hem of this shirt ("Am I doing something wrong, Uncle?") Philip relented. Hunter would need a lengthy portfolio by the time he was older, so it was now time to start building this budding actor from the ground up.

Commercials, TV appearances, small film roles. Though it pained him to do so, Philip abandoned all the initial integrity he attached to his brother's legacy, and focused primarily on simply getting Hunter's face on a screen, any screen, whatever it took to get him entrenched in the industry.

Hunter was a lot more sensitive than other children. When he was very little, he had a bad tendency to get distressed over things like bright lights and unfamiliar places and weird textures. This led to a lot of on-set tantrums and he was deemed a difficult and entitled brat.

His "brattiness" never quite went away as he aged. But Philip did manage to curb those tendencies to be far less frequent. It involved brief private conversations in the nearest dressing room. When Hunter emerged, he was quieter and a lot more willing to co-operate with what the adults needed from him.

Hunter learned that misbehaving had consequences. He learned to swallow whatever obscure distress he was feeling and just do his job.

This didn't make his tantrums stop. They just shifted from regular occurances to big nasty explosions that build up over a period of weeks to months.

He eventually gave up trying to suppress them. It doesn't work. So, he just allows his emotions to burst out of him in the most humiliating public display a human being can put on, and then takes his punishment.

Uncle keeps telling him that people are going to think there's something wrong with him if he keeps doing this.

Hunter begs him to believe that there's not. There's not something wrong with him.

While it was happening, Philip would consider the 90s as a rocky beginning to his nephew's career. He didn't care much for any of the films or television series' Hunter appeared in, likely because he didn't care much for any production that included small children. So he was uninterested by default in any of the roles Hunter managed to book.

Regardless, this didn't make Philip any less demanding. Even if it was all tripe, and by God, he was very vocal about it all being tripe, he was still strict about Hunter's work ethic. The boy was expected to pour everything into his performance, and through there were very irritating child labor laws, Philip turned a blind eye to directors pushing the limits every now and again.

After long work days, Hunter would listen to his Uncle tear his current acting job to shreds. The stupid demeaning script that Caleb would be appalled at, but Hunter had no choice but to take, because he simply doesn't have the privilege to be picky.

Hunter felt a deep humiliation by his own career before he was even ten years of age. There was nothing that Philip held to Caleb standard, which left Hunter a paranoid wreck most of the time, fearing that he was always doing something wrong but never knowing how to fix it.

When he thinks back on being a little kid, he has a lot of memories of tearfully begging his Uncle to stop thinking of him a certain way or looking at him the way he does. He remembers his throat hurting. Things must have gotten loud.

An older Hunter would wince as he makes that connection. He remembers his throat hurting but not the consequences of raising his voice.

Every so often, a more prestigious opportunity presented itself to him (like the role of the protagonist's son in a film adaption of an American classic), and Hunter got so overwhelmed by the pressure of finally having something that could possibly hold a candle to Caleb Wittebane that he completely flubbed the audition and failed to book the role.

He knows that were dire consequences for not getting it. Although, once again, he doesn't remember the details of the punishment. But he remembers how tightly Uncle gripped his wrist as they walked out of the building. He remembers sitting perfectly still in the car, scared to make a sound by wriggling in his seat. Scared to breathe.

That was the 90s. That was Hunter's experience as a young child actor.

By the year 2000, he was ten and that's when Philip quietly realized something.

Hunter currently resembled Caleb Wittebane in miniature. He had his strong nose, his ashy hair, his dark eyes. Philip had always anticipated that there may be a bit of her in his nephew's appearance, but there wasn't a trace. It was beyond ideal.

This is when things should have gotten easier. This is when dignified job opportunities should have begun rolling in. This is when the world should have taken notice that Caleb Wittebane was not dead.

But this was not the case.

What Philip did not anticipate was that the industry had changed significantly since the 80s. It was the year 2000 and a young Caleb Wittebane was not what the industry wanted the future of film to look like.

He realized this in his study late one night as he obsessed over old video tapes. And once the truth had sunk in, he called Hunter into the room.

Hunter remembers wearing red pajamas patterned with beagle puppies. He has a memory of liking those pajamas a lot but can't recall the disappointment of growing out of them and throwing them away. It makes him suspect that at some point he just stopped wearing them.

On that night, a part of Philip gave up completely. He decided that this attempt of reviving his late brother's career was a failure before it had even started.

However, Philip was a deeply complex man. A remarkably stubborn man. So even when a part of him died, another part flared with life. It was the part of him that wanted to dig his heels in and say he wasn't done yet. Maybe they didn't want Caleb now, but this world was fickle. Who knows what they'd want in five years? In ten?

Hunter would continue making a name for himself, Philip would make sure of that.

Hunter would be something special if it damn near kills him.

And if he fails, Philip would kill the boy himself.

So, Hunter continues working diligently, attempting to find his footing in the rapidly changing environment. The early 2000s seem to be working overtime to distance itself from the 90s and it certainly takes some getting used to.

When Hunter is around eleven, he is told for the first time that he is not very nice to look at. According to various make up artists and hair stylists who he is left in the custody of when Kiki is god knows where, it's very easy to be cute as a small child. Baby fat n' all. But at a certain age, you start outgrowing it and that's when it becomes apparent whether you're going to be a handsome young man or not.

They gently break the news that there are not a lot of promising signs for Hunter. As one of the women, maybe in her late twenties, cups his face in her hands and tilts it towards the light (he really hates when strangers touch him), she sucks through her teeth and winces, as though she's trying to dig something out with her eyes but is coming up short. Nothing about his features reads as a future leading man. He can still have a steady acting career of course. But it's important he not get his hopes up too high. He's doesn't look like the typical Hollywood star.

Hunter argues with her. He riles himself up until his face flushes with rage. He looks just like his father, who was one of the most famous leading men of all time.

"Who's your Dad?" The woman asks.

Hunter frowns. He's never said the word "Dad" in his life. But the full name is familiar on his tongue when he answers the question.

"Oh, yeah," She says vaguely. "I think my parents used to watch his movies. I guess he was what they considered handsome in the 80s but..."

He doesn't like the way she trails off. He doesn't like all the new information being presented to him. He doesn't like her saying Caleb Wittebane wasn't handsome. In the world Hunter lives in, the man is picture perfect in every discernable way. He's never heard a bad word spoken of his father before, not even of the shallow variety. Uncle only lets him speak to people with nice things to say about Caleb. It's so jarring that it makes him feel nauseous. This isn't the way things are supposed to be.

And what's even worse, does looking like Caleb Wittebane not even matter?

Does this legacy he's supposed to carry on not matter?

That's always been one of his biggest fears, but he can not think about it for too long or the meltdown gets bad. But this new realization about his apparently mediocre looks catch him so off guard that he can't help it this time.

Hunter proceeds to hyperventilate in a supply closet for the next twenty minutes. He had never thought about what he looked like before. He had never really cared. He didn't know his appearance could hinder his career. He didn't know everything could fall apart just by having the face he does.

This is when a deep seated insecurity centered around his body image began spiraling out of control. It was also around the time that Hunter's dietary restrictions were being implemented, as were the intensity of his ballet lessons. This certainly did not help his already deteriorating self confidence.

From that point, Hunter is far more conscious of his own ambitions as an actor. He believes he is more than just a little boy who performs because it's what his Uncle tells him to do. He's a young man who wants to become a success like his father before him. He wants recognition. He wants acclaim. He wants...he wants....he wants something that he does not currently have.

As an adult, Hunter can only drag his fingers through his hair and sigh sympathetically at the thought of his young self believing that his determination to be a successful was ever for himself. It was for Uncle. It was for Caleb Wittebane. It was for everybody but himself. He was just a stupid kid who thought he wanted this because he knew nothing else.

The 2000s are a time when Hunter simultaneously starts slipping out of his iron confines, while getting reeled back tighter than ever. As he grows older, his curiosity becomes more and more insatiable and current pop culture is not as easy to shield him from. Especially when it's such a huge part of his life as an actor.

By the age of twelve, he's such a boring obedient self sufficient little robot that Kiki doesn't even bother monitoring him as severely as she once had. What's he gonna do, really?

And though Hunter is adamant that he never breaks his Uncle's rules, he finds himself shattering them to smithereens on a regular basis.

"I like authority. And rules," He says, ignoring the fact that there are piles of teen magazines tucked away under his mattress. Ignoring the hour of TV he sneaked in that Philip would have shattered the television screen over.

And no matter how many times Hunter wrinkles his nose in disapproval at how rowdy and frivolous today's youth are, he's still reading those trashy articles, desperate to find some connection. His small bubble of worldliness is beginning to grow.

It is slowly occuring to Hunter that he is much different than other kids. But that's a good thing....right? He's on a cleaner path than they are. None of them are being led by Philip Wittebane.

This is a good thing, he tells himself. This is a good thing, this is a good thing, this is a good thing--

However, Philip does crack down on an aspect of Hunter's autonomy that has been mostly ignored until now.

Though he tries not to think about it, as it gives him the most splitting headache, Philip must internally acknowledge those rumors from an age ago. The word of mouth telephone that crackled with the events of that one ridiculous party. Caleb Wittebane, age 17(!!!!) with his tongue down some filthy girl's throat.

The news hadn't been as scandalous as Philip viewed it as, and the world forgot about it remarkably fast. But he never forgot. And he never would. It was a pesky stain on the otherwise clean image that Philip was trying to preserve.

It hadn't been Caleb. It wasn't like him at all to behave in such an indecent way. It was her influence. It always was. Sometimes his blood boiled when he remembered how deeply interwoven she had become in his brother's life. How the child wouldn't even exist without her. It was vile. Eternally contaminating a narrative she had no business being a part of.

Obviously, he never told Hunter about all this. About the party. About the tongue. About the girl. He never mentioned the girl. She was a footnote at best.

Anyway, Hunter was almost thirteen. He was tumbling into adolescence. And no matter how singleminded and sensible he tried to act, there would be challenges to this physical and mental development. And Philip knew from personal experience that there was nothing more damaging to a clean Christian boy than fizzling teenage hormones.

There would not be a repeat of last time.

On Hunter's thirteenth birthday, his Uncle gifted him a chastity ring, like many of the other young people that attended their church.

Hunter was so floored by the gift he forgot how to speak. And when his Uncle put his hand on his shoulder and murmured "I know you won't let me down," Hunter had nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling so much older than he had been a moment before.

He now had a responsibility to refrain from things he hardly understood.

Philip felt this would be an effective precaution. It made Hunter feel important and Hunter loved to feel important.

All that concerned Philip was that the boy stick to his morals.

Keeping his stupid tongue in his stupid mouth was only the tip of the iceberg of what the rules of the chastity ring entailed, but Philip stressed the importance of it nonetheless.

And if the boy failed to do this one simple thing, Philip was going to gouge his eyes out.

A few months later, Hunter was hired to appear in an advertisement produced by his family's church. He, and several other actors in his age range, promoted the rings they wore to the children watching at home.

Hunter was very proud to be a part of it. He rarely got to do anything educational.

When Hunter was fourteen, he surprisingly booked a role as Sir William in some medieval fantasy film for swoony teen girls.

He rolled his eyes over it, but this was the point when Philip made it apparent to Hunter that swoony teen girls was a huge chunk of the target demographic of any actor his age so he best begin pandering. He was no Edric Blight (Hunter fucking hated Edric Blight) but he'd probably appeal to some.

The means of obtaining the role was not Hunter's talent alone, but it was because of a perfectionist director who wanted raw, emotionally gripping action scenes, and was disappointed that all the hazardous exploits in the script would require stunt doubles. No parent in their right mind would allow their child to be put in such dangerous conditions.

Enter Philip Wittebane and his nephew Hunter.

The film's shooting schedule had a rough history. And after a few months, production had to stop altogether when an on-set accident resulted in Hunter being sent to the hospital.

He remembers the hospital, specifically the very uncomfortable bed. He remembers rarely sleeping through the night unless he was drugged, as he kept waking up with panic attacks about all the money he was causing the studio to lose by not healing faster.

By the time the film released, Hunter was fifteen and already moving forward with his next project.

The Golden Guard was a TV adaption of a well loved comic book series that was currently in the development stages. Hunter has never read the comic (he's never read most comics, other than newspaper funny pages) but he's been informed that he is the spitting image of the titular character.

Initially he was skeptical. Who wants a famous superhero on their screen who looks like him? Certainly not current networks who have a very limited view of what leading men should look like, regardless of the comic it's being adapted from.

Apparently, a lot of negotiations have been taking place with the Golden Guard's creator, in order to obtain rights to the series. After months of arguing, they wore him down, as they always manage to wear creators down, and he agreed to hand over his baby.

The one condition that he managed to secure was that the boy cast for the screen resembled the boy on the page.

Hunter was fully aware that if it weren't for that old man's stubbornness, there was no way he would have been eligible for the role. He remembered seeing him appear once during a screen test and had wanted to thank him. The speech that fell out of him was flustered and clumsy, but it made the man smile.

"There are going to massacre the Golden Guard," He said with a bitter smile. "But I think you'll do well."

He never saw him again after that. And though Hunter did not have the frame of reference to have an opinion, the girl he would inevitably fall in love with happened to be a huge comic book nerd, being especially infatuated with the Golden Guard. And her opinions were strong.

"He was right, y'know," She would inform Hunter. "Your show is a steaming pile of shit." She would then kiss the tip of his nose. "But you're the best part of it."

Speaking of girls,

Hunter met Emira Blight a year prior when she and her twin brother also showed up for the chastity ring promotional ad. The two of them would have gotten fired for vandalizing the set and pranking the director if they weren't the most well known stars associated with the project.

Someone had tried to contact their mother to come get her children under control but she had failed to pick up the phone.

"Our precious little Mittens has an audition today," Emira explained, hands placed angelically behind her back.

"Until further notice, Mom has forgotten she has two other kids," Added Edric.

Emira smiled. "Like the next time she notices her stretch marks <33"

The two of them burst into giggles. They were left to be "disciplined" by members of the crew, who hadn't the faintest idea how to handle either of them.

Hunter had tried to avoid them while on set. He never had any personal encounters with them but he was well aware of their existence. They had been starring in twin centric comedies for the last decade or so, and were beloved talk show guests for being chatty, mischievous and overall "adorable."

Hunter found them obnoxious.

Edric more so than Emira. Especially lately, as the two were finally branching out into their own separate careers, rather than remaining a double act. Meaning Edric could be found sniffing around in the same auditions rooms as Hunter, going for the same roles.

Edric had a perfectly structured face, devoid of blemishes. He had the most photoshopped nose Hunter had ever seen, except he looked like that in real life apparently. He looked perfect and he was already a star to begin with. The roles were his the moment he stepped into the room.

But this wasn't about Edric. Edric was off somewhere else, performing the leading role in some teen musical movie that was going to become a worldwide phenomenon the moment it hit television screens.

This was about Emira, who had just been cast as Ruby Green, the Golden Guard's love interest.

Emira Blight was one of the most beautiful teenage girls in the entire world. Hunter knew this because he read it in a magazine once. More specifically, she placed 4th on the list, but that was still a pretty impressive accomplishment.

Hunter always had a difficult time deciphering the exact definition of beautiful. It was apparently a far different thing than what you would initially imagine.

From what he had gathered, it had nothing to do with being particularly interesting to look at, but having a nice and tidy face with all its features being a specific size and shape. He couldn't understand how one girl on that list could be in 8th place, while another could be in 3rd, as they all looked so startlingly similar.

That was what beautiful meant, he supposed.

There were definitely people that Hunter saw as beautiful in their own peculiar way. In the way that wasn't correct. Sometimes he saw them in movies from the 80s-90s. Sometimes he saw them in audition rooms, but they rarely booked the role.

Sometimes he even saw them on the street as the car drove past, people who made him sit up and want to look at them a little longer--

Girls. Girls on the street. Just girls. Only girls. It was only girls that he looked at on the street. It was only girls that he looked at ever.

Emira Blight had Edric's perfectly structured face, which made her beautiful in a celebrity kind of way, but also made Hunter want to look at her less. She had Rapunzel hair and a rail thin frame and, much to Hunter's dismay, she was taller than him.

The wardrobe department were given notes to add an extra few inches to the Golden Guard's boots.

"Little Prince indeed," The head stylist had murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Hunter to hear. An furious flush set his face aflame.

There were no screen test to determine Hunter and Emira's chemistry before the latter was cast, which resulted in hours of reshoots where they were chastised for the lack of romantic tension that they were putting into their performance.

To be perfectly honest, Hunter disliked Emira quite a bit and she disliked him too.

She carried her troublemaking tendencies from the promotional ad to the Golden Guard set, frequently wreaking havoc on the cast and crew.

Hunter had blown a gasket and berated her for it several times, but all she had done was smile her insufferable smile, roll her eyes and sing songingly tease him for being so uptight.

She made him mad. So uncomfortably mad. If he pulled the kind of stunts she pulled, without caring about the consequences, he would probably be dead by now.

Emira rarely got angry. Everything she did had this air of impish joy, but based on the way she spoke to Hunter, her opinion of him wasn't exactly glowing.

She called him arrogant, bossy, egotistical, to which he practically exploded in response. And then she made fun of how red in the face he got.

The only time Hunter ever saw Emira as anything less than her usual bombastic self was early in the morning, during hair and makeup.

"Are you washing your face, honey?"

"Yes," Answered Emira, looking smaller than ever in the makeup chair.

"Drinking plenty of water? Eating healthy? Staying away from junk food? Getting plenty of exercise?"

"Yes, yes, yes and yes," Emira's voice was quiet and automatic.

After a pause, she continued "It's not my fault."

The makeup artist hummed, unconvinced, which made Emira grip the seat so hard her fingers shook.

But the woman didn't push the matter any more and got to work on painting Emira's face into the porcelain masterpiece that made its way on to magazines.

Hunter watched in fascination as a few minutes of work with sponges and brushes wiped her skin clear of acne. And then she was what everyone around here would call beautiful once again.

When Emira noticed him looking, she said, in her usual playfully indifferent voice "I think Hunter's eyebags are getting worse."

"We know," The woman replied, exasperated.

The comment wasn't much, but it successfully corralled Hunter into his default mood. Not being enough. Any thoughts about Emira flew out the window, and he was back to fretting about his own inadequacy.

"And he's more sickly looking than usual," Emira decided to add.

"Well, maybe if he laid off the coffee. It's got him looking like a half-dead ghoul. No wonder it takes so long to make him look presentable."

It was a bad time for Hunter to be taking a sip of his takeaway cup. He frowned. "I've been awake since 4:30am."

"You should go to bed earlier then,"

"But I--"

"And kids shouldn't be drinking coffee at all."

"I'm not a kid!"

"Hush up. We've got work to do on this face and the last thing I need is to listen to you bitching again,"

Hunter glowered at her.

"You're gonna have wrinkles before you're 18 if you keep pouting like that."

He was so preoccupied with not throwing a temper tantrum that he didn't notice Emira leave the room.

The worst thing she ever did was while they were filming episode 3 and she had decided that Hunter's uptight behaviour deserved a humbling punishment. He didn't know how but she had somehow managed to break into his trailer and scavenged the place for something embarrassing.

This resulted in his stuffed frog Sprig being paraded around the set in Emira's arms as she declared the toy's owner to everyone who would listen in a high pitched trill. Everybody. She told everybody. Everybody knew about his toy. And now nobody was going to treat him seriously.

And when Hunter finally processed what was happening, all he had wanted to do was cry.

But he couldn't cry. Because fifteen year old boys don't cry. But he wanted to cry so badly that his usual screaming rage was nonexistent. He was just completely deflated.

He silently took the frog from Emira's possession and walked away. She had seemed confused, not understanding why he was not turning his funny red colour and yelling his head off.

She didn't bait him as much after that. She rarely spoke to him at all, outside of filming.

At one point she had randomly burst into his trailer, brandishing a magazine full of women in bikinis.

"For you!" She announced proudly. "A gift."

Hunter was a little slow on the uptake because a bikini magazine being within ten feet of his person was so incriminating that immediately thinking of the consequences nearly made him black out.

When he could speak again, he exploded "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?? GET THIS OUT OF HERE!!"

"No, no, listen," Emira insisted. "I know your Uncle is like. Super Christian--"

"So am I!"

"And I know you're never gonna get your hands on this stuff by yourself. So, I'm helping,"

"Why do you even have this?" Hunter demanded, disgusted.

Emira took more than half a second to answer. "It's Ed's."

As if anything on earth could have made Hunter want to touch the thing less.

"Why..." He began, lost. "Why would you ever think I would want this?"

Emira cocked her head at him, puzzled. "You're a boy."

"Get out."

At the time, Hunter had presumed this to be another means of humiliating him, because he had quickly written Emira off as inexplicably cruel. But in hindsight, she had probably just been trying, in her own emotionally stunted way, to apologize to him. She had known next to nothing about boys and she knew even less about herself, other than she was a thing boys were meant to be obsessed with.

They were both just stupid kids who couldn't communicate properly to save their lives, because they had never learned how.

As a child, Emira ranged from a mild bully to an indifferent co-star, to an acquaintance of Hunter's. As an adult, she was the close friend in his Instagram comments section who kept hitting on his wife.

She still never figured out boys, but she figured out herself.

But again, getting ahead of ourselves.

Despite being the only two teenagers on set, Hunter and Emira did not spend much time together unless they were working. Once she settled down and stopped causing problems, Emira spent a lot of her time across the studio to visit her little sister, who was filming some preteen comedy show.

Hexside it was called. Some some vapid sugary husk of a television production that had magic and witches, yet not an ounce of dignity. Hunter had become quite a ruthless critic when it came to TV and film, mostly because he had spent his whole life in the company of a man with sky high standards.

It also helped him feel better about his own work as an actor. The glass half full method. Maybe the Golden Guard was not going to be the most brilliant show of all time, but at least he wasn't working on Hexside.

He had caught glimpses of Emira's sister a few times around the studio, mostly because her hair had been dyed a bright garish teal, so she was impossible to miss.

There were other cast members scattered about, you could usually tell from the explosion of layers and clashing patterns they were dressed in. Chunky belts, brightly coloured converse, weird pointy hats, jangly jewelry. They were a visual overload.

On one occasion, Hunter was waiting in line at the canteen. He was feeling lightheaded again, like if he didn't eat something in the next hour he would probably pass out while shooting. The last time that happened, it was really embarrassing.

He was a little zoned out, so he didn't pay them much attention at first. But then the poofy tutu-like skirt and zebra print leggings caught his eye, if only for him to wonder how in the Lord's name these young actors ever signed up for this ridiculous show.

It was a girl and a boy and their conversation entailed some familiar words and names that Hunter hadn't heard said in months.

Ah. The movie. The swoony teen girl movie. That had just released in theaters, hadn't it?

That's when the girl brazenly stated "I wanna sink my teeth into Sir William," successfully knocking Hunter straight out of the realm of sensibility.

What. In the name of all that is holy. Is that supposed to mean???

And also.....he's Sir William.

"You want to BITE ME??" Hunter finds himself blurting out, completely flummoxed. Was that a threat of violence? Did she not like his performance? Did she find his voice annoying like those other film critics? He used to get a lot of death threats for that when he was younger but...

It didn't really sound like a death threat. It was was just....absurd. How was he supposed to take this?

The girl whipped around, flashing Hunter with a very bright pair of green eyes. They were blown wide in panic, and she looked at him like he was the one about to bite her.

(He wasn't about to bite her.)

The girl wasn't tall, but she was big. Broad shoulders and a thick chubby build. Her face was rounder than he usually saw in young actresses, and her nose was wide and flat.

All he could really think as he was digesting these all details at once was....she was interesting to look at.

Hunter watched as a fluorescent shade of pink burned across her lightly freckled cheeks and the girl scurried away, flanked by the younger boy, calling after her.

For some reason, Hunter turned around to watch her leave until she was completely out of sight.

He was left more confused than ever.

What did he do that deserved biting? He never found out.

(Well, he found out eventually but....)

He continued to see that girl around the studio sometimes, as well as the young boy that accompanied her, and Emira's little sister.

The bigger girl usually tried to hide whenever she saw him, though Hexside's flamboyant wardrobe department made that nearly impossible. Hunter presumed she was embarrassed by what she said, though he really wasn't all that offended. He had heard way worse. The thing that drew his attention to her was actually the lengths she would go to to make herself invisible. He watched her dive under a table once.

Hunter usually just stared, not remembering until an hour later that embarrassed people don't like being stared at.

Eventually, Hunter and Emira started spending occasional school hours with the Hexside cast's tutor, which resulted in them all being lumped in a room together.

Her name was Willow Park, he learned. And with a little exposure therapy, she stopped blushing every time he was within ten feet of her. Though they still never really talked, she seemed to become a little more comfortable with his existence.

She didn't look at him much though. Or anybody for that matter. She seemed to be very guarded and closed off whenever they were in the school room. Hunter had also noticed that the tutor had to spend more time with her than anyone else.

But Willow Park was not currently where Hunter's head was at the moment. He had other things to deal with.

The recent Golden Guard script had been delivered to Hunter and did not really like what it had to say.

Apparently several episodes of the romantic tension that Hunter and Emira were famously bad at was finally coming to fruition in this big grand dramatic kiss scene.

Hunter did not think about kissing much because it made him feel very weird and squirmy, but he was always well aware that if he was ever kissing a girl anytime soon, it would probably be circumstances like this.

His opinion on romance in general is that he wasn't quite sure if it was something that could really happen in real life or if it was just a concept made up for TV.

First kisses were considered a milestone in the shows and magazines Hunter had secretly devoured. Something sacred and significant. It can't be with just anyone.

Admittedly, it had Hunter second guessing himself a little bit. Is his first kiss important? Or is that just a bunch of silly TV fluff with no grounds in reality?

It doesn't matter if it's Emira, does it? He's read books where first kisses are supposed to feel like you've been electrocuted. But in a good way. He can't imagine being electrocuted in a good way.

He gets his answer on the day of shooting when the kiss is ordered of him.

He should be grateful that they've been directed to keep it chaste. They both wear rings after all, and this is a family show.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, because eyes are always shut when people kiss in movies. And his mouth pricks Emira's mouth. And that's it. That's his first kiss over and done with.

And when he opens his eyes, a little underwhelmed and vaguely wondering why everything feels the exact same, Emira looks disappointed too.

That's when he realizes that the significance of first kisses is all lights and cameras. It's made up for TV. None of it is real.

But what he can't understand in the moment is why he feels a bit sad. There's no reason to feel sad.

But it's an annoyingly heavy emotion that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

They do a million shoots. Or what feels like a million. Hunter kisses Emira what feels like a million times. He had gone from having never kissed before to having kissed far too many times in one day.

And not a single kiss felt like anything but the usual emptiness that Hunter was used to.

During shooting breaks, he thought a little too much about how everything was just going to be like this. Forever. All of his experiences. Scripted. Made up. Not real.

Nothing was ever going to be real.

He didn't usually think about things like that. But now he was finding it hard to think about anything else.

Hunter couldn't sleep that night. You would think he'd sleep soundly when he had to get up before the crack of dawn, but he continued to struggle. Too much caffeine, too much brain bees that never shut up.

Tonight it was that one single thought of an entirely artificial lifetime.

Hunter was never going to be real.

After hours of restless tossing and turning, he left his bed and went downstairs, his footsteps expertly navigating across the creaky floorboards. He would watch something terrible on TV and he'd get so distracted by hating it that he'd forget his own problems.

After pushing a button, the first thing that appeared on Hunter's screen was a familiar girl's rounder than average face and bright green eyes.

Apparently, the Hexside Pilot had premiered recently. Hunter scoffed, making himself comfortable and deliberately tuning into whatever brain rotting stuff he was about to experience.

Unsurprisingly, he hated it. It was terrible. Cheap jokes. Flimsy plots. An obnoxious laugh track. He had never seen a worse show in his life.

Nothing is real, I'm not real, I'm not real, Nothing is real, I'm not real....

The costumes looked just as ridiculous on screen as they did in the studio.

Nothing is real....

The sets were cheap.

I'm not real....

Hunter abruptly paused mid laugh track, and stared at Willow Park's interesting face for an additional moment.

He knew absolutely nothing about this girl. Absolutely nothing.

The character she played was borderline illiterate, and Hunter genuinely could not say how much of her he was seeing was a script and how much was her.

But she was very lookable.

Are you real?

#tw child abuse #a lot of it!!!!! #tw for....belos in general #how do i even tag this. he's really creepy and it delves into a few uncomfortable subjects #some very weird policing of teenage bodies. it is meant to be weird i promise you #tw religious trauma #THATS IT!!! that is certainly a thing that is happening #La La Land Machine AU

[alithetiredartist]

quick doodle for the new @lollytea au i am absolutely obsessed

#toh fanart #art #willow park #fanart #the owl house #hunter toh #i used a photo of young kevin jonas for hunters scarf i am so in my element #i love this au more than i love breathing #la la land machine au #my art

[hezuart]

Do you have a Mono playlist?

Well I already made a playlist for Mono & Seven. It was mostly meant for them in regards to my Channel Change AU..... but I added some things that are Mono centric, canon or not:

I explain the other half of the songs in the post linked above, but here's to the additions:

On Melancholy Hill (Gorillaz) - Looking at another dream. You can't get what you want, but you can have each other. Setting out to sea. Melancholic. Plastic trees resembling perhaps feeling as though its all fake.

Babylon (Dirt Poor Robins) - A tale of a man who builds the tallest tower with an impervious plan. Ascending and watching all the land. Bragging about his accomplishments, but running out of air. The tower is his tomb. Woe and gloom.

Part of the Madness (Rebecca Sugar) - Hearing laughter and screams echoing faintly in your mind. Reminiscence of normalcy. Relief, but questioning, in the face of being ordinary. Knowing there's chaos elsewhere while you stand and watch.

Run Boy Run (Woodkid) - Fleeing from a world not meant for you. People trying to catch you. One day you'll grow up, but for now you are young and must flee when you are powerless.

Falling Inside the Black (Skillet) - Dreaming of the way things used to be. Having a connection with someone. That someone leaving you in some way. Begging to not be alone. Falling into darkness.

Skyscraper (Demi Lovato) - Rainy skies. Silent endings. Nothing left of you. Torn apart. But standing back up with confidence and resolve. Untangling oneself from a mess of another person.

Mountains (Message to Bears) - Running away into the night, always could have. Maybe never could have.

Mad World Cover (Gary Jules, Michael Andrews) - Familiar faces and worn out places. Going nowhere. Drowning sorrow. No tomorrow. Going to school but they look right through you. Dreams in which you're dying are the best you've ever had. Running in circles like a time loop, a very very mad world.

The Lighthouse's Tale (Nickel Creek) - A tragic tale of a by-standing light house. It watched one of its keepers perish in a storm and the other took their life to join her. Empty and worn, unable to do anything but exist... surrounded by roiling waves and winds, it still stands. Warning sailors on their way. Forlorn. Unable to change fate. Standing as the winds remind of what has been and what can never be.

Gasoline (Halsey) - Been insane, been in pain. This isn't a dream. Part of the machine. Not human. Living on a screen. A face made up. Lighting matches. Pointing fingers. Voices in your head. Heart of gold, but hands are cold.

Viva La Vida (Coldplay) - Used to rule the world. Now you sweep the streets you used to own. One minute holding the key, but then the walls closed. When you left, honesty had perished. Just a puppet on a lonely string, never wanting to be king. Knowing salvation won't come for you.

What Could Have Been (Sting, Ray Chen) - A monster you created. Needing to kill a part of you still stuck on those that abandoning you. Once you had everything, now you have pieces. Wanting revenge. Dreaming of what could have been.

Still Kids (Virtual Riot, YOSIE) - Turning in circles. Losing one's head. Longing to be someone you can't be. Nothing left to lose. Running wild. Ticking clocks. Time moving onwards. An unknown world. Kids refusing to grow old or do what they're told.

Dust it Off (The Do) - Dreaming.  "An anthem of courage to take action and start fresh, even when the past may be filled with mistakes and sorrows." Burning papers into ashes. Find instructions within the bottle of amnesia for salvation or oblivion. Don't look back, since it has all happened before. One day a miracle will forgive every cowardly thing that you've done.

Bring Me Home (Jaron) - Being home. Beside someone important. Finally finding someone you've been looking for after all this time.

Don't Look Back (Kotomi, Ryan Elder) - You tried your best, but now you must rest. Following someone, even as a force pulls you down. Leaving shadows in the past. You'll never get back tomorrow. Wake from the dream. Kept in the dark, betrayed and left with marks. You are a force and won't be dragged down. You won't follow them any more. Let it all go.

King (Lauren Aquilina) - Forgetting what you have within your solitude. Losing your mind within the sound. Young blood set free. Method to the madness, illogic in the sadness. Put your faults to bed. Be rid of the monsters. Regain control. Reclaim your crown and be king again.

Sleepsong (Bastille) - Don't talk to strangers and the dangers they bring. Scared of being alone. Alone with your thoughts. The waking world slowly coming undone, as are you.

Nothing and Everything (Red) - Enemy, familiar friend, your beginning and your end. Broken truth, whispering lies. Wanting the pain to end. A war coursing within your veins. It's breaking you.

Iridescent (Linkin Park) - Standing in the wake of devastation. Waiting on the edge of the unknown. Impossibly alone. Cold and lost. Failure is all you've known. No one there to catch you. Remember all the sadness and frustration. Let it go.

Dust in the Wind (Kansas) - Dreams passing. Same old repeating song. A drop of water in an endless sea. Nothing lasts forever. Disappear with the wind.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World (Lorde)- No turning back from your choices. Even when you sleep they'll find you. Turn your back on mother nature. Everyone wants to rule the world. Your own design, your own remorse. Nothing ever lasts forever. Make the most of freedom. A room where the light won't find you. Holding hands while the walls tumble down. They'll be beside you. So glad you almost made it.

Blood // Water (grandson) - Sacrifices, corrupt systems, the price of greed, poisoned.

Ilomilo (Billie Eilish) - Lying to appease one's worry. Disappearing. Not wanting to be lonely. Can't lose another life. A blurry world, but maybe you're losing sight. Burying friends. If they die, it's not by mistake. Tried not to upset them. Just wanting to protect them, but you'll never get to.

American Dream (Mia Vaile) - Prospect of the rich and famous while others are slowly dying. One less day one less dollar. Where do we go from here? Why don't we all just disappear? Dreams are taller than they should be. Wanting a dream that is now a spoon fed lie.

Bernadette (IAMX) - Two in a playhouse. Memories bring no joy or peace. Alone and all we need. Nowhere to run. Fortunes won by those with power. Tuning out the poison of the world. Family and friends becoming ghosts. Someone being liberty, a key, love and regret and changed history.

Bones (Imagine Dragons) - Living thousands of lives. Never gonna get out alive. Staring at one's reflection. Patience waning. Is this entertaining? Losing control. Magic in your bones. Playing with dynamite. No gray in black and white. Seeing the vultures circling. Burning in flames. Tossing and turning when you sleep. Turning pages of your life inside the mirror of your mind. Walking the same path over and over. Leaving behind those who don't care. Picking up the pieces of yourself.

Cradles (Sub Urban) - Living in your own world of make-believe. Kids screaming profanities. Fire is spreading around the room, but you love it all as you lie to yourself, refusing to see reality and keeping your eyes closed. Tasting content. Hear children sing until the wick burns out. Your body grows skinny... your body no longer feels like your own. Tripping on daydreams. Repeating dirty lullabies. Rotting.

Innocence feat. Aquilo (Madeon) - Focused breathing. Forgiveness. No longer being a victim. Letting go. All that ever was and is, is nearly coming true. All you ever see and hear will all come crashing through. When you see that you're needed, you fall in the hands of innocence.

I Just Wanna Run (The Downtown Fiction) - Wanting to run, wanting to hide. Don't want to get caught or found out. Repeating your words. Sick of losing sleep over someone. Predicting one's move. Knowing someone better than they know themselves. Cheated and abused. Throw it away.

Every Day is Exactly the Same (Nine Inch Nails) - Repeating futures. Dreaming of once having a purpose. Used to have a voice, now you make no sound. No love here, no pain here. Their eyes are watching. You may lose yourself again. You don't remember how it started, but you know how it will end. You're still there, within. A little bit of you bleeding through. You wish things could have been different. But you don't know what else could have been done.

Adventure of a Lifetime (Coldplay) - We are legends. Turn your magic on. Under the pressure and weight, we are diamonds. They make you feel like you're alive again. In a dream that died by day. Holding up half the sky and proclaiming only you own you. One life left, one last adventure. Wanting to share it with them.

Legends Never Die (Against the Current) - The world is screaming your name. Legends never die, they become a part of you. Running into smoke when the fire is fierce. You bleed to reach greatness. Relentless you survive. Written in eternity, but you'll never see the price.

The Catalyst (Linkin Park) - Broken people living under loaded guns. Can't be outdone, outmatched, outrun. Memories in cold decay, transmissions echoing away. Far from the world of you and I, where oceans bleed into the sky. Lift you up and let you go.

New Divide (Linkin Park)- Black skies and lighting in your memory. Time began to blur. Fate had finally found you. Their voice was all you heard. Did you get what you deserved? Wash the memory clean. Distance in their eyes. Fill the hole, connect the space, find the truth, across the new divide. Abandoned memories, no where to hide, ashes falling like snow. The ground caved in between where we were standing. Within regrets, goodbyes, and lies was a mistake too great to hide. They said you got what you deserved. ~~~

#little nightmares #mono #seven #LN mono #LN seven #not exactly seven centric songs but #some fit others dont #ill have to look for some for him to add to this too #ask #text post #playlist #spotify #spotify playlist

[buzzybee3]

I need help-

I have two au’s in my head atm and can’t decide which one too start on, kinda leaning towards greenhouse cause it’s like based on true event ft me. But I wanna see what some people think

Au 1: Experiment Au

Ships:

Y/n x sun/moon

(Married to Stephanie ofc poly) Matpat x Dj music man

(Dating Amy ofc it’s poly) Markiplier x Glamrock Freddy

Y/n parents:

Human: (tbd these are just filler names if anyone has suggestions) Sandra and Martin (younger siblings Reily and Alya)

Animatronics: Bonnie and Freddy

Y/n age: 17 when kidnapped, 19 during main story

Y/n Story: on family trip to the Pizzaplex with family, they are just leaving the area and she goes to the bathroom at a gas station across the street. Vanny happens to be around and kidnaps them on their way out. They wake up 3 months later in a laboratory, before being put back under again

Y\n behavior: Sassy, loves kids, nice, has an attitude when needed, calmer later on but still very jumpy, forgetful (thank god for tech), likes listening to music while in the daycare.

Y/n appearance: nothing specific, but for self insert, long hair, freckles

Y/n likes: Chicken nuggets, gets along with Vanessa, like both sunlight and dark places, stickers, rock en Español(specifically la flaca, lives playing it and one day sun hears it and it goes as one would expect),

Y/n dislikes: fazbear management, rowdy kids(nothing they can’t handle), sudden changes in light, cherry flavoring,

Names for Venus- Sun: Morning Star, sunshine, sunspot, Moon: Evening Star, moonlight, starlight, star,

Au 2: Greenhouse AU”

Timeframe: post ruin

Ships: Y/n x sun/moon

Y/n parents: tbd but not mentioned. Godparents are, they are important to story(tbd if you guys have any name ideas shoot): aunt/godmother: Yelina uncle/godfather: Rafael godsiblings/cousins: Ulices and Maddy

Y/n age: 23

Y/n story: they always wanted a greenhouse, grew plants all the time. Their godparents had land in Arizona, and they had surrounding land that hadn’t been bought yet. Y/n decided to buy it once they were older, and they have the land now, 3 acres, plus the two acres from her godparents that she used to build her house on.In her house she had a ton of plants, it is somewhat small but cosy, she has a giant garage for robotics and stuff since she had always wanted to work with that, and they make small little guys similar to helpy. Once they begin construction on their land they start looking for workers, there was going to be the main greenhouse area which they would tend to, a restaurant in the center, a small daycare for kids of adults who wanted to go to relax, and a small cafe, all inside the giant greenhouse. They start looking when someone catches their attention, they went out on a ride with their cousins on ATV’s and found robot parts by the mountains, that seemed to be mostly intact, they looked like the sun almost, and considering every time y/n found machine parts they would take them, they decided this time would be no different, they place the animatronic in their lap and continue their ride as per usual, and going fast over the bumpy parts of the dirt makeshift road because that is always fun. Once they make it back to the land, they show their find to their godparents, who are thrilled! And their cousins are excited too. They take them to their garage with the help of their godfamily and get to work on fixing up some damaged wires and cables, and also cleaning up the shell and endo skeleton. The animatronic seems yellow, like the sun, it reminds them of something but they can’t place it. Then they turn it on and shenanigans ensue.

Y/n behavior: Nice, assertive, loves doing fun or dangerous stuff(ridding atv’s at 60 mph on dirt paths on the mountain) but also loves arts and crafts, is good with kids but never wanted them, which is why the greenhouse has a daycare, like to joke around a lot, and hanging out with their cousins even if they make fun of them sometimes, they have a ton of hobbies like sewing, crocheting, 3d printing, drawing, building crafts out of cardboard, 3d modeling, and building with legos.

Y/n appearance: is often seen wearing gardening clothes, a sun hat, or mechanic clothes and a bandana(that they made by crocheting it)

Y/n likes: doing crafts, dangerous things like riding the atv’s, having fun, relaxing, robots, sun/moon, learning about psychology, always 3d printing stuff, playing Mexican music over the greenhouse speakers(like la flaca) especially in the restaurant,

Y/n dislikes: karens, people destroying their plants in the greenhouse.

Y/n nicknames: Cabron(a), Sunshine, sunspot, moonlight, star,

Silly moments and memories: y/n is sitting with her grandma by a fire pit with their family, she notices she is eating peanuts, they ask if they could have any, and grandma pulls an endless well of peanuts out of her pocket, with some candy, surprise lol. The whole family just looks in shock at grandma, like how tf???

They had a piñata one day to celebrate Christmas and a hook was sticking out, so y/n gets a small gash on their hand (horizontal from the base of their thumb to the other side of the hand(no this is not very specific wdym)) while blindfolded and going at it on the piñata. (Yea y/n is sorta Hispanic I’m sorry but it’s so fun to write that stuff)

So what do you guys think?

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #sundrop #sun fnaf #moondrop #moon fnaf #like giving y/n a personality #moon x y/n #sun x reader #moon x reader #sun x y/n #fnaf daycare attendant #dca au #fnaf dca #dca x reader

[shortsighted-owl]

Opening lines and Temptation Tuesday

Happy post 6x17 day! Hope everyone (especially my fellow international 911 fans) have been able to pretend to look productive at work today, and get some good sleep tonight - Tagged by these absolute Powerhouses: @911onabc @buddiearemydads @ebdaydreamer @jobairdxx @rogerzsteven @usercowboy @alyxmastershipper @swiftiediaz @rewritetheending @comaboybuck 

OPENING LINES

Post your favourite first sentence(s) of a fic you wrote. It can be something you posted, something you've been teasing, or even something stuck in wip hell!

From the Pushing Daisies AU WIP:

The facts were these, Evan Buckley - who would in the future go by the name Buck - was 14 years, 3 months, 1 week, and 5 days old and watching from the porch as his sister looked back in the jeep's rear view mirror at him for the last time.

After, alone in the dark solitude of Maddie’s small wardrobe, Evan let himself sob, breath stuttering in his throat. There would be no more reassuring presence beside him, their United front left shattered and states away. No curtain of hair to hide his blotchy face in when his frustration and loneliness ate away at him. No gentle hand to bandage his wounds when he just wanted to be seen, no softly spoken words to cling to when he needed love.

-

Temptation Tuesday

SO I’ve been listneing to ‘Dog days are over’ by Florence and the Machine, and ‘Hopeless Wanderer’ by Mumford and Sons all day and all I can see is Buck on horse back, galloping from miles, whooping and hollering and shouting and crying - letting out emotions as the wind whips round him and hoofbeats thunder - paralleling a young Evan sobbing as he rode his bike away from his parents, from an angry red-rim eyed Evan flying down a road on his motorbike.

Maybe he took Eddie and Chris on a hack using horses from the equestrian centre, and Eddie is watching from afar as Buck sees the open land, that horizon line and he just needs to run, to gallop, and feel everything.

Just the parallels of Buck on fast modes of transport in times where his emotions really get to him, really gets to me and makes me weepy.

Tagging: @hippolotamus @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @mellaithwen @homerforsure @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @monsterrae1 @bigfootsmom @chaosandwolves @loveyourownsmiilee @leewithme @homerforsure @like-the-rest-of-la @thekristen999 @the-likesofus @mumucow @indigo2831 (Sorry if you’ve all already done these)

#temptation tuesday #opening lines #911 on fox #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #owl writes #owl wips #owl hoots #tag game

[resowrites]

A Bird In The Hand - oneshot (request).

Summary: Henry’s girlfriend reaches breaking point when he informs her he has to go away yet again…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!OC

Warnings: angst, fluff, relationship difficulties/argument, language, pet names, nondescript OC body type/appearance, lightly proofread.

WC: 1548

A/N: My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

A Bird In The Hand - oneshot.

"So? Did you miss me then or not?" Henry smirked as she emptied his suitcase, deciding what needed to be either cleaned or packed away.

"Not." She refused to meet his eyes but he could see she was smiling.

"Yes you did, don't bloody fib."

"Nope, not even remotely." She zipped up the suitcase and went to slide it under the bed.

"Er, leave that out actually… I'll need it again in another week." Henry looked at her sheepishly, not wanting to have to drop that particular bomb so soon after he got back.

"What? Why?" He looked towards his feet, the disappointment in her eyes a bit too tough to bear.

"Look I'm really sorry. It isn't what I want either, but my agent in LA wants me to meet with a director next week… she thinks I've got a good chance of landing a lead role." Henry trailed off once he realised an invisible wall had gone up between them. She bit her lip slightly and then nodded her head, backing out of the room so she could finish sorting out. He chased after her. "Darling wait a minute, I can see you're upset, so let's talk about it." She spun around to face him once they both reached the bottom of the stairs.

"What's there to talk about Henry? You want to go to LA, so you're going to LA." His eyes narrowed as she walked toward the kitchen.

"Now wait a minute, I have to go darling… he wants to meet me in person. Otherwise, I may not get the role." Henry placed his hands on his hips, watching her ram a load of his clothes straight into the washing machine.

"I said I understand, I’m pleased for you darling. Now, what do you want for dinner? I was going to make lasagna but I'll make something else if you'd like?" He rubbed his forehead, keen not to make the situation any worse but at the same time, desperately wanting to fix it.

"Do you really understand though? Look, I've had some success but I have to go after the bigger and better projects… they don't just land in my lap. But that doesn't mean I don't love you or appreciate what we have any less. I always ask you to come with me but you usually opt to stay here. So what else am I meant to do?" She stared at Henry for several moments but ultimately decided not to respond. Instead, she started fetching the ingredients from out of the fridge.

"Dinner will be ready in about an hour if you want to go take a shower." He sighed and stepped up to the counter, gently taking the stuff from her hands.

"Darling we need to talk about this. What good is it pretending everything's okay when it's not?"

"Henry for the last fucking time, I don't have an issue with you leaving next week!" Henry crossed his arms, his own frustration now bubbling up.

"See? I want to try and fix this but you just snap at me. Let's be honest, shall we? You like playing the martyr, you don't even need to work as hard as you do. I have enough money for you to be able to step back a bit and spend more time with me, but no, you choose to stay here. It isn't me who's causing this situation - it's you." She wanted to scream. Instead, she calmly removed herself from the kitchen and raced upstairs, refusing to let him see the tears now blurring her vision. She slammed the bathroom door behind her, locking it so quickly that she almost caught her finger in it. But he didn't come after her, all she could hear was the front door slam and eventually the car backing out of the driveway. She fought back her tears, refusing to break down. Instead, she quickly undressed and hopped into the bath. The coldness of the enamel jolted her body and finally caused her to sob uncontrollably.

Henry returned about half an hour later though he didn't come up to try and find her straight away. She was still laying in the empty bath, her head aching and mind muddied by the whole situation. She didn't even hear him climbing up the stairs or knocking gently on the bathroom door. "Darling, are you alright? I'm sorry, okay? Come out and join me downstairs, I got us a takeaway." When she made no reply he started getting worried. "Darling just open this door so I can see you're alright? Then I'll leave you alone if that's what you want." She wanted to go to him, to talk and to try and make everything alright. She just didn't have the energy.

"I-I'm fine. Just leave me please." Her shaky voice frightened him and he began to wonder if they might not be able to get past what he'd said.

"Okay darling, I'll be up to check on you in a little while. Please try to come down for something to eat. Or I'll bring it upstairs if you prefer?" Again, she couldn't answer him. Henry sighed and leaned his head against the door.

After he'd finished eating alone he trudged back upstairs, hoping she'd either want something to eat or be curled up, fast asleep. Instead, he found her tucking her pillows under her arm while she searched for a blanket. "What are you doing darling? Come on, get to bed, we've both had a long day." She tried to get past him but was too tired to resist when he clasped her by the shoulders. "I'm not going another night without you sleeping next to me." She sighed and slumped onto the bed, her eyes closed even before her head hit the pillow. He stripped and took a quick shower, returning to find her almost asleep. He climbed into bed, gently pulling her towards him until his body was cupping her bottom and lower back. "Good girl…" He whispered as he kissed the still damp hair on the side of her head.

Henry was up before her the next morning and decided to cook a full breakfast. He didn't realise she was already sitting downstairs, scrolling through her phone, as he crossed the living room holding a large tray of food. "Ah, there she is. Good morning gorgeous girl. I was going to bring you up some breakfast. Here we are, we can eat together now." She mumbled back a good morning as he lowered the tray onto the coffee table and began pouring her some orange juice. "Do you want tea as well? Or coffee?" She chucked her phone aside and grabbed a slice of toast while she thumbed the tv remote.

"No thanks," He sighed. "What?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

"It's nothing darling, I just hoped that now things have calmed down a bit, we might be able to talk." She sighed, putting the toast back down and chugging back the orange juice instead.

"There's nothing to talk about." But Henry persisted.

"Yes, there is. Look, my trips away are as hard on me as they are on you. But I need to find a better balance because it's clear you don't think I prioritise you enough." She quickly cut in.

"Don't put words in my mouth Henry. I respect how important your job is to you and I've never expected or asked for more than what you do already." He looked down sadly.

"But you should expect more. It's normal to need me, to want me around more. All relationships take work and ones like ours even more so, but we can we do it, I know we can." She bit her lip, clearly choosing her next words carefully.

"Look, I chose this life and accept it because I love you. But I'm not sure I can sacrifice any more of myself..." Henry swallowed hard.

"Oh darling, I know you're scared and believe me… I am too. But I've promised to do more. I can't get out of going to LA next week and I understand if you can't come along this time. But will you come with me on the press tour? I've already told my agent I'll only be doing two weeks instead of four. If not, then how about I take you away for the two weeks after that? Sometimes we're just going to have to meet each other halfway." She sighed again, realising that given their different desires and personalities, this was the only way of making what they had work long term.

“Would it be okay if went away in this country though? You know how I hate getting on a plane.” He grinned broadly, by the time summer rolled around, he’d have no desire to step onto yet another plane either.

“Of course! What were you thinking? Peak district? What about Jersey? There’s still plenty I haven’t shown you there—” she leaned in and gave Henry a long kiss, wiping the bread crumbs out of his beard as she pulled back.

“I’ll leave it to your good judgement darling, just so long as we’ll be together… no camping though.” He chuckled and drew her in for another kiss.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@greensleeves888 @marytudorbrandon @identity2212 @ignis-writes @inlovewithhisblueeyes @itsafansworld07 @pinkhippo44 @luclittlepond @ignis-writes @f1-hoff @kebabgirl67

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine

[eiffel21]

Tomber, encore

Dans un tourbillon glacial, elle avance coûte que coûte. Le chemin glissant rend sa marche malaisée et pourtant elle avance. Ce qui peut l’arrêter ? A peu près rien ni personne. C’est un combat qu’elle a décidé de mener, contre les éléments et le monde entier. Une détermination sans faille dans un corps d’un mètre cinquante, surplombée d’une tignasse rousse et épaisse qui, dans un timide rayon de soleil, illumine brièvement la lande. Elle essuie d’un geste machinal les larmes sur ses joues, au milieu de taches de rousseur. Point de tristesse pour autant, juste le vent et le froid qui ne l’épargnent pas.

Pas après pas, les heures se succèdent, la nuit s’avance. Aucune lueur, aucun village aux alentours. Il faudrait être fou pour s’aventurer dehors par ce temps, dans le brouillard, sur la côte escarpée qui plus est. Mais l’instinct de la rouquine la conduit vers une cabane perdue et délabrée qui, comme elle, a résisté jusque-là aux assauts du vent. Avec une gratitude intérieure, elle jette rapidement une peau de chèvre sur son dos et s’endort aussitôt. Dehors, la tempête de neige approche.

Au petit matin, sur la lande blanchie par les bourrasques de lourds flocons de la nuit, pas un bruit ni aucune âme qui vive. La cabane a rendu son dernier souffle. Elle s’est allongée mollement sur les rêves de vengeance de la jeune femme et sur son corps transi de froid. Avec pour seul témoin, la neige qui continue de tomber, encore.       

#30jourspourécrire #eiffel21 #jour7 #Gainsbourginspired #Marilous'endortsouslaneige #etBashungaussi #fantaisiemilitaire

[sarahaubel]

Star Ac' et pipes à crack.

Je ne vais pas mourir aujourd’hui. Je le sais car j’ai demandé au pendule que Clotilde m’a offert samedi dernier. Par contre le con il a pas sû me donner la date de mon rendez-vous avec la Fin. Vraiment ça sert à rien ce machin. En revanche ce que je sais c’est qu’hier soir j’ai senti sous mes doigts une petite bille dans mon sein gauche, ou c’est le droit. Gauche par rapport à qui. Ça y est je m’embrouille. Bref, un truc qui n’a rien à faire là où je l’ai trouvé. Parce que les billes normalement on joue avec dans la cour quand on a 8 ans, on est pas censés les ranger dans ses nichons quand on en a 35. Enfin en 1972 je veux dire, les billes, parce qu’aujourd’hui j’imagine plutôt les pré-ados jouer aux mikados avec des pipes à crack. Fissa j’ai pris rendez-vous avec Docteur Quin. A une lettre près je consultais une star de sitcom c’est dommage. La mienne a 67 chats, mesure 1m90 au bas mot et fume des clopes dans son cabinet entre deux patients. Je l’aime beaucoup. En attendant le verdict et comme je suis une personne mesurée ce matin je me suis mis en tête de choisir la musique de mes funérailles. On prévoit jamais de mourir à 35 ans mais en même temps mon pote Guillaume il avait pas prévu de mourir à 17 et ses parents lui ont passé l’hymne de la Star Ac’ à l’église. Damn. Mon père adore Zaz. Soyons pragmatiques. Organisons-nous. Que vous dire d’autre avant la fin… J’aime pas les orchidées. Les compo d’interflora me filent de l’urticaire. Je veux être incinérée dans un cercueil low-cost. Gaspillez plutôt votre argent dans une bouteille d’Hennessy XO que vous boirez au goulot à ma santé. Je souhaite que mes cendres soient jetées dans l’océan, celui des Landes de préférence. Mais pas sur la plage de mon camping naturiste favori. Bien qu’imaginer tous mes proches à poil lors de mon dernier envol me fait quand même marrer. M’enfin bonjour les souvenirs pour plus tard lorsqu'ils se feront griller la saucisse au soleil en plein mois d’août, obligés de penser à leur pote morte qui leur flingue un peu le paradis (pas celui d’en haut avec les vierges tout ça, celui d’en bas où les gens sont tous nus sous les pins). Si la casse-bonbon du crématorium, la fille avec les cheveux derrière les oreilles et le tailleur prune de chez Cache-cache vous dit “non mais c’est interdit maintenant les urnes doivent rejoindre une concession gniagnia mesures sanitaires gniagnia un protocole gniagnia”, flanquez lui votre genoux entre les jambes et partez en courant (sans oublier l’urne ce serait idiot). Je serais pas contre une dernière course poursuite en Fiat Punto. L’idée d’être enfermée dans un vase, ça m'angoisse. Au pire renversez-le sans faire exprès “oups pardon quelle maladroite”. Je préfère finir dans un caniveau que dans un tiroir. Et pour terminer si vous pouvez glisser une invitation à Josh Hartnett n’hésitez surtout pas.

PS : Les meufs, on le dira jamais assez, palpez-vous les miches, pétrissez vos tétés, examinez vos loches. Il n’y aura probablement rien mais un jour vous pourrez tomber sur une petite nouvelle, qui elle-même ne sera probablement rien. Dans le doute. Les crabes se cachent parfois derrière les billes.

Ma playlist pour le jour J :

I will survive - Gloria Gaynor

Respire encore - Clara Luciani

Santé - Stromae

J’ai oublié de vivre - Johnny Hallyday

Le Grand Sommeil - Etienne Daho

Breathe - Sean Paul

I Feel better - Hot Chip

Gravé dans la roche - Sniper

Plus près des étoiles - Gold

Je reviendrai - Dick Rivers

Les adieux d’un sex-symbol - Starmania

Cache ta joie - Claudia Phillips

Taking me back - Jack White

Mourir sur scène - Dalida

L’adresse de Josh Hartnett :

Josh Hartnett Entertainment 360 10100 Santa Monica Blvd Suite 2300 Los Angeles, CA 90067 États-Unis

#sarah aubel #texte #sean paul #josh hartnett #saucisse #Dr Quinn

[swedesinstockholm]

29 novembre

j'ai marché une heure et demie dans le noir ce soir et au milieu des chansons reliées à r. d'une manière ou d'une autre y avait split de rebeka warrior dans laquelle elle dit ex hétéro et cetera take me by the hand one way to dyke land. rebeka w. est toujours ma poète et ma chanteuse préférée du monde double numéro un de mon spotify wrapped avec mansfield tya et sexy sushi, ils m'ont mis un graphique pour me montrer l'évolution de mon écoute de mansfield tya au cours de l'année et ça baisse drastiquement au cours du mois de juin, lorsque r. m'a détournée du one way to dyke land.

je suis passée devant la maison de max m. de l'école primaire, j'ai regardé sur la boite aux lettres pour voir si ses parents habitaient toujours là, ils ont une grande bibliothèque en bois style années 90 dans leur salon et des photophores en forme d'étoile posés sur le rebord de la fenêtre. je me suis demandé si max était marié et s'il vivait dans une jolie maison avec sa propre famille, et puis je me suis imaginé qu'il vivait toujours chez ses parents et qu'il dormait dans sa chambre d'enfance comme moi et quand je m'imagine quelqu'un d'autre que moi dans ma situation ça me la rend toujours beaucoup plus irréelle, complètement irréelle. ça la met en perspective. je me vois et ça m'horrifie. max était amoureux de moi quand on avait six ans. je me demande si c'était la première et la dernière fois que quelqu'un a été amoureux de moi.

30 novembre

j'allais bien depuis une semaine et il a suffi d'une minuscule poussière pour enrayer la machine et faire revenir le trou dans le ventre, la poussière étant un vague soupçon qui s'est transformé en certitude totalement infondée que r. sort avec p. je suis restée plantée devant le four chaud en regardant dans le vide et quand maman m'a demandé ce que je voulais faire cuire j'ai dit ma tête. pour cramer mon cerveau débile. cramer tout. j'en veux un nouveau. j'en peux plus d'être comme ça. ce matin je chantais hey there delulu en vidant le lave vaisselle et ce soir ma paranoïa m'a coupé net toute envie de vivre, j'avais même plus envie d'aller à paris dans deux semaines, si r. sort avec p. le monde s'écroule et plus rien n'a d'intérêt. j'ai une gélule coincée dans la gorge depuis tout à l'heure et si je meurs étouffée pendant la nuit, tant mieux. TANT MIEUX. je voulais envoyer un texte à et caetera pour la soirée au pantin de mercredi prochain, pour être sur place et en avoir le coeur net, mais après je me suis dit que s'ils sortent vraiment ensemble et que je les vois je vais jamais y survivre.

2 décembre

tout à l'heure alors que j'étais en train de cuver ma paranoïa en me disant que r. devait passer la soirée avec p. il m'a envoyé un message vocal pour me raconter qu'il venait d'apprendre sur wikipedia que les matchs de catch c'était de la comédie scénarisée et qu'il trouvait ça très touchant et moi je sais plus quoi faire de notre relation bizarre je play it cool je play it cool mais ce que j'ai envie de faire c'est de hurler R. Y A AUCUNE CHANCE QUE TU TOMBES AMOUREUX DE MOI BORDEL? j'en ai rien à foutre du catch et des memes de gensbanals tout ce que je veux c'est que tu viennes me voir au pantin mercredi pour que je puisse te regarder dans les yeux en lisant marrons glacés et faire rougir tes joues quand je dirai trois perles ambrées me coulent entre les cuisses, même si je sais que j'oserai jamais et de toute façon il viendra pas parce que ce sera la saint nicolas et qu'il sera probablement avec sa fille.

ce soir j'étais à une lecture de poésie au centre lgbt et après je suis allée boire un verre avec s. e. et j. pour discuter de leur asso parce qu'elles m'ont proposé de devenir membre et j'ai trouvé j. très chou de nouveau, il faudrait que je la voie tous les jours pour qu'elle me distraie de r. je crois que ça pourrait marcher. elle avait une espèce de tache sur la paupière droite, on aurait dit du maquillage glowy dewy c'était tout délicat, mais je crois que c'est juste ses paupières qui sont très fines. joli coeur. j'avais pas d'argent sur moi et c'est elle qui a payé à la fin et si j'avais le cran je l'inviterais à aller boire un verre pour me rattraper, mais je sais pas si mon coeur supporterait un rejet de plus. enfin là ce serait plus mon égo qui en prendrait un coup, mais mon égo non plus n'a pas besoin de ça.

g. m'a serrée dans ses bras pendant une éternité et puis iel m'a proposé d'aller manger avec eux mais j'ai dit que j'allais déjà boire un verre avec e. et s. et j. dammit je suis une ermite qui parle à personne pendant des semaines et puis tout le monde m'invite en même temps. je l'ai vue dans les bras du type roux qui était assis à côté de moi sur les coussins par terre pendant la lecture, je crois que c'était son copain et ça m'a fait tomber dans un petit pot de mélancolie passagère 1. parce que je pensais à r. 2. parce que je supporte pas de voir des couples s'embrasser sous mon nez de manière générale et 3. j'ai toujours du mal à accepter qu'une personne que je prenais pour gay sorte avec un mec cis. je traite les autres comme je me traite moi-même sur ce point-là, avec une vision 100% binaire et zéro nuance. je sais toujours pas pourquoi je vois ça comme ça, pourquoi je le ressens comme une trahison. iels parlaient de leur expérience d'être non binaire avec n. qui a lu ses poèmes et g. racontait que quand iel avait les cheveux courts on la prenait souvent pour un mec et que ça lui faisait trop plaisir et que parfois il lui suffisait de trouver la bonne tenue et les bonnes chaussures pour lui donner un pas assuré en marchant dans la rue et le faire se sentir bien, et je pensais à moi quand j'avais les cheveux courts à paris toute contente quand on me disait bonjour monsieur à la boulangerie, et à comment des tenues masculines peuvent me faire me sentir bien dans ma peau + hot et me donner confiance en moi, me faire sentir MOI aussi, et je me suis dit que j'étais peut être non binaire en fait. mais bon ça change quoi?

#stuff

[spicycreativity]

I got possessed in the shower, here's a little Moceit AU thingy

In which Janus gets drunk in Las Vegas and proposes marriage to someone he's supposed to hate

The vast pillars of the Luxor bore down on Patton like a legion of angry gods, heralded by the clangs and beeps of the slot machines. A wave of cigarette smoke caught him as he took in a breath to speak and he coughed instead, catching the fit in the collar of his polo. He pushed up his glasses so he could wipe his streaming eyes and did his best not to look at Janus' blurry outline before him. "What?" he croaked, taking a shaky sip of his cranberry juice. The condensation felt nice on his fingers, the cold grounding him.

"We might as well jus' get married," Janus repeated, rolling his eyes as if to add 'you idiot.' The high red flush on his cheek spoke of the many drinks he'd had already, his gin and tonic sloshing in his unsteady grip.

Patton watched the ice slide around in what remained of the clear liquid and walked backwards though the day.

Things had really started to go sideways once he hit the airport. Try as he might to avoid Janus, he was always there. They had nothing to talk about. Virgil had asked Janus not to attend his graduation and Janus had shown up anyway, refusing eye contact and lurking around the corners of their group. That he and Patton had the same return flight was a stroke of bad luck, worse still that they kept running into each other.

"Flight's canceled," Janus had said with an unusually flat affect when Patton had gone to check the board. "By all means, keep staring at me instead of running to customer service like everyone else."

Then he'd been at the airport bar when Patton walked by, deep into something green and fruity in a hurricane glass. "I got a room at the Luxor," he'd called, "two beds; it was all they had left. Do you know anyone who happens to be stranded in Las Vegas?"

The taxi ride had been awkward, the line to check in even more so without the car's seating forcing them to face forward. And then, somehow, they were at the bar. Janus with his second gin and tonic and Patton with a cranberry juice, because he wasn't the type of person who drank at 2:00 o'clock on a Tuesday.

And Janus had just proposed marriage.

Sort of.

"You want to marry me?" Patton asked, tightening his grip on his glass. Janus couldn't stand him!

"Well, yes. Obviously." The sarcastic inflection didn't land quite like it usually did. Janus ran his free hand through his hair. "I've been in love with you since…" His cheek turned from pink to scarlet and he slugged back the rest of his drink with a convulsive motion, then shot to his feet.

He swayed a little and Patton grabbed him by the shoulder. "You haven't paid," he said weakly, because it was the only rational thought his brain would produce. Janus was ashamed, which meant he'd told the truth. But he couldn't have, because that wasn't how love worked. Love wasn't snide remarks and sideways glances and walking on your tiptoes to keep from getting called an idiot. Love was… It was showing up.

"Right," said Janus, turning in a wobbly circle. "Yes." With surprisingly quick hands, he manifested a $100 bill from somewhere on his person and stared at it.

When he tried to leave again, bill in hand, Patton grabbed him by both shoulders and looked him in the eye. He smelled like gin and his gaze drifted around Patton's face. Patton swallowed hard. Janus was deep and dangerous and he buried the beautiful parts of himself under ugly words. But the beautiful parts were there, glimmering every now and then from the vast darkness. "Janus. Don't tell me you love me."

"I didn't…" Janus' face worked, a scowl forming and dropping into shame. "I never—"

Patton covered his mouth with his hand. They probably looked ridiculous, two drunken fools fighting on the casino floor, but he didn't care. "If you love me, show me. Put your money where your mouth is."

"I'm trying!" Janus snapped. He threw himself down at the bar and swayed, his forehead nearly brushing it. "I… God, m'too drunk for this."

Patton sat next to him and pushed over his glass, which was still mostly full of cranberry juice. "Here."

Janus ignored him. "I..." He hesitated.  "I asked f'r a room with two beds, y'know. I paid extra."

"If you don't drop confessing things to me, you won't be able to look me in the eye tomorrow," Patton said gently.

Janus nodded. "You could jus' marry me, though. Save us all a whole lot of trouble."

Patton smiled and ruffled Janus' hair. "Ask me again in a year."

#moceit #spicywrites #tss #sanders sides

[lollytea]

The actor AU also has cute elements in it, I promise. Please see my vision of two teens who work on the same studio and frequently sneak off set to see each other.

Example:

#La La Land Machine AU #huntlow

[mirrordaltokki]

La Lapine et le Dragon

"You are very obliging," answered Beauty, "I own I am pleased with your kindness, and when I consider that, your deformity scarce appears." "Yes, yes," said the Beast, "my heart is good, but still I am a monster." - Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont

Once upon a time in a land far away- No, this isn't that kind of story.

This is an Eorzea where the Dragonsong War was resolved by other means, where Hydaelyn has blessed her few chosen children and city-states rally behind them as Saints and Blessed alike, where the Warrior of Light is called upon to Champion Her causes against immeasurable odds.

The dragon Nidstinien, heir to Nidhogg, lurks in the frozen Coerthas wastes. He has been left to his own devices to whither and die in the wake of the Dragonsong War, but a bargain struck and sworn will change the balance of power in Eorzea forever. _______ An AU erotic retelling of Beaumont's La Belle et la Bête with inspiration from the Epic of Gilgamesh. Featuring a Nidhogg possessed Estinien as the Beast and the Warrior of Light as Belle.

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Monsterfucking, Teratophilia, Sex as Therapy, Vaginal Sex, Cock Warming, Voyeurism, Dom/sub Undertones, Breeding Kink, Eating Disorders, Enthusiastic Consent, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, Background Poly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Eye Gouging, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Families of Choice, Nidhogg Possessing Estinien Wyrmblood, Dragon Estinien Wyrmblood, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dragonspeak, Post-Dragonsong War (Final Fantasy XIV), Tags Contain Spoilers, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Canon-Typical Violence

Part One

The Dragonsong War began by man’s greed and ended by man’s ultimate sacrifice. Countless lives had been lost as the Holy See of Ishgard engaged in its holy war against dragonkind, generations irrevocably altered by the ceaseless war machine their proud nation had become. And all of it, every drop of blood spilled, done under the orders of a line of archbishops obsessed with attempting to become immortal gods.

Aymeric de Borel looked upon this legacy and determined that he would never allow his people to fall to such avarice again.

Small wonder, when his own father (and hadn’t that been a revelation in and of itself) had done the deed and Aymeric himself had been forced to put the man to sword for the good of all. Their nation’s sole Echo-blessed in generations had turned her back on the Holy See and joined the dragons’ cause, only recently persuaded to return and fight at Aymeric’s side in his bloody revolution by his dearest friend Haurchefant. The last Azure Dragoon had turned the tide and slain Nidhogg only to fall prey to the dragon sleeping in his blood.

Foundation was all but destroyed, only recently beginning reconstruction under the watchful guidance of the four High Houses and the Skysteel Manufactory.

It was this disaster that he inherited by right of blood and conquest both. Privately, Aymeric despaired that the council would try to make him wield his deceased father’s staff of office and take up his position as archbishop. But with Lady Iceheart returned to the heart of the Holy See and the temple of Hydaelyn no longer barring its doors to Ishgard’s battered souls, Aymeric had been a major proponent of the Temple Knights returning to their rightful place in service to Hydaelyn’s Chosen. He had no desire to become Thordan VIII when he was already the Lord Speaker, Lord Commander, and Viscount of House Borel.

Read more here.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv wol #estinien x wol #wolstinien #liesel nightroad #estinien varlineau #estinien wyrmblood #beauty and the beast au #monsterfucking cw

[hugozboom]

LA VIE EN ROMANCE {PROLOGUE}

pairing: bts x you (reader insert)

warnings: teasing. sexual scenes. sexual situations. language. rental boyfriend au! angst. fluff. possible smut in actual chapters. female reader insert.

summary: y/n works hard hours in a marketing design company called eunoia. with not many friends and struggling with communicating among her colleagues finding romance would come even harder. when the launch of a collaboration between her company and a new rental boyfriend system occurs she becomes quite familiar with just how sweet an act can be.

playlist!

A/N: I’ve only ever read one book specifically a FF with multiple endings so i decided to write one. LOWERCASE INTENDED.

Parts:

"me either but i heard they were pretty rude business wise," y/n chewed her lip and walked over to the printer, lisa following close behind.

"they are new. they probably cant afford to make any mistakes so early on."

y/n nodded listening to the machine print out her paper work, the warm white sheet landing in her hand. she loved her job. putting her skills in design to work was all she ever dreamed of. eunoia was the perfect place for y/n. the workers were nice, the boss was nice, everything. when y/n got back to her desk she had decided to research the company 'la vie en romance.'

she personally couldn't wrap her head around the big deal. they were rental boyfriends, fake love. they tell you what you want to hear and then you pay because they made you feel good. it sounded sad in y/n’s head.

she scrolled through the website learning little by little about each guy offered; namjoon, yoongi, jungkook, taehyung, hoseok, jimin. kyung mi had to admit they were gorgeous, even their manager had looks. six different guys, six different personalities for anyone to enjoy for a price.

y/n shook her head, shoving the thoughts out of her brain. after what seemed like hours it was lunch time.

“is this not prostitution,” y/n grumbles.

lisa laughed, “oh come on! i think it’s cute. i might try it myself.”

"how do you feel about pizza," y/n pushed herself away from her desk peering over to her office friend changing the subject as quick as possible. lisa scrunches up her nose, "too greasy. i need to watch my weight or my boyfriend won't have me and neither will his mother."

y/n could care less how people saw her. she'd always been thin and naturally lean, but even still should would still eat whatever she wanted without a care is she gained weight or not. she pulled out a bag of seaweed chips, "sounds pretty toxic to me."

crunch

lisa gives a sad smile, "you're right but what other choice do i have."

y/n sat there pondering. 'what a tough situation' she thought chewing slowly.

until it hit her.

y/n turned her screen which was viewing the la vie en romance webpage.

"why don't you try something new?"

lisa smirked and snatched the bag of seaweed chips, " no absolutely not. that's cheating."

"it's not cheating it's a free trial!"

"y/n that says a lot about you, you know"

y/n gasps dramatically, "hey i've been single for 23 years besides the kiss i had with lee heeseung in 10th grade."

"gross," lisa says with chips in her mouth.

"gross indeed but seriously you should try it."

y/n drank some water from her plastic see through milk carton water bottle, "i'll do it if you do it and you have to do it first."

lisa thought about it. "deal."

they never settled on lunch and soon it was time for the actual meeting. anxiety bubbled in y/n’s stomach as she was the leader of the design team on floor 14, meaning she had to present and as confident as y/n seemed, presenting always made her nervous no matter how prepared she was.

the clock ticked nearing the time of the meeting slowly. lisa runs her right hand through her hair and furiously types with her left, biting her lip.

y/n already knew she was arguing with her boyfriend. Probably over something stupid too.

1:30 pm. It was time.

clacking of heels from lisa dabbled behind y/n as they entered the conference room. it was suddenly chilly as y/n eyed the bunch within the room. each beautiful with their own unique features but at the same time, serious with cold looks. as if she couldn't get anymore nervous her stomach rumbled, not loud enough for the whole room to hear, but she was sure the people closest to her seat heard her noises.

out the corner of her eye she saw a bag reached toward her. the man smiled at her a bright crooked smile.

"i'm so embarassed," y/n covered her mouth chuckling slightly. the man laughed too, "it's ok we all get hungry." he reached the bag of goldfish toward her again.

"not much but better than nothing right?"

y/n sighs after tasting a few, "much better than nothing." she was trying to pinpoint the reason he looked so familiar and when she figured it out she felt stupid. he was a purchasable boyfriend. she just turned her head to avoid anymore embarrassment, he was probably just faking his entire personality, no one is that genuine.

the meeting went great, each person of the design team presented well without mess ups.

"i don't like any of them honestly," the man with a bunny like smile smirks eating a grape from the complementary tray.

"neither do i," another smirks sucking on a cherry red lollipop, "it doesn't really represent the company."

"it is a bit fake," said the kind man from earlier said. y/n felt uneasy and the man from earlier must have noticed.

"we can work on it though," he suggests.

"lets just scrap it and try again."

"scrap it! i worked on that for hours," y/n exclaims angrily. the man with the lollipop chuckles, "get your employee mr. park i think she's a bit angry."

the kind man from earlier nudged lollipop man, "tae," he warned.

"y/n," her manager warned her. y/n sunk back into her seat.

"i have a grand idea. why don't you use the service, get a feel for it," mr. kim seokjin proposes, “it’ll better your marketing idea and strengthen our collaboration if you actually experienced it.”

"and how do we do that?"

"well just pick one?"

"how much is this? i have bills to pay honestly."

"free of charge for now, consider it a free trial. who knows you might come back for more.”

you scowled at the idea. like you’d ever pay for such an embarrassing service.

"so," mr seokjin eyed y/n first, "what'll it be?"

la vie en romance coming soon…

NOTE: this series is a choice series , where you choose your path with each member. this series also has many endings depending on the path you choose to read. ENJOY!

#bts x reader #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts army #bts fanfic #bts suga #forbidden relationship #fanfic #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jjk x reader #x reader #oneshots #bts series

[claudehenrion]

Réflexions pour un lendemain de ‘’manif’’...

  Ayons le courage de le reconnaître honnêtement : mis à part les grèves, les prix et les ‘’manques’’, il n'y a pas grand chose qui fonctionne, dans la France réduite à être une macronie. Le peuple français est divisé contre lui-même comme rarement dans l'Histoire, ses ''fondamentaux'' sont foulés aux pieds, son Histoire, sa culture, son ''roman national'' et son identité sont niés, bafoués, prétendus périmés et lui-même est maltraité et infantilisé par des politicards malfaisants  qui, en plus, ne valent rien, ne savent rien, mentent sur tout... Que nous reste-t-il comme ''raisons d'être'', à part résister à leurs dystopies et rêver que nous en sommes libérés ?

Récapitulons : Une guerre est à nos portes, à laquelle nous prétendons ne pas participer, ou alors...''indirectement'' (tu parles !)... ce qui nous fera belle jambe, le jour où (ce qu'à Dieu ne plaise !) un successeur éventuel du célèbre ''nuage de Tchernobyl'' franchirait, lui, nos frontières... un Pouvoir avide de se survivre à lui-même ‘’quoi qu'il nous en coûte’’, a perdu toute crédibilité en sur-accumulant mensonges et contre-vérités (N'est-ce pas, M. Véran ?)... un personnel politique indigne de ses prérogatives qui ne sait que multiplier les mauvaises idées --à croire que seules des solutions absurdes trouvent grâce à ses yeux (N'est-ce pas, M. Véran ?)... les corps intermédiaires ont pratiquement disparu... le changement pour le changement est devenu la seule référence, et le progressisme et le modernisme ravagent (définitivement, peut-on craindre) le peu qui a survécu à la destruction ''hollandaise'' et au macronisme et à ses mensonges (N'est-ce pas, M. Véran ?)... Et la ''doxa'' affirme clairement ne pas vouloir laisser pierre sur pierre de l'édifice qu'avaient bâti nos ancêtres, pas du tout progressiste (N'est-ce pas, M. Macron ?).

Depuis notre entrée dans ''l'ère du progressisme'', tout ce sur quoi  reposait notre civilisation, notre bonheur quotidien et notre joie de vivre a été abandonné au profit d'idées folles, proposées sans raison par des faux-prophètes qui n'en ont pas d'avantage (de raison !) : il est interdit de dire que l'on a une identité, une histoire, une culture, une race, une souveraineté, un territoire, une nation, une autonomie, un passé commun, une religion (qui a forgé tout ce qui précède)... ou même, tout simplement, qu'on n'a pas envie de tester leurs soi-disant ''vaccins-qui-n'en-sont-pas'', sous peine de perdre son job... Et il y a de moins en moins de petits français qui justifieraient pourtant la transmission de ces richesses : l’épouvantable déficit démographique français est passé sous le seuil de panique (Merci, M. Macron  et Merci M. Hollande)... Les princes qui nous gouvernent si mal ''ont tout faux'', et en sont réduits à se ruer sur une boutade de Christophe Galtier pour redéfinir ce dont on a, désormais, le droit de rire, sur un cauchemar signé Sonia Backès –une des sous ministres les moins connues, car les plus inutiles-- pour stigmatiser ceux qui posent des questions ! Nos ''penseurs  de gauche'' (NB : le plus bel oxymore que je connaisse !) sont en réalité des ayatollahs iraniens, en encore beaucoup plus con !

Des voix de plus en plus nombreuses dénoncent ce qui devient, qu'on l'accepte ou qu'on refuse de le voir, du ''non-dit'', du ''non-vu'', du ''non-entendu'' !  Notre Président –tout le démontre et rien ne permet d'en douter-- n'a jamais varié d'un ''iota'' sur ses mauvaises idées de base : la France n'a pas d'Histoire (puisque, d'après lui et ses thuriféraires, elle n'existerait pas, ou seulement comme un ''Land'', dans une Europe re-germanisée à la façon Ursula Von-machin)... elle n'a pas de culture (la preuve : lui n'en a pas or il en est le chef élu, CQFD !), ce qui entraîne qu'il ne peut y avoir, en l'absence d'une histoire et d'une culture, d'identité française, re-CQFD... la colonisation ''doit (?)'' être qu'un crime contre l'humanité --et de fait, à partir du moment où on la définit comme telle, elle ne peut pas être autre chose, CACQÇ (NB : c'est un nouveau sigle que je viens d'inventer : copié sur le célèbre CQFD, il veut dire : ''C'est Aussi Con Que Ça !''). Nous sommes devant un ''corpus'' d'idées fausses et perverses (étym : ''per-vertor'' = retourner contre soi), qui a les apparences de la logique, sauf qu'il ne repose que sur des bobards éhontés !

Produits de notre ''intelligentzia'' sans intelligence, les énormes catastrophes qu'annoncent toutes les lois prétendues ''sociétales'' –en vérité : ''socio-létales''-- vont dans le sens Groucho d'une histoire dite marxiste... la souveraineté française serait une création de l'esprit, à combattre, le bon niveau (?) de direction étant l'Europe, disent-ils. (Comme ils datent dans leur conformisme ! Comme ils sont aveugles, dans leur refus d'évoluer ! Le seul avantage qu'a eu la guerre russo-ukrainienne sera sans doute d'avoir entamé le déclin de cet ancien rêve dont le progressisme a fait un cauchemar --sous des apparences d’œuvrer dans le même sens !)... en attendant la catastrophe absolue que serait leur absurde gouvernance mondiale dystopique, telle qu'on la rêve à Davos (cf 'le livre '’The great Reset'').

Le grand rêve macronien tourne autour d'une société multi culturelle qui n'a jamais existé que sous une forme multi-conflictuelle.  L'église se vide, se fissure et va s'effondrer pendant que des mosquées se construisent, pour la concrétisation du rêve fou du Millî Görüş et d'Erdogan, ce super psychopathe : détruire, jusqu'au souvenir, tout ce qui existait dans un monde pré-islamique, qui devra être oublié jusque dans ses fondations... ''Notre'' (?) Macron n'est, en somme, qu'un pur fruit (pur... mais dangereusement blet) des croyances les plus naïves des années 1970, elles-même filles publiques des conneries nées en 1968 dans quelques esprits qui ont réussi à s'emparer du pouvoir médiatique... pour le plus grand drame de l'Humanité et le plus grand malheur du monde (mais pas des tirages du Monde !).

Philippe de Villiers, que je connais bien et dont j'admire profondément la capacité de voir clair avant tout le monde (NDLR : qualité qu'il partage avec tous les rejetés du progressisme, comme JM le Pen dont même ce simplet de Fabius disait que ses analyses sont toutes justes mais il en tire de mauvaises conclusions. Comme ces conclusions étaient à l'opposé total des anti-solutions qui nous ont conduits dans l'impasse où nous sommes, on se dit, vingt ans plus tard, qu'elles devaient être vachement bonnes... Ou Eric Zemmour, que le système a réussi à écarter pour le moment, mais dont pas une seule des analyses n'a été démontrée fausse, même un peu !) connaît intimement notre Président. Il disait récemment de lui : ''Macron n'a pas le goût de la France, il a le goût du monde. C'est un Young global leader dans le sens que donne Davos à ce terme, un mondialiste au service de ''LA'' cause (…) et il le restera même si le passé récent a contredit tout ce qu'il répète''. A quoi peuvent être dus notre léthargie et notre déni d'un réel qui crève les yeux ?

Commentant Ezechiel (''Malheur au pays dont le roi est un enfant''), Villiers ajoute, ''comme un enfant, il joue, et en même temps, il casse son jouet''. Malgré l'état de délabrement avancé de notre France, 15 à 20% des ‘’sondés’’ persistent --plus par suivisme et par légitimisme que par conviction, j'espère-- à croire ses errements, ses analyses trompeuses et ses mauvaises idées, et continuent ainsi à lui permettre d'esquinter tout futur pour la France... Que de regrets ils vont avoir, ''un jour'', ces myopes-par-système –car ils se réveilleront, n’en doutons pas !

H-Cl.

[unproblematicbedding]

"Manifeste du tiers paysage" by Gilles Clément

FR

(résumé)

"Si l'on cesse de regarder le paysage comme l'objet d'une industrie on découvre subitement - est-ce un oubli du cartographe, une négligence du politique ? - une quantité d'espaces indécis, dépourvus de fonction, sur lesquels il est difficile de porter un nom. Cet ensemble n'appartient ni au territoire de l'ombre ni à celui de la lumière. Il se situe aux marges. En lisière des bois, le long des routes et des rivières, dans les recoins oubliés de la culture, là où les machines ne passent pas. Il couvre des surfaces de dimensions modestes, dispersées comme les angles perdus d'un champ ; unitaires et vastes comme les tourbières, les landes et certaines friches issues d'une déprise récente. Entre ces fragments de paysage aucune similitude de forme. Un seul point commun : tous constituent un territoire de refuge à la diversité. Partout ailleurs celle-ci est chassée. Cela justifie de les rassembler sous un terme unique. Je propose Tiers paysage, troisième terme d'une analyse ayant rangé les données principales apparentes sous l'ombre d'un côté, la lumière de l'autre. Le concept de Tiers paysage renvoie à Tiers état (et non à Tiers-monde). Espace n'exprimant ni le pouvoir ni la soumission au pouvoir. Il se réfère au pamphlet de Sieyès en 1789 : "Qu'est-ce que le Tiers état ? - Tout. - Qu'a-t-il fait jusqu'à présent ? - Rien. - Qu'aspire-t-il à devenir ? - Quelque chose".

ENG

(abstract)

"If we cease to think lands as objects of industries we find suddenly - is it an oversight from cartographs or politics carelessness ? - a quantity of undecided spaces, functionless places who are hard to name. This ensemble does not belongs to a decided land of shadow or light. It belongs to the margins. At the edges of woods, by the roadsides and rivers, in corners forgotten by culture, where machines don't go. It covers spaces of modest dimmensions, dispersed like lost angles of a field, united and vast as the bog, the moors or some wastes recently deserted. Between all this fragmented spaces, no ressemblance in their aspects but one similarity : all of them form a sanctuary for biodiversity when everywhere else it is driven out. It justifies a need to regroup them all under one designation. I propose "Thirds Landscapes" (Tiers Paysages), third party of an analysis of the wolrd dividing all in black and white. This concept of thirds landscapes calls back to Third Estate - (NdT: politic incarnation of people's will as athird party to power in place) not Third World. Those spaces does not express power nor submission to power. [Gilles Clément] refers himself to the essay of Sieyes in 1789 : "What does the Third Estate wants ? Everything. What has it done for now ? Nothing. What does it wants to become ? Something."

#ecology #planet #garden #gille clement #theory #books

[bookofsand123]

Art et écologie - Anthropocène - partie 4

Quand la machine à vapeur a été inventée (pendant le 1784), on entre dans une nouvelle ère où le monde change à cause de l’homme: l’Anthropocène.  Seulement après la deuxième guerre mondiale, l’homme commence à prendre conscience écologique du changement climatique. Les avant-gardes protestent contre la dérive du monde.

Exemples.

En 1964, l’italien Piero Gilardi fait tapis-nature avec le polyuréthane, une substance toxique avec laquelle il reproduit des environnement menacé par la pollution, comme les fleuves de sa ville natale (Turin). Ses tapis montrent une nature saine, mais en même temps ordinaire. C’est une chose particulière parce que souvent l’attention est sur les endroits exceptionnels.

Öyvind Fahlström: Green Power, 1989.

Un tableau qui représente une nature artificielle (les plantes sont de plastique).

Robert Smithson, Spiral Jetty, 1970. Oeuvre d’art créée dans le Grand Lac Salé (Etats-Unis) et c’est une spirale de 457 m de long et de 4,5 m de large. Cette  œuvre appartient au style Land Art. On ouvre une petite parenthèse sur la Land Art. Dans ce courant, les œuvres sont souvent gigantesques et se trouvent à l’extérieur, exposées aux éléments (les œuvres peuvent disparaître), les matériaux utilisés viennent directement de la nature.

Giuseppe Penone fait partie du courant artistique qui s’appelle Arte Povera ou Art Pauvre. Ce mouvement est né dans les années 60 en Italie, plus précisément à Turin, et est en opposition à l’art traditionnel. En effet, ce type d’art est minimaliste et l’idée c’est d’utiliser des matériaux pauvres, comme la terre, le bois, le fer, les déchets. Roberto Penone, né à Garessio en Piémont, a créé un œuvre qui s’appelle Respirare l’ombra, o Respirer l’ombre (1999). Cette installation est faite de feuilles de laurier. Les feuilles de cet arbre ont un parfum fort que le spectateur respire quand il visite l’installation. L’artiste a choisi le laurier parce qu’il voulait faire un référence au mythe d'Apollon et Daphné (qui pour fuire l’amour d’Apollo a été transformé en laurier). C’est la deuxième fois que Penone enquête la respiration. La première fois était avec la série des sculptures qui s’appelle Soffi (souffles, années 70), où il représente les sculptures qu’on crée automatiquement quand on respire.    

Dans les dernières années, on a vu beaucoup de manifestations pour l'environnement et des slogan créatives ont été créées, comme par exemple “C’est le mauvais Amazon qui brûle”,  ”Le Titanic n’aurait aucun problème en 2019”, “On manque nos leçons pour vous en apprendre une”.

L'art et le militantisme se combinent bien parce que tous les deux veulent faire passer un message.

Nicolás Garcia Uriburu (1937-2016) était un artiste argentin actif dans le domaine de la Land Art. Il est connu pour ses colorations des eaux avec de la fluorescéine, une substance pas polluante, mais qui colore l’eau d’un vert phosphorescent pour un bref période. Le but c’est de montrer la lutte entre l’homme et la nature, en particulier pour dénoncer la pollution de l’eau faite par les nations riches dans l'amérique du sud. Il a répété cette performance à Venise dan le Canal Grande, à New York dans l’East river, à Buenos Aires dans le Rio de la Plata, et à Paris dans la Seine. À partir de 1982 il a fait retour à Buenos Aires où il a planté 50 000 arbres.

#mooc #art et écologie #exercices de français #centre pompidou