#‘it’s an archive spirit!’ WHAT DOES IT DO. ‘you’ll see!’ girl if it’s so important that means you know what it does. why won’t you tell me

[mageknife]

i’ve only been into dragon age for like. checks calendar. two and a half months. and the amount that my opinion on veilguard has changed after playing the other games is crazy

[soenchantingly]

Happy Campers.

PERCY JACKSON X READER fic.

“Well, we’ve got some good news and some bad news,” Connor said, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards Half-Blood Hill, where the action was.

“My stuff!” you protested. Your baggage was still at the entrance of the camp.

“Not important.” Travis replied, “If you haven’t noticed yet, we are under attack.”

You rolled your eyes at the sarcasm in his tone.

“That’s the bad news,” Connor added.

━━━━

Alternatively, you return to camp for the summer after finishing seventh grade (and you are given a new nickname).

NOTES: welcome to the second installment of Heliophilia. So I’ve been getting requests to add people to a tag list, but i am not really sure how that works. If i create a taglist on my masterlist of Heliophila, does that mean that those tagged get notified of each edit I make or how does that work? If someone could help me out with that, that would be great! Also, if you want to be on the taglist, let me know!!

This is part of a series called Heliophila that i am also posting on Archive of our Own (which you’ll find here). Comments and constructive criticism are very much welcome! The characters and the plotline of the books are not mine and belong to their respective owners. The story is mine, however, as is the character of 'the reader'. Please do not publish this story elsewhere without asking for my permission. The reader is a female because I am basically just writing this to entertain my wish to be a demigod. 

If you like the story, please leave a heart and feel free to reblog :)

HELIOPHILIA – PART TWO: HAPPY CAMPERS.

You had never been particularly good with a sword. Your first sword-fight lesson had been an absolute disaster and you were probably the worst one in the instruction group - it was how Connor Stoll had ruled out Ares being your godly parent (“She doesn’t need to be innately good at fighting to be an Ares kid,” Travis Stoll had protested, “She’s got that feisty ‘child of the war god’ spirit”). Granted, you were only nine years old, so your terrible swordsmanship could easily be attributed to that and the fact that the swords terrified you.

Since you arrived at Camp Half-Blood, you had gone back and forth from Camp Half-Blood to your home, where your mother and step-family lived. You never really got along with your step-family. Your step-father was nice enough, but he definitely favored his son Theo over you. You never really blamed him. You favored your mother over him, after all. Your step-father was never mean to you but part of you could tell that he was scared of you – which did not exactly scream friendliness and familial love. Theo, on the other hand, was mean to you. He thought you were weird, and he constantly called you crazy for seeing monsters. Your mother used to tell you that he was just jealous because you had always been stronger than him and he did not like being outdone by a girl. That always made you laugh.

Returning to Camp Half-Blood after a year of pretending to be a normal human had always been a happy occasion. Going to school was hard, but you managed to make it work, despite your ADHD and dyslexia. Now that summer was around, there was no more need to pretend, no more need to keep a constant look-out for monsters, just you, your friends, and some summer fun. However, the summer fun you were so fond of and the “no more monsters” you were counting on was not what you were met with when you returned after finishing the seventh grade. Upon arrival, and after saying goodbye to your step-father (who had been kind enough to drop you off at the entrance of camp) you had immediately been greeted by the shouting of Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares, who was ordering a group of demigods to form a line. You were confused. Did you just come to camp in the middle of a game of capture the flag?

You heard someone call your name. Turning, you were met with two grinning boys – who seemed awfully chipper in spite of the screaming chaos going on in the background. Connor and Travis Stoll, sons of Hermes and your best friends. You were happy to see them. You had missed them. “So. . . what did I miss?” you asked casually, and eyebrow raised to show your confusion.

The Stoll brothers had been your first friends at Camp Half-Blood, as you spent quite a long time in Cabin Eleven before Apollo finally decided to claim you. They sort of became your brothers – or rather they had adopted you into their little family. You spent more time with them than you did with your own siblings, with the exception of Michael Yew, of course. He had always been your favorite brother, from the moment Apollo (finally) claimed you, and he decided to take you under his wing.

“Well, we’ve got some good news and some bad news,” Connor said, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards Half-Blood Hill, where the action was.

“My stuff!” you protested, flailing your arms in order to get out of his grip. Your baggage was still at the entrance of the camp.

“Not important.” Travis replied, “If you haven’t noticed yet, we are under attack.”

You rolled your eyes at the sarcasm in his tone.

“That’s the bad news,” Connor added.

When you reached the top of the hill, you took a moment to take in the chaos. There were two mechanical bulls terrorizing campers. Clarisse seemed to be leading the charge, cursing in ancient Greek as campers ran around with their headgear up in flames. “I can see that,” the words came out slowly, like you were still processing the scene in front of you. “What’s the good news then?” you asked, a frown on your lips.

Connor and Travis grinned widely at you, “We’ve been made Head Counsellors,” the two brothers boasted proudly.

You were not really sure about that being qualified as ‘good news’ and you were relieved that you were no longer in the Hermes cabin, but you have more pressing issues to worry about.

“Hey losers!” Clarisse shouted at the three of you, and your heads whipped in her direction. She glared, pointing her head to the uninvited camp visitors. “Don’t just stand there! Make yourselves useful.” she ordered, before charging at one of the bulls again.

Instinctively, you grabbed for your bow, but then you realized that it was still at the foot of the hill with the rest of your stuff because Connor and Travis had dragged you to the top of the hill without thinking about the fact that your weapons were likely with your stuff. You cursed in ancient Greek. “My bow is still at the camp entrance,” you groaned. You were weaponless.

Travis bent down and picked up a sword that one of the campers had lost while running around trying not to catch fire. “Here,” he said, before he threw it to you, and headed over to one of his half-siblings, whose helmet had unfortunately caught fire. Connor winked at you, before joining his older brother.

Idiots.

You looked at the sword for a moment, a sigh escaping your lips. Despite your training with Percy, you still were not a good sword-fighter. You liked to say that were decent, but that was stating it mildly. Getting up close and personal was not really your think. You preferred to attack from a distance. However, your personal preferences were not important at the moment. You did not really have time to linger on your unfortunate weapon situation, as one of the bulls charged your way. Instinctively, you rolled to the side, the bull’s horn missing you by an inch. The mechanical monster swerved and got ready to charge once more. The blade felt heavy in your hand, but you held onto the hilt tightly, getting ready to strike.

It charged with a roar.

You stood your ground, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You hesitated for a moment, before jumping to the side at the last minute, swinging the large sword into the bull’s flank. You had mustered all your strength to even raise the blade, and now it was stuck in the mechanical bull, fire-spewing from where you had hit the monster.

Fantastic.

Instantly releasing the sword as you felt the heat of the fire, you rolled to the side, narrowing your eyes at the bull who now had your sword sticking out of his flank. Great. Weaponless again.

“I think you lost this,” a familiar voice spoke from behind you.

You turned and grinned, recognizing the voice instantly. There stood Percy Jackson, holding your golden bow and quiver with a large grin on his lips, his eyes anxious for battle. You took your weapon from his hands and instantly set your arrow in place, a smirk painted on your lips. You were glad you did not have to get in close with the bull anymore. Ranged combat was your strength, after all. “Hey, Percy. A lovely welcome, isn’t it?” you said, sarcastically, as Percy helped you up. You hissed in pain the moment you stood on your feet. You had not even noticed the large gash on your leg. Must have been the adrenaline of battle.

“It’s a party,” Percy replied, before looking down at your leg. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “It’s just a scratch. Now, how about you stab, I shoot?” you proposed, nodding your head to Ugly Bull Number One who had set its sights on Clarisse.

Percy grinned, before uncapping riptide and charging into battle. You aimed at the bull one, an arrow flying straight into its mechanical eye as Percy dragged Clarisse away from the monster, right before she could be trampled. Of course, the daughter of Ares did not take kindly to Clarisse rescuing him. Clarisse never took kindly to anything Percy did.

The rest happened pretty quickly. As you rapidly fired on whichever bull came in your sight, Clarisse charged at Ugly Bull Number Two, impaling it through the back leg with her spear. It started to malfunction and jerked around. Its head kept trashing back and forth, each movement taking longer than the last, revealing a vulnerable spot in the neck of the bull where you could see the circuit board. Taking a deep breath, you drew your bow, and counted to three, before letting the arrow fly. As it hit the circuit board, Ugly Bull Number Two gave one last jerk, before collapsing with a large thud.

Searching for Ugly Bull Number One, you spotted the mechanical monster lying motionless behind Percy and Annabeth. Noticing that Percy had been wounded, you jogged over to him, as Annabeth fed him some nectar. “That was some nice bullfighting.” you complimented, causing Percy to laugh, and his in pain immediately after.

Before you could say anything else, Clarisse marched over, fuming with anger, “You - ruin - everything!” she yelled at Percy, causing him to stare at her with wide eyes. “I had it under control.”

You decided to intervene before Percy said something that might make Clarisse even more furious – and you were certain Percy could manage that. “Come on Clarisse, we’ve got wounded campers to look after,” you said, placing your hands on her shoulders and steered her away from the son of the Sea God. She shook your hands off of her shoulders and stomped towards her wounded soldiers.

Percy stared at you with a look on his face that said, how can you handle Clarisse like that without her beating you into a pulp?

You winked at him, before following the daughter of Ares to help her tend to the wounded campers as he continued to stare at you for a moment, before turning his attention on Annabeth and the mysterious third companion they had brought with them to camp.  

  · · · · · ·

  Whereas Camp Half-Blood used to be your happy place, it had started getting less and less happy. After you helped your siblings take care of the wounded (though you mainly just assisted as you had earned the reputation of being the worst healer in the Apollo Cabin), you learned that Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, which was causing the camp boundaries to become weaker, and the treat to the camp to become larger. On top of that, Mr. D had blamed Chiron for the poisoning of Thalia and fired him. He was replaced with a strange and creepy guy named Tantalus, who apparently had come from the Fields of Punishment (and you did not have a good feeling about the new activities director). Argus, the one hundred-eyed giant who acted as Camp Half-Blood security guard, was also fired.

Oh, and Percy had a new half-brother – Tyson the Cyclops. Percy did not seem all too happy about it, but you were not sure how to feel.

Despite the imminent danger of Thalia’s tree dying, camp activities continued as if nothing happened. Creepy camp activities director Tantalus had announced that the chariot races would be reinstituted, causing much excitement among the cabins. You were not too interested to join in the race. Perhaps if Percy had asked you to help him with her chariot, you would have been more interested. Alas, he had asked Annabeth to help him – which made sense considering Athena and Poseidon had cooperated on the first chariot, after all. For a split second, you felt a little jealous that he hadn’t asked you but that did not last long as the entire camp had quickly heard that Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were not speaking to each other because of some argument. After that, Percy had asked Tyson to help him, which you could not be too upset about. It was good that Percy was doing more with his brother. You hoped it would help him feel less lonely.

Due to his lack of popularity with Ares’ cabin and the argument he had with the daughter of Athena, Percy had decided to work out in the arena with Apollo’s cabin. After he trashed your siblings and you had to hold your laughter the whole session, you and Percy went on with your one-on-one training.

“You’ve been getting better.” Percy complimented, despite the fact that he had managed to disarm you again. Only this time, it took significantly longer, and you had managed to get in a few blows of your own.

You grinned proudly, “Oh, yes I am. Didn’t you see the sword sticking out of the Ugly Mechanical Cow?”

Percy raised his eyebrows, impressed, “That was you?” When you nodded, he whistled appreciatively, “Nicely done.”

A mischievous look spread across your face, “My sword fighting is definitely better than your archery, though” you teased. Though Percy had also improved, it was safe to say that your swordplay skills were improving a lot quicker than his archery skills.

“Don’t be so confident, Sunshine. We can’t all have magically enhanced perfect aim.” Percy countered, equally mischievous.

Eyebrows raised, you stared at him for a moment, then rolled your eyes with an amused look on your face. “That is the most unoriginal name you can give a child of Apollo.”

Percy shrugged, “So?”

“I mean there are so many creative nicknames you could go with; like Robin Hood, Legolas, or even Goldenboy – “

“But you’re a girl,“ Percy interrupted, laughing. “I don’t know. I think Sunshine is a pretty fitting nickname for you. You’re always to bubbly and happy – a regular ray of sunshine.”

You stuck out your tongue at him in response. You did not have much to comment on there. It was a pretty fitting nickname, not to mention the fact that it made you smile. You walked over to the armory to put away the sword you had borrowed and returned to Percy with two bottles of water. You handed him a bottle before you started to drink from your own.

Percy did not drink though. He looked thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” you said, closing the lid of your water bottle. You did not realize that you have made a pretty good archery pun. Percy did not seem to notice. You figured something must have been seriously wrong if he did not laugh at your stupid pun.

Percy hesitated, you could tell. “Do you ever feel. . .” he trailed off, searching for the right word, “. . . resentment towards your father?”

The way he said resentment made you feel like he actually meant to say something else, and that he was putting things lightly. You had a feeling Percy was not all too happy that Poseidon had decided to give him a Cyclops as a brother. “Yeah, of course.”  

You were a bit taken aback by the sudden question, though, and Percy noticed as he immediately became interested in cleaning his blade. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should open up to him. You wanted to make him feel better, but you were not sure if you were ready to share your story. Looking at Percy for a moment, you felt completely at ease.

“Just before I came to Camp Half-Blood,”  you started, immediately getting Percy’s attention, “my mom. . . . she fell ill. My stepdad’s a doctor, but he could not figure out what it was. My mom’s a nurse and she told me that her illness wasn’t something that could be solved with modern medicine. I did not understand what she meant at the time, but when I learned I was the daughter of a Greek God, I started putting two-and-two together.”

“It’s a magical illness of some sort?” Percy guessed.

“That was my thought as well. When my father finally claimed me – and I never really understood why it had taken him a full month to claim me, but that’s a whole other story – I was excited. My father is the God of Healing. You’d think he’d be able to heal my mother. She’s still ill, though, and she’s not getting better. I have never really told anyone this, but I pray to my father every day to heal my mother. He hasn’t really answered my prayers. . .”

Percy did not say anything, and for a moment you were worried that you had overshared. Then, Percy took a step forward and pulled you into a hug. The two of you did not say anything, but the comfort of the hug was enough.

Pulling away, you smiled at him, “Thank you. I needed that. Resentment is certainly there. I think everyone has a certain resentment towards their godly parent. It comes with being a half-blood.”

Percy nodded, a thoughtful look on his face once again.

“You’re thinking about Luke, aren’t you?” you asked, and Percy nodded slowly. You had never been particularly close to Luke. Still, it had been a massive shock when he turned out to be helping Kronos and trying to start a war between the gods. He always seemed like he was the good guy. You thought carefully before speaking again, “That’s an extreme case. I mean, sure, I’m angry at my dad for not being there for me, you know? But I don’t hate him. It’s different for demigods. We don’t have a normal family dynamic. Most of us have just accepted it. Luke didn’t. Instead of focusing on the positives, such as the friends he made here at camp, he lingered on the hatred he felt towards his dad.”

“And Kronos used that,” Percy added, frowning.

You nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable that Percy had decided to use the Titan Lord’s name. After all, names had power. You did not really know what to say after that, so you stood in silence for a few moments. Noticing the somber look on Percy’s face, you gently bumped your shoulder with his. “Come on, water boy. I bet I can climb the lava wall faster than you.”  

“Oh, you’re on, sunshine.”

And you were off, racing towards the climbing wall, laughing as you tried to trip each other.

 Timeline: Sea of Monsters. 

Reader: thirteen years old. 

Percy: thirteen years old.

Part two of Heliophilia.

credit for the pictures goes to lulu.  

[tiesandtea]

SUEDE: Style & Substances

Alternative Press, May 1997 (no. 106). Mag cover. Written by Dave Thompson. Archived here.

Suede Give Us A Glimmer...

Bleeding through the debate about vocalist Brett Anderson's sexuality and rumored drug intake, the overall glamour with which society equates a fucked-up lifestyle drapes Suede like a second skin. Dave Thompson travels to London to discover why Suede are one of the few bands that matter in an age of stars who are "just like you."

Brett Anderson leans against an amplifier, hands in pocket, shoulders hunched. To his left, the rest of Suede are playing Fleetwood Mac's "Albatross"; to his right, a television crew is fiddling with camera angles. He wants a cigarette, but he never smokes this close to showtime. Instead, he swings a keychain and glowers into the monitors. It's rehearsal time in Studio Four, a theater-sized room as the BBC, and the only person who's enjoying himself is an increasingly rotund-looking Jools Holland. He's the host of this evening's show, and he's away in another room entirely. 

Later...With Jools Holland is a British TV institution. Less than three years old, it has nevertheless sewn up a comfortable niche somewhere between the chart-conscious grooviness of Top of the Pops and the more indulgent pastures of MTV Unplugged. It's a showcase for bands to run through a handful of new songs, play a favorite or two and give a taste of their live prowess without boring the unconverted senseless. Boring themselves senseless, of course, is another matter entirely, and as Suede are counted into the third rehearsal of their opening song "Trash," you can almost sense the desperation in Anderson's face. Then the action starts, and he's utterly transformed. Though he's barely moving and scarcely singing, he's conveying an intensity that explodes from his very presence, drawing the most disinterested eyes in his direction. Even the soundmen look up from their meters, and the camera crew compete for his undying attention. If Anderson weren't a rock star, he'd make a great lunatic. But because he is a rock star...well, he's probably a lunatic anyway. You would be, too, in his shoes. If the 1990s have given us anything, it's the demystification of the rock star. From the boy-next-door Weezers to the angst-ridden whiners, the message is the same: I'm no different from you; I'm no better than you; and, of course, I'm just as screwed up as you. Enter, or more properly, re-enter Suede, with their third album, Coming Up (Columbia). And all that hard work reducing idols to idiots counts for nothing. Because Suede couldn't be "just like you" even if they wanted to. Bleeding through the "is he?/isn't he?" debate about vocalist Brett Anderson's sexuality and the "does he?/doesn't he?" of his rumored drug intake, the overall glamour with which society equates a fucked-up lifestyle drapes Suede like a second skin. The scent of teen spirit clings to them, the doomed romanticism of consumptive youth which peaked on their last album, 1994's Dog Man Star, and peeks through the stunning Coming Up. Suede deal in emotional extremes, from the A Clockwork Orange apocalypse of their "We Are The Pigs" video in which armed hooligans howl through a burning industrial landscape while Suede gaze down from giant video screens, to the incandescent loneliness of the current "Saturday Night" video, in which a London subway station is transformed into a rave to which the band have not been invited. The band's junkie chic is as apparent in the stoned immaculate presentation of their latest wasted-youth album-cover artwork, as it is in the gorgeously gaunt frame which Anderson angles for the television cameras. Add a live show that oozes subversive glamour; couple that with the fearless decadence of Anderson's greatest lyrics, and whether it's all an act or not, Suede are a walking advertisement for the joyful sins of sleaze. Backstage in the bowels of the BBC, Anderson sighs. He's heard all this before. "Yeah, you can look at it like that, but that's other people's interpretation of it, and that's their problem. You can't look at yourself through other people's eyes, then worry about what you say through their ears; you've got to have some self-belief in what you are." Which is, right now, the biggest thing on 10 legs. Across Europe and the Far East, Coming Up charted at No.1 and has already outsold both its predecessors. Three singles have kept the pot boiling ever since, and the current Suede line-up (their fifth on record since their 1990 "Be My God" 7-inch single debut) is their strongest yet. Like Brian Eno's departure from Roxy Music, founding guitarist Bernard Butler's exit did not so much rid the band of one creative spark, as open the door for the flowering of another. Anderson's unequivocal grasping of the reins, only partly aided by the recruitment of guitarist Richard Oakes, may have diluted Suede's overall sound, but it has sharpened their vision to a razor's edge. The further addition of keyboardist Neil Codling fills the gaps that teen maestro Oakes couldn't plug; the Simon Gilbert/Mat Osman rhythm section is a thunderous roar that never lets up; and Coming Up is unmistakably the sound of the same great band that recorded Dog Man Star. The difference is, Anderson affirms, they've stopped pissing around. "After Dog Man Star, everyone thought we were going to do an operetta or something like that. But you get things out of your system. We wanted to refocus the band, the fact that we were virtually starting again; we wanted to readjust the basics." And did it work? "You can't completely divorce yourself from your past. I haven't got the memory of a goldfish; I was aware that I'd made two albums before it. But it felt fresh, and it felt as though we were making the record away from a lot of the crap you have to deal with, away from the spotlight, which was great. Plus...", and here he gestures to new arrivals Codling and Oakes, "... there's less of an obsession with self-importance, which was definitely a change in the band. The last two albums were quite precious and self-important, and that can be good and that can be bad." Ah, preciousness. Plough through five years of Suede press and the buzzwords leap out: "superficial", "fake", "David Bowie" - three hollow sides to the same soulless coin. But most of the people who call Suede "pretentious" are the same ones who fancy the Spice Girls. And the closest those cynics get to class is the corridor outside the school room. "It does bother us a bit," says Anderson. "People always want to polarize bands into camps, and what I always find objectionable, even with journalists who are pro-Suede, is, they always want to write about us as an alternative to this good, honest musicianship going on elsewhere, which kind of implies that there isn't any good, honest musicianship going on within Suede." Anderson resents that implication, just as he resents the accusations of vanity that are flung at him with equal frequency - the two go hand in hand, after all. "People ask, 'Are you vain?' Hang on, let me turn the question around. If you were going to appear on television in front of five million people, you'd probably look in a mirror to see what you look like. You'll brush your hair and put a bit of make-up on because you don't want to look like a pig. Does that mean you're vain? I don't think it does. "Ninety-nine percent of my career thought is dedicated to thinking about music; a very tiny percentage is spent on image. I may go shopping once a month; but while I don't think we're the honest blokes down the pub, we're not kooky weirdos either. We're just what we are." A decent image, though, is still worth a thousand songs (ask Marilyn Manson), and if it's not their Englishness that holds Suede back in the U.S., then it has to be their appearance. They look weird. Catch the "Beautiful Ones" video: Codling apes the same abstracted pose of diffidence and boredom that once made a star of Sparks' Ron Mael; and Osman and Oakes look like they're trying to extinguish a particularly persistent cigarette end. Their singer is fey. Imagine Bryan Ferry if a stick insect stole his trousers. Their music is arty. And they come on like they're somehow special, so special that America poses little interest or challenge to Suede. Other bands make no secret of their desire to crack the country, nor do they hide their disgust when they fail. Suede, though, never seemed bothered. Past U.S. tours (three so far) have been languid affairs, barely publicized flirtations which almost gratefully acknowledge that as far as most people are concerned, Suede might as well be a lesbian performing artist. Anderson dictates the band's Stateside manifesto: "I don't give a shit." "Don't get me wrong: please don't portray us as some sort of anti-American thing, because we're not. But as far as America is concerned, you can talk about airplay and videos, but all it really boils down to is the fact that America doesn't like Suede. And I'm not going to knock it, if they don't like it, they don't like it." And what don't they like? Kurt Cobain had a tummy ache, and a nation felt his pain. Trent Reznor's dog died, and a nation held his hand. Brett Anderson wrote songs about holes in your arm ("The Living Dead") and pantomime horses ("Pantomime Horse"); he equates love with flyaway litter ("Trash"), and he's never been in rehab. "I hate that rehab shit! That's one place where America get really suckered, with those rehab rock bands. Let me explain what going into rehab means. It means you're cool because you used to do drugs, but now you're a good lad, and you're really '90s, so you want to give them up. But it's a complete excuse, and anybody who says it or does it is a complete careerist. I don't think the public shoulg go out and buy records by people whose record companies have told them to say they're going into rehab. You want to talk about fakes and falseness in the music business; I think this rehab rock thing is such a lot of dog shit." So you don't just say no? "I can't sit here and honestly say that drugs are bad for you, because I don't believe that, and I don't think anybody with a brain believes that." He elaborates: "Smoking a bit of pot and taking a bit of LSD can open a few barriers in your mind, although I certainly don't think taking smack, taking coke or taking crack does anything. I know I've taken drugs before and looked back on it and said, 'That's fucking crap; you should have got your act together and stopped taking them.' They just numb you and turn you into a wrong-thinking fucking idiot. "But that's the whole problem with drugs, isn't it? You can't say 'drugs' because there's so many different factes to it. 'It's an aid to creativity.' Well, some of it is, and some of it isn't. You can't paint everything with one brush." As for the veneer of glamour which Suede's own observations convey, the danger that, to quote the new album's "The Chemistry Between Us," "we are young and easily led," Anderson remains equally adamant. "There's no point in trying to filter things like 'Don't talk about this, don't talk about that.' Lots of times when I'm talking about drugs, I'm talking in a pedestrian context. I'm not trying to make it into a big deal; I talk about it like I'd talk about anything else that's in this room." And though he agrees there is a moral question, he also believes it's impossible to do much about it. "The only way you can set yourself up as something moral is in the broader sense, by not treating music as this completely throwaway, meaningless thing, and not treating the sentiments expressed in the music as completely throwaway, meaningless things. "That's where I see my position morally, someone who can write a love song and actually bring a degree of warmth to someone else. You can't act as censor in your words; you just have to be positive about what you're doing and see that making records that people love, that people cling to, and that help people through sticky patches in their lives is, at the end of the day, a positive thing to do. There's very few things I think that are positive in the world, but music is one of them." And that is that. In an age when a star is only as big as his last three videos, and most stars are as interesting as a line at the post office, Suede are three albums into a career that means more to more people than any of the bickering of Suede's petty, wormwood competitors; and certainly far more than the bitter, twisted harping of their detractors. Stars shine, shit stinks, and the lowest common denominator is nothing to be proud of. No one really wants to watch Hootie feed his blowfish, but Brett Anderson spends "Saturday Night" moping around on a subway train, and it's the best thing on MTV this year. Who cares what else he gets up to? Turning as he heads for the soundstage, Anderson won't be drawn. "My drugs of choice are ginseng and chamomile tea, but don't worry. I'm going into rehab soon."

[toloveawarlord]

The Truth Within the Lies Part 2

Finally putting out the chapter that goes in companion with @xathia-89 ‘s chapter of this collab! Go check out the first chapter on her page! ^_^

It was just another day at Blue Bell. The influx of customers had finally died down after the dinner rush. I rested against the bar, draping my torso over the top dramatically. My knees buckled from the ache that had settled over my whole body. Holidays were the worse time to work in this café. Customers rolled in constantly, an endless stream of “excuse me, miss!” and “Can I add just one more order?” My sigh caught the attention of my equally tired, prone to insults, co-worker.

“If you have time to sigh, you have time to clean,” Alec said, nodding at the broom propped up behind the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows for washing the delicate tea-cups and saucers. His gentle wiping of the porcelain did not match the scowl on his features.

I groaned in response, dropping my chin down to rest on my forearm. Watching his meticulous movements gave me the sense of calm that had been missing throughout the entire day. “I deserve a little rest after the hard day. I didn’t break a single cup today, so lay off,” I whined, wishing for a chair to magically appear.

The tingle of the doorbell echoed through the empty café. Both of us never bothered to look up, but our words match in perfect sync. “We’re closed.”

“Well, that attitude won’t do. Should I bring Harry in to train you two on etiquette?” Ryan asked, an amused smile touching his lips. He could not be prouder. We work hard at our job and make Blue Bell an exceptional café to visit.

Alec’s eyes flickered to me and then back to Ryan, even more narrowed than before. “It’s your doing that Blue Bell extended its hours for the foreseeable future.”

Ryan’s shoulders rose with feigned innocence. “Anyways, I came by to steal Elise. It’s a time sensitive matter, so Alec, can you finish closing down without her?”

“If I must.”

“That’s the spirit.” Ryan flashed him a grin and held out his arm to me, the clearly tired waitress. “Oh, and Blue Bell will be closed for the rest of the week. Take some time to relax, Alec.”

I reluctantly took his arm, leaning heavily on him as I could hardly trust my wobbly legs. The air had chilled significantly since my break hours ago. Night fully set in. Moonlight lit our path, one I knew quite well. The estate laid in the other direction, so only one destination could be this way. “We’re going to see Noel again?” Despite my achy body, there was nearly a spring in my step.

Ryan stifled his laughter, not wishing to draw attention to my lightened state. “Yes, there’s new information about the stolen art. I thought it best to have you present at this meeting, plus I knew you’d enjoy the company tonight.”

“Oh,” I gasped softly, averting my gaze to the darkened buildings that lined the streets we walked down. It wasn’t a secret that me and Noel had been… getting much closer than friends, but it still gave me a strange feeling whenever Ryan brought it up.

“We have to discuss our infiltration into the Palace, which is much easier with our invitation to the royal ball tomorrow,” Ryan threw out, as if I wasn’t already panicked enough about it. His words only made my silence last longer.

Unlike the rest of town, the police station was brimming with life. Officers were busy working at their desks, filing paper works, processing those waiting in holding. Ryan and I breezed right through the thick of them. The officers had been briefed that the two of us had a meeting with the Chief Inspector.

Noel sat behind his large desk, eyes fixed on the file splayed in front of him. “Shut the door, Ryan,” he said without the usual pep in his voice. His work laid heavily on him, it showed across his features.

“Good evening, Noel,” I greeted sweetly, leaving Ryan’s side to approach the Chief Inspector. A giggle passed my lips when his concentration broke at the sound of my voice. After such a long day, a dose of Noel was exactly what I craved. Too bad my big brother lingered just behind me.

The tension rolled off his shoulders. He couldn’t have been happier to see me. “What a lovely surprise, Elise. I wasn’t aware that you’d be attending, but I’m ecstatic that you’re here.” Rounding the desk, Noel pulled the chair out for me, and smiled for the first time since arriving at work. “Please, have a seat.”

I wanted to impress them both with all the etiquette I had learned from Harry’s lessons, but the moment I sat, my body melted in the leather chair. The cushion sank with my weight and with it, my will to behave as a socialite. This chair was made to relax in. “Thank you, Noel. I’m exhausted after our third day of extended hours.” My words were meant to be a jab at Ryan. “Hey, is it illegal to make your employees work hours like that? Please say yes.”

Noel brushed his fingers across my cheek, neatly tucking my blonde hair behind my ear. His warm touch lingered long after he returned to his own chair. “None come to mind, but I’ll do some research for your sake.”

Ryan plopped himself down in the chair next to mine, tapping his knuckles against the edge of the desk to draw the attention to him. “Your banter might be cute, but this is a business meeting. We came for you to disclose the plan.”

The bright smile fell from Noel’s lips, his features clouding over with seriousness. “The painting you’re searching for has been confirmed to be stored in the Palace archives. It remains to be known whether the King and Queen even know of its existence, furthering our suspicions that it’s simply there for safe-keeping until the buyer is secured.”

This painting is one that belonged to the Cromwell’s, and Ryan is determined to see it returned to the place where it belongs. The first heist I ever pulled with them was dangerous and risky but sneaking into the Palace… to a heavily guarded Palace… seemed insane. “Couldn’t we just ask the King and Queen about it? Surely they would never keep a stolen painting.” The logical option would be to do so. I don’t quite want my head on the chopping block at my age.

“We have little proof that it’s rightfully ours, except for my knowledge and one letter that is circumstantial at best. Plus, we could spook the art dealer and the painting could disappear for a century before it resurfaces,” Ryan explained.

Noel folded his hands on the desk, regarding me with all the authority of the Chief Inspector. “As an officer of the law, I cannot assist in this heist. My knowledge of the plan will be limited to need to know, and I am only accompanying you to the Palace to keep you, Elise, safe. I’ve gotten the blueprints, and that is all I will supply you.” He couldn’t risk his job for our sake, but turning a blind eye was enough.

I reached across the desk, placing my hands on his. It must be hard to walk the line as closely as he did. “Thank you, Noel. My worries about this have lessoned knowing you’ll be there with me,” I said, giving as much reassurance as I could muster.

Ryan tucked the blueprints under his arm, rising to his feet. “We’ll see you at the train station in the morning. Don’t be late.” He made it to the door only to realize that I hadn’t followed. “Elise?”

“I’ll meet you in the car. Just give me a few minutes,” I called back to him. Please give me this. It was the least he could for putting me into another crazy scheme of his.

His eyes flickered between Noel and me, studying us with disapproval. “Fine, but only a few minutes. I’ll come back for you if you take too long.” Ryan shut the door firmly behind him.

One. Two. Three. Four.

My eyes were locked on the door, counting his steps in my head. “Twenty eight. Twenty nine…” He should have reached the bottom of the staircase.

“Thirty,” Noel whispered, his hot breaths tickling my ear. The moment my head turned to him, his lips captured mine in a fevered kiss. Our demanding jobs took most of our private time away. Sure, we saw each other almost every day when Noel popped into the café, but this was sorely missed. One hand slid behind my neck, up into my hair, grasping tightly to the locks.

Too soon the kiss ended. My body leaned forward, head titling to steal another before he could fully pull away.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to discuss with you about the ball,” Noel said, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

“Does it have to do with the girl on your desk?” I asked, eyeing the picture of a young girl. The file was large, thoroughly investigated, but it was still marked open. Whoever she was, she must be important for Noel to still be working on the case.

Noel gave a curt nod, leading me over to study the file closer. “This is Caterina Bradley. She went missing some years ago, and the case has never been closed per request of Logan Bradley. I’ve gotten some information from a friend that she may be attending the ball.” The crease in his forehead grew bigger.

“Would you like me to keep a look out for her during the event?” This disappearance bothered him deeply, and my heart ached to soothe his pain.

“If you would, I’ll give you a reward when we return,” Noel offered but it lacked his usual flirtatious tone.

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Anything for---”

A car horn erupted from down below, lasting much longer than it should have. That would be Ryan, telling me that my time had ended. With a roll of eyes, I rolled up onto the balls of my feet to steal another sweet kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning. Please don’t stay up all night.”

“I won’t,” Noel answered, though I hardly believed him.

I had to leave him there, knowing there was little I could do to cheer him up. Instead, I focused myself on preparing for the biggest event I might ever attend. A ball at the Palace of Laurelia. Somewhere I had dreamed of seeing as a child, yet now that I was going, my mind was a mess with fears.

Those fears didn’t dissipate even when we arrived. Everything was perfect. My dress, my hair. I’d practiced my dance steps in hotel room, corrected my posture in the mirror while reciting the proper greetings to those with higher status than my own. Yet, my eyes grew wide as saucers when our names were announced to the large crowd gathered below the large staircase.

Ryan nudged me gently and discreetly with the arm that I clung to. “Smile,” he whispered, escorting me down.

Each step felt like my descent into hell. The more regale women was adorned with jewels and elegant ballgowns that far outshined my own. The Cromwell’s were a respected family, but we were surrounded by Princes, Princess, Dukes and Duchesses from many other countries besides our own.

Noel followed in step behind the two of us, acting more as our guard than an attending guest. He would blend much more smoothly, as no one would pay much attention to him. Still, my heart fluttered at the sight of him in that lovely suit.

“The door at the end of the room leads to the corridor that I mentioned. It’ll be much easier for you to slip out and get down to the archives. I’ll cover for your absence,” Ryan explained, guiding us through the crowd.

I could barely hear him over the chatter around us and the constant blaring of the trumpets to announce another arrival. It was quite overwhelming.

Ryan’s abrupt stop nearly knocked me off balance. “Caterina?” He stared, stunned by the woman standing before us.

“Princess Caterina of Wysteria,” the man at her side corrected with a sharp glare, as if daring Ryan to do anything else.

She was beautiful, a true Princess. I caught myself staring and turned my gaze away quickly when our eyes met. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I hope I haven’t offended her. Without another word, the two strode of into the crowd. She looked familiar… almost like that photo. The name, too. When I turned to find Noel, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Alright, go now. The king is about to give a speech and we’ll be trapped here when its starts.” Ryan gave the go to start the mission. His gentle push forward in the right direction gave no time to worry about the Princess of Wysteria.

Sliding through the crowd, no one paid any attention to me. They were so wrapped up in their cliques and getting in with those of higher status that I could have been invisible. The heavy wooden door was tough to open. I leaned with all my weight until I could slip through. The empty hallway held a heavy silence.

Okay, follow the corridor to the end and go left. There’s a staircase at the end of the hallway and that leads down into the archives. Reciting the directions over and over as I briskly walked with my head down, I rounded the corner only to collide with someone hard. They hit the floor with a light thud.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry!” I muttered, lifting my gaze from my feet to the woman in front of me. Oh no. This is not good. Of all the people I could have knocked down. It had to be a Princess?

Princess Caterina of Wysteria.

Time to grovel for my life!

This took me ages to finish but I finally did! Yay! Another OC! This is a Love Lies and Heist and Midnight Cinderella Crossover fic!

You can find my masterlist in my bio!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Nocturne (8/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

—————————————————————————————— ——————————————————————————————

"Cor, I'm coming to your house, and I'm crashing in your box," Aulea says, trailing listlessly into the parlor room, closely followed by a tired-looking Regis.

Cor wordlessly hands his Queen a hot cup of tea from the tray he’d prepared.

"I'm not sure this will do the trick," she says.

Then she takes a sip.

"Nevermind," she gasps, voice made raspy from the sheer amount of alcohol he's added to it. "This'll do."

"Can I have one of those?" Regis asks, rubbing his eyes.

Cor hands him one as well. "Be careful," he warns.

"You didn't warn Aulea," Regis points out, and takes a large gulp.

He promptly keels over.

"That's because Aulea can handle her liquor," Cor says to his King's now-twitching form without the slightest bit of pity. “Unlike some.”

Aulea snorts.

"Clarus and Cyrella will be here soon," she says. "And Scientia, too. The children are all watching a movie upstairs."

Cor nods.

The door opens and Scientia enters, then pauses and surveys the room. "Cor," she says calmly. "If you've committed murder, please let me know right away so that I can obtain a criminal lawyer for your defense. We don't have anyone currently up to date."

"He's fine," Cor says dismissively. "Just being a drama queen. Would you like a tea? It's spiked."

"Yes, please," she says. "Don’t you mean drama king?”

Cor rolls his eyes at her.

“At any rate,” Scientia says briskly. “I'm glad I didn't walk into a case of Reggiecide."

"My favorite pun," Aulea says with a smile.

Clarus and Cyrella enter then. "Oh, good," Clarus says, seeing Regis sprawled out on the ground. "There's liquor."

"One day I'm going to be actually poisoned and you'll all be sorry," Regis grumbles, but doesn’t actually bother getting up.

Aulea reaches out a paw and puts it in the center of his belly, kneading it a little. "You big baby," she coos. "Would you like some milk?"

He laughs and finally sits up. They all arrange themselves on the lounging couches, each one with a tea in hand (Regis' swapped out for one watered down with extra tea, because he’s weak and proud of it).

"So," Regis says after a few moments. "How go the negotiations with Bahamut?"

"With difficulty, since I can only tolerate the light of the Crystal for a limited amount of time before having to call for a break," Scientia says, scowling. She overstayed it once, early on, but three days of difficulty seeing was enough for her and she now adheres religiously to the schedule they'd created. "But we're making progress. He's accepted Luna as an adequate Oracle to assist with the process, but he's insisting on 'judging' Noctis – which, to be frank, I don't think he should be in any position to do. He's the one with the damned Prophecy, after all."

"Indeed," Aulea says, shaking her head. "Deity or not...That being said, some form of judgment is moderately traditional – the Ring has a similar judging period, doesn't it, dear?"

"It does, the first time you put it on," Regis agrees. "But there is rather a benefit to having the right blood, in that case; we are being judged by our own ancestors, the ancient Kings and Queens of Lucis, and perhaps unsurprisingly they’re rather biased in our favor."

"It’s not just the Ring that’s biased," Cor puts in. "Gilgamesh, at the Tempering Grounds, was extremely put out that I wasn't an Amicitia. My point that a ‘taur can have more than one Shield was not accepted with significant grace."

"Very undemocratic," Cyrella says. "Not to mention rude – I assume he's expecting my Gladio, one day, and by the Leviathan's watery gullet, he will meet me first."

"Gladio will grow up eventually, dear, you know that," Clarus points out mildly, not actually disagreeing.

"I do know that. Indeed, the moment I determine that's happened, he can consider following in Cor's pawprints and going out to fight some maniacal sword-collecting spirit, but it’s not happening even a single day earlier than that."

"I'm more concerned about the status in Tenebrae," Regis says, hastily changing the subject even as he tries - badly - to hide a smile. "Sylvia is reporting an increased Niflheim presence – still keeping a distance, mind you, but more spies than ever before. Do you think they've seen through the deception in regards to Luna?"

"You mean the remarkable coincidence of Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret being shipped off to some unnamed boarding school at the same time that our court acquires the young Luna Scientia, a distant cousin of our own Scientia –"

"By virtue of me being the only ungulaetaur involved the present conspiracy," Scientia interjects dryly.

"Yes, and thank you for that, Scientia."

"I take your point, Clarus," Regis says. "My concern is whether we are adequately keeping her safe here."

"Thus far, yes," Cor says. "I've worked with the intelligence divisions – there aren't more attempts to get into the Citadel than usual, as would be the case if she were being targeted. I think Niflheim is inclined to simply accept this as a fait accompli – I've sent some feelers into Niflheim, and they've already started floating some rumors that you're keeping her hostage."

"An attempt to turn Tenebrae's populace against us," Cyrella observes. "Clever."

"As long as they see it as in their best interests that she be here, and safe, I am willing to endure it," Regis says. "Is that the only significant effect she's been having on the court?"

"Unless you consider your son's decision that girls are infinitely more awesome than boys and that we should address him as 'Stella' for three weeks significant, no, no effects," Aulea says, smiling a little. "I thought it was rather charming."

"Would've been nice to have another Queen," Cor says. "Or a non-binary ruler, the way the Just was."

"I wonder if that would excuse Noctis from the whole 'King of Light' Prophecy business. It is a rather gendered Prophecy..." Scientia muses.

"He's returned to being a boy now," Aulea says, chuckling. "Nice try, all of you."

"The archive research is going better, though," Cyrella says. She joined Scientia's crusade – unwillingly at first, since she'd never much liked school, but with increasing eagerness as she learned how enjoyable non-directed academic research could be. "We've located even more of the tombs –"

"But if we don't have the covenants, how will that help –" Aulea starts.

The door creaks.

They all turn to look.

"We're sorry for disturbing you," Luna says apologetically.

"No, we're not," Gladio says.

"We're really not," Prompto says, but, like Luna, he sounds apologetic about it.

It's the whole group of them – Noctis and Prompto and Gladio and Ignis and Luna.

"Is something wrong with the movie?" Aulea asks.

"No," Ignis says. "I mean, that is – we stopped watching it."

"We wanted to talk to you," Noctis says. He was holding Luna's hand, but he releases it, stepping forward to take the lead. "We know you've been keeping something from us – something important. Something that relates to us. Me and Luna, anyway."

"Not that we're not involved," Gladio says fiercely. "We're sticking with Noct, all the way."

"Regardless of whatever danger we may incur as a result," Ignis adds.

Prompto nods, puffing himself up as fiercely as he can.

"We understand that you feel as though you are protecting us by not sharing this information," Luna says. "But I assure you, despite our youth, we are as eager and willing to do our duty as you. If it relates to our lives, we would be happier to know so that we may use that knowledge to guide our actions, rather than rely on the caprices of fate."

"We wanna help," Prompto says stubbornly. "And we can't help if we don't know what's going on. All we know is that it's got something to do with the Astrals –"

"– and the tombs of the Kings and Queens of Lucis –" Gladio adds.

"– and the light of the Crystal –" Ignis adds.

"– the power of the Oracle –" Luna chimes in.

"– and me," Noctis says, his small face serious beyond his years. Despite his tender age, there is something of the future king he will grow to be in there, and more than a little of the regal dignity of his parents. "It has something to do with me, doesn't it."

He doesn't pronounce it as a question, but Regis responds nevertheless.

"Yes, my son," he says. "It does."

"Regis," Aulea murmurs, an objection.

"No, Aulea. They know enough to be worried, but not enough to be assured that steps are being taken to resolve the issue," Regis says firmly. "We must tell them."

He turns to Noctis. "And you, my boy – all of you – you will accept that we will not tell you all the details, many of which are too complex for you to understand at your present age. But we will explain what is happening, and your role in it, and what can you will be able to do."

Noctis nods solemnly.

"Can we have some tea first?" Prompto asks, breaking the serious mood entirely. "It smells funny."

"It's grown-up tea," Cor says, even as all the other adults laugh. "You can't have it until you're older. Your grown-up tastebuds haven't grown in yet."

"Oh," Prompto says. "What about Luna, then? She's ancient."

"I'm ten!" she yelps, the poised lady disappearing under the affront of a child.

"Yeah," he says, blinking at her. "Like I said. Ancient."

"I think we'd better tell them the whole story," Cyrella cackles. "Just to stop this conversation before someone gets punched."

"I would appreciate having Ignis' assistance in the research," Scientia says, smiling proudly at her son, who straightens his back and beams. "His mind is exceedingly well-organized."

Ignis is positively glowing from the praise from his habitually stern mother.

"Come here, baby," Aulea says, patting her couch, and with that the last vestiges of maturity fade away as the children all run forward to curl up on the couches next to their respective parents – Luna going to Scientia, with whom she presently lives, although in deference to her maturity she pulls over her own couch instead of curling up by Scientia's belly. She does put the couches close enough that it is scarcely different.

Clearly, Scientia’s little fake adoption is going well.

Cor runs his fingers through Prompto's soft fur and smiles down at him. Prompto giggles happily and nuzzles his head against Cor's waist.

Gladio snuggles between his two parents, looking pleased as punch, while Noctis settles down by his mother and looks expectantly at his father.

"Very well," Regis says. "Let us begin at the beginning – do you recall the bedtime stories I have told you, about the war of the Astrals and the coming of the Starscourge, of Bahamut's Gift of the Crystal and the Ring and the power of the Oracle?"

"Duh. We've only heard those stories, like, a hundred times," Noctis says. "They're covering it in preschool, too."

"Let us tell you, then, of the Prophecy of Bahamut which accompanied his Gifts, and what it means for the line of the Lucis Caelum, the Kings of Lucis..."

"Round one," Cor murmurs. "Bahamut versus the kitten. Ready in three, two, one..."

Aulea elbows him in the side.

Luna and Noctis have just gone inside the internal chamber of the Crystal, Regis accompanying them as chaperone – at least at first. Bahamut insisted on meeting what he insisted on referring to as "He Who Will Be the Chosen King", plus Luna, so that he could judge him worthy.

Meanwhile, the rest of them are lingering outside, waiting.

Cor is the only one who thought ahead about their likely wait, and brought a picnic basket and blankets for everyone.

"I think you should go after the mace first," Gladio says, rocking back and forth on his back and grabbing at his hindpaws with his hands to let him rock better. "Maces are cool."

"Don't you want the shield?" Clarus teases him.

"Well, yeaaah," Gladio says. "Obviously. But you haven't found where the shield is yet."

"I wanna see the star," Prompto says. He refuses to believe that it's not an actual star, and he's exceedingly curious about it.

"I think the first stop had better be the one that's closest," Cor says. "And as the person who will be taking up tomb-raiding as a secondary profession, I think I get the final say."

"Boooo," Prompto says.

"That is the most logical approach," Ignis says, though he looks wistful.

"Which one's your favorite, Iggy?" Gladio asks.

"Well, I've always been interested in seeing the dual swords..."

"You're all being ridiculous," Cor says.

They all look sheepish.

"Obviously the most interesting one is the katana."

The children's abashed looks disappear, replaced by smiles.

"You just think that 'cause you like katanas," Prompto giggles.

"That is indeed the case," Cor says. "What's your so-called point?"

"A better question is which Astral we should pursue for the Covenants after we finish with Bahamut," Cyrella says. "There's only six of them, not twelve like the Royal Arms –"

"Thirteen, mom," Gladio objects.

"Twelve, dear. Regis already has the Sword of the Father."

"Oh. Right."

“Actually, eleven,” Cor interjects. “Sylvia has the Trident of the Oracle in her care.”

"Thank you, Cor. As I was saying," she continues, "I believe that the Astrals will be more difficult."

"Bahamut indicated that he wished to have a fairly extensive period of testing Noctis," Scientia says. "And he warned that receiving a mark of an Astral was fairly burdensome, especially given Noctis' age. Perhaps we should space them out – a year apart, perhaps?"

"But then Noctis will be old by the time he finishes," Prompto says, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes, dear," Aulea says. "But slow and steady wins the race – and at any rate, you don't want poor Cor going out all the time to get weapons, do you?"

"No!"

"That's what I thought."

"I think one Astral a year makes sense," Clarus says. "With twice or thrice-yearly quests to the tombs –"

"Thanks," Cor says dryly.

"That way," Clarus continues, ignoring Cor, "we can try to avoid drawing too much of Niflheim's attention. It is eminently reasonable for the royal family to make certain pilgrimages – but not too often."

"Once a year, then," Aulea agrees. "We'll tell Regis; I'm sure he'll agree."

"Which one first, then?" Cyrella persists. "After Bahamut, of course."

"Well, let's look at this logically," Scientia says. "The Glacian's corpse is in Ghorovas Rift, in Niflheim –"

"So not her."

"I was thinking we'd keep her for last," Scientia agrees. "The Infernian is in the Rock of Ravatogh, which is pretty far away; the Fulgarian's forest is closer –"

"Leviathan is closer still," Cor interjects.

"How's that?" Cyrella asks. "Isn't Altissia her most favored city? That's even further than Ravatogh."

"Traditionally, yes, it is," Cor says. "But the Tidemother is also rather notoriously fond of the seas beyond Galadh."

"The seas beyond – you mean where the lost isle of Atlantioi was supposed to have been?"

"I do indeed. Galadh is Lucian territory – it would be less noticeable even than going as far as Hammerhead."

"And it would help establish a tradition of going on pilgrimage, while remaining in a relatively safe area," Clarus agrees.

"People will probably think I'm praying for another baby," Aulea says waspishly. She's still ticked off about the tabloid reports about her absence earlier this year.

"I wanna have a baby," Gladio says.

"You're too young, Gladiolus," Cyrella says.

"No, a baby brother. Or sister!"

"Why don't we table that discussion for now," Clarus says quickly. "I think they're coming out."

They are.

Regis looks vaguely shell-shocked, but Luna and Noctis look fine – refreshed, even.

Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis immediately rush over to them, overflowing with questions.

"How'd it go?" Aulea asks Regis.

"Well," he says.

"Then why do you look quite so – perturbed?"

Regis wrinkles his nose. "Bahamut said that they were – cute."

They all stare at him.

"Noctis did his purring thing," Regis adds. "The one he does when he wants new people to like him. I think it worked."

“Of course it did,” Clarus says dryly, shaking his head.

“They’ll need to come in regularly for lessons with Bahamut,” Regis adds. “Both to absorb the light of the Crystal, but also his teachings, which he wants to ensure they've learned before he grants Noctis the mark of his favor. They’ll have to balance it with schoolwork – or at least kindergarten, for Notics. But Bahamut estimates that within several months, Noctis will be ready to be judged, and given the Mark.”

“Lessons,” Aulea sniffs. “More likely he wants to be surrounded by a kitten as cute as Noctis.”

“…maybe.”

"As you said, Cor," Cyrella says, starting to smile. "Bahamut versus the kitten – round one, Noctis."

"By overwhelming cuteness," Cor agrees bemusedly. "Clearly a weapon I've been underutilizing."

"You're not cute, Cor."

He sniffs. "I'll have you know that I'm extremely cute."

"I'd threaten to make you go in with them next time," Regis says. "But you'd probably punch him in the face or something."

"I've gotten better about that."

"You really haven't, Cor. You really, really haven't."

"- and that concludes my presentation as to why I should be allowed to advance an extra grade," Ignis concludes, clicking onto the final slide.

Then he turns and looks at his mother with barely restrained eagerness.

His mother is frowning thoughtfully, which Ignis knows is a good sign – perhaps in other families it wouldn't be, but for him, a frown means that she's at least thinking his proposal over. If she meant to reject him out of hand, she wouldn't need to frown – she'd just do it.

"Your presentation is very cohesive," Scientia the Elder, as he sometimes fancies her, finally says. "You've covered your academic level – stellar, of course – and your social development – improving rapidly – and even the potential future opportunities that might be available to you."

Ignis nods. His hands are sweaty with nervousness, but he resists the urge to wipe them off – he doesn't want to develop a nervous tell.

"Regardless, I must address one area you appear to have overlooked."

"Overlooked?" Ignis echoes. He didn't overlook anything – he accounted for all the different classes (math, languages, science), social issues (he argued that the more nuanced relationships he would be able to form outweighed the marginal benefit of interacting with his 'peers'), teacher interactions...he even charted out timelines from now until college to demonstrate the superiority of his proposed path.

He should definitely be allowed to go straight to second grade.

What did he overlook?

His mother looks at him. "Ignis," she says calmly. "You could just say you'd rather be in Gladio's class."

Ignis flushes.

He hadn't realized –

But yes, of course, that was a factor, and of course his mother realized it. The fact that it existed meant that he should've accounted for it, even if Gladio's currently being a dumb-dumb who's making new friends and having playdates with them instead of with Ignis, and so what if Ignis doesn't really have friends in his year – he's always been a bit too smart, a bit too off-putting for them – but he's never cared, he's one of the few people who know about, and is even involved with, the team put together to save all of Eos from the Starscourge and that made him special, okay, really special, and – and –

"I will speak with your school in the morning," his mother tells him. "It's early enough in the year that advancing you right now should be fine – I'll take personal responsibility for ensuring that you get up to speed on anything you might have missed."

Ignis breathes a sigh of relief, almost a sob.

"Now come here, my little flamespark, and tell me what's really the problem. No presentation required."

Ignis runs to her and leaps into her arms, letting her catch him and hold him close just like she did when he was a baby, and she leans her head down and lightly butts heads with him – a gesture of solidarity and comfort among ibexes like them, and one that he's taught Prompto and Noctis and even Gladio, but no one can do it quite like his mother.

No one can do lots of things like his mother.

"I don't want to fall behind," he whispers to her, clinging to her. "I don't – I'm not one of them the same way. Noctis and Gladio and Prompto – their parents have been friends for ages."

"I've been friends with them for ages, too," his mother reminds him. "Not as long, of course; certainly not in regards to Regis and Clarus, but Cor I've certainly known since before he shed his adolescent spots."

"But Gladio's making all sorts of new friends," Ignis says stubbornly. "And Noctis has Prompto in his class, so they can play together every day, and I don't have anybody in mine that I like."

"No one at all?"

"No! They're all mean and make fun of me because I always answer the teacher and say that I'm a stupid hoof-footer and –" He shuts his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that.

But his mother doesn't get upset about him not standing up for himself and dealing with the problem, like he half-feared she would even while knowing that she was unlikely to. She wouldn't have stood for any of that, not his mother; his mother is strong and independent and perfect, capable of fighting any battle.

Utterly untouchable.

Ignis can't wait to grow up to be just like her.

"You know," she finally says, after a while. "It's all right to feel hurt when people are cruel to you."

Ignis frowns.

"Look at Cor, little flamespark," she says. "You know how he's suing half the city at any given time?"

Ignis giggles. Cor Leonis' litigious streak is perhaps less famous than his martial prowess among the general population, but among Insomnia's lawyers he is a legend.

"He does that because he can't stand it when people are cruel," his mother tells him, gently stroking Ignis' back and the short fur of his hindquarters. "He feels hurt, and he lets that hurt drive him forward. If he didn't feel it, if he could just brush it off, then he would just keep going without paying attention. And the world would be a far worse place."

"No Prompto," Ignis agrees. They all know about the circumstances of Prompto's adoption – it didn't take long for him to realize upon reaching preschool that he wasn't like most of his class, and like Cor, and he asked about his heritage. Cor explained it to him, slowly more and more over time, and Prompto in turn explained it to them: that Prompto had been rescued from the depths of Niflheim by Cor personally, and when the bureaucrats of Lucis tried to separate them, he launched a battle unlike any the system had ever seen in order to keep him.

Prompto, Ignis knows, is a little awkward about the fact that he doesn't exactly fit in just right, about how he's got a different set of instincts and how he's got the same hindquarters as the enemy of Lucis, a little shy about his lingering puppy fat that keeps him chubbier than many of his already rapidly slimming kitten classmates, and more than a little insecure about anyone leaving him, but if there's one thing that has never bothered him, it's the knowledge, deep to the foundation of who he is, that he is wanted. He wasn't just genetic luck-of-the-draw – his Cor helped rip apart the entire foster care system, just for the right to keep him.

"No Prompto," Ignis' mom agrees. "And many other things, too." She butts his head again. "Even I get hurt when people are mean, you know."

"You do?" Ignis asks, amazed. "But who would be mean to you?"

Who would be dumb enough, he means.

She laughs. "There's plenty of felidaetaurs who buy into all sorts of stupid stereotypes – that ungulaetaurs aren't as aggressive as a predator-drawn species, or that we'd be more likely to give in, or other ridiculous things like that. And those people didn't want to give me a chance, didn't give me the leg up that they gave to other people – never picked me for the most interesting projects, never hired me if they could get someone else, were always three times as critical if they saw that it was me. But I showed them, didn't I?"

"You did," Ignis says admiringly. Everyone knows his mother is a force to be reckoned with – one of the finest lawyers in all of Insomnia. "You definitely did."

"And you're going to show them, too," she tells him, but she smiles. "Still, there's no need to make it any harder than it has to be. I think Gladio will be more than happy to introduce you to his new friends, and to defend you if anyone starts in on the same nonsense."

"You think so?" Ignis asks anxiously. He's been worried about that, sick to his stomach, but he'd hoped - he so hoped...but if his mother thinks so, then surely it must be true.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure of it. He's a bit silly, your Gladio, but his hearts are true."

"He's not my Gladio," Ignis says, blushing again, though he's not sure why. "And he is silly."

He's not sure why his mother is smiling.

"Well, as I said, I'll talk to the school tomorrow," she says. "But why don't you call Gladio and tell him today? He can come over for dinner. I'll make those dumplings he likes."

"He doesn't like anything as much as he likes Cup Noodles," Ignis warns her.

"I wouldn't dream of trying to compete," she says ironically. "But he likes my dumplings, too. Go on, now."

Ignis beams and runs off to find his phone.

This is going to be so much fun.

"Hiya, Bammy!"

"My name is Bahamut," the echoing voice says sternly. "The Draconian. I know that you know this."

"We're friends now," Noctis declares. "Gladio is Gladdy and Ignis is Iggy and you're Bammy."

"What about me?" Luna asks, smiling. "You call me Luna. And you call Prompto, Prompto."

"That's 'cause you're pretty," Noctis says dismissively.

"...did you just imply that Bahamut is not pretty?" Luna asks, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her growing smile.

"He's a voice," Noctis points out. "He can't be pretty or not pretty."

"He has a presence, you know," Luna says. "He's just choosing not to manifest it."

"Indeed, young Oracle," Bahamut says. "To begin our lesson for today –"

"But is he pretty?" Noctis demands, rolling over on his back and batting at the ceiling with his paws.

"Young King..."

"Prince!"

"Young Prince. Please focus."

"You're the one who chose the line of Lucis to bear your Gift," Luna says, starting to giggle. "And here I thought the phrase 'herding cats' was pre-Solheim."

"It is," Bahamut says with a tone in his voice that in a mortal 'taur might have been interpreted as a groan. "And yet, that very stubborn tendency has enabled Lucis to resist the dominion or encroachment of tyranny for hundreds of years."

"Is that supposed to imply something about Tenebrae?"

"It is not."

"Luna! Bammy!" Noctis shouts. "I found a bug!"

"Young Prince..."

"It's creepy and crawling and awful! Look!"

"Let it go, Noctis," Luna says. "It's just a cockroach."

"Perhaps today's lesson should be about steadfastness," Bahamut muses. "And endurance."

"Endurance," Luna says skeptically, drawing a hoof along the ground in a gesture of uncertainty. "Enduring – like a cockroach?"

"We get to turn into cockroaches?!" Noctis asks excitedly, dropping the bug and bounding over. "I wanna be a cockroach!"

"In many ways, young Prince, I assure you that you already are..."

"Maybe the lesson ought to be about hubris," Luna says tartly. "And the issues that may arise from not recognizing another person's value despite them not being equal to you in power."

"I am well-chastised, young Oracle. You are correct. Young Prince, may we now begin the lesson?"

"I've got a question," Noctis says.

"Very well," Bahamut says with a sigh.

"You say that for most of the Covenants I've gotta do, I gotta defeat, or help defeat, the Astrals in battle, so I can prove myself worthy, right?"

"That is correct. Although in deference to your young age, and the participation of your guardians, I believe that the other Astrals will be inclined to permit you to be limited to an assisting role in any given battles."

"Right," Noctis says. "But if you don't manifest, how do I defeat you?"

"I am teaching you my judgment," Bahamut says. "When you have absorbed my lessons, and the light of Providence from the Crystal, I will grant you the Mark of Bahamut."

"But if you manifested, I could beat you and do it shorter!"

"That's not at all how it works."

"Well, lemme try!"

Bahamut is silent for a long moment. "Am I to understand that you believe that you can defeat me," he finally says, "alone and unassisted?"

"I'm sure that's not what Noctis means –" Luna starts, but she's interrupted.

"Sure!"

A shadow suddenly fills the room, darkening it in its entirety, before rushing in – not unlike running through a cloud – and forming into a glorious figure out of myth.

Bahamut the Draconian is formed like any other ‘taur, only writ large: a dozen feet tall, his whole humanoid torso encased in armor – even his face hidden by a mask, with only his eyes showing the hints of life within. From the waist down, he is the Hesperian Dragon, a majestic creature covered in scales of purple and black, with claws of gold, a deadly lashing tail with a golden spike at the end, and large wings composed of steel swords.

"Look upon me, young Prince of the Prophecy," he speaks, and his voice shakes the walls like the ringing of a terrible bell. "Look upon me and know –"

"You're awesome!" Noctis exclaims.

Bahamut pauses.

"I must admit the prince has a point," Luna agrees, because what else can she do? "You are, indeed, pretty - ah - awesome."

"Do you still believe you can defeat me?" Bahamut asks, deciding to ignore the interruption and get back to the point.

"Yep!" Noctis says cheerfully, and sticks out a hand. "Come on, thumb war! I'm the best!"

Bahamut is silent.

"I'm sorry," Luna says apologetically, covering her face with her hands. "Gladio just learned the game in school and taught it to all of them; they've been rather mad over it."

"You wish to challenge me," Bahamut says slowly, "the great and powerful Bahamut, War-Bringer, Law-Giver, the Great Dragon – to a thumb war?!"

"C'mon!" Noctis says, bounding over to Bahamut and clambering up his midsection before anyone, including Luna, even realizes what his intent is, much less has the ability to stop him.

He puts his tiny little hand over Bahamut's – his entire palm is scarcely the size of the base of Bahamut's thumb.

This does not stop or even slow Noctis down.

"Let's play!" he says, beaming up at Bahamut.

"You are incorrigible," Bahamut says.

"And cute!"

"...yes. That as well."

"Play with me?"

"I will teach you the lesson of determination in the face of overwhelming odds today," Bahamut decides.

Noctis' face falls.

Bahamut reaches for Noctis, plucking him by his waist and underneath his belly, and places him gently on the floor.

"And then, my young Prince," Bahamut says, "you will show me how to play your – thumb war."

Noctis cheers.

Luna drops her face back into her hands.

But she's smiling.

(And she mentions to no one, neither Bahamut nor Noctis nor any of the adults, the glow of purple she sees in Noctis' eyes as they leave the Crystal chamber that day, the sign of one Marked with an Astral's favor - because as she well knows, there are many different ways to be defeated.)

[chaisteabox]

Aye I’m back with a new chapter!!!!

Archive Link :

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324952/chapters/34576376

BLURB

"It has been a long time, Kakashi."

He sat down and crossed his legs.

"Yes it has, Jeong Jeong. But I must confess. I am confused. If anyone is a master, it is you. Not me."

He idly twisted the wick of one of the candles in front of him, lighting it and putting it out in the same motion. "To me, Kakashi, control is mastery, the more you control anything, the more you master it. You can master bending, a skill, trade, whatever, but the hardest thing to master is yourself, your emotions, their ebb and flow. I am a pacifist. When I left the Fire Nation I swore off using firebending as a weapon, and the only thing you'll catch me doing now is lighting a candle. It's so peaceful, and when I saw you approach, I knew you had gained at least a piece of this serenity yourself. Tell me, when did you escape from the hell that is the Fire Nation?"

"A little over eight years ago."

"You have done well. The last time I saw you, the Fire Lord had his talons deep in you, you were a violent and angry person. I am proud to see you this way, thoughtful, cautious, caring. If there was anything I could have in this world, I would have been born as a nonbender. How much simpler life would have been! How much less destruction there would have been in the world."

"If not you, the Fire Lord would have only used another body."

"You are correct. Bastard."

They were silent for a moment.

"Where were you hiding?"

"I was all over for about a year. They finally stopped sending assassins at that point and it got easier. The last several I spent on Kyoshi Island, and I am so glad I did. My best friend was also there, and is here with me now. What a wonderful person she is."

Jeong Jeong smiled at him,

"Oh? And who is she?"

"Her name is Sakura."

"The earthbender?"

"Yes."

"She has spirit that one. Another question. You are a firebender, and Sakura is an Earthbender. Once your reach the north pole, the girl and the Avatar learn waterbending, why don't you and Sakura teach him the other elements?"

"I'm afraid mine is a very selfish reason."

He took a deep breath, "They don't know."

"No, they don't know. Not even Sakura."

"You would make an excellent teacher."

"Every time I think of spilling the beans, I think of the hurt I'm going to see in Sakura's eyes, the hatred. I just can't stand to see that. Not yet. I know it's not a very good reason, but I'd never firebend again if it kept her from looking at me like that. From losing my best friend."

"And what about her?"

"I asked her once, what she thought about doing it, and she said she tried teaching at one point, and that it went horribly for her. I didn't press it any further. Aang is also close friends with King Bumi of Omashu. Perhaps he thinks Bumi would teach him."

"That's quite impressive."

"Tell me about it, apparently they were friends a hundred years ago."

"Speaking of King Bumi... have you had any time to find a pai sho table?"

Kakashi thought of the tile occupying his pocket and ran his thumb around its smooth edge.

"I confess I have all but lost any tiles I had."

"There is only one that is important in the end."

"You are correct. Though not many still cling to the ancient ways."

"Those who do will always find a friend."

Hope to see you all in the next chapter!!!

(btw they’re at a festival. does that count for kakasakumonth? XD)

[biofunmy]

This Labor Day, We Salute the (Arts) Workers

Before you start loading up your fall culture calendar, take a moment this Labor Day Weekend to reflect on those people who make sure that the city’s cultural events — concerts, Broadway shows and art exhibitions — go off without a hitch. In a culture center like New York, that means there are thousands of people to thank; here, we introduce you to several of them. These are edited excerpts from conversations. — Nicole Herrington, Weekend Arts Editor

The Dancer

Eric Parra, 23, member of the Limón Dance Company

On Saturday mornings during the summer, there is an open invitation from the Limón Dance Company to learn a modern technique typically reserved for dancers training in spacious mirrored rooms. The class is free and takes place in a grassy corner of Bryant Park. No registration is required, and anyone — from toddlers to retirees — can join.

“For all you know, you could be going out for a walk in Bryant Park and you end up taking a full body movement class,” said Eric Parra, who led last Saturday’s class.

He started with simple combinations to warm up the spine and legs, then transitioned into slightly more complicated movement sequences, all set to the rhythms of a live percussionist.

The class highlights core aspects of the Limón technique, which values movement that swings, releases and maintains a grounded connection to the floor.

“If you fall here, you’re going to fall on grass,” Parra said. “It feels safe. It feels fun. When you’re a kid, you love to play in the grass, so I think dancing in the grass lifts the spirit.”

The participants tend to be a mixture of locals and tourists making their way through the park. You could end up dancing with your neighbor, Parra said, or you could be dancing with someone who traveled from across the world. Often participants do not speak English, but luckily, the most important language here is movement.

“You don’t necessarily have to hear everything in order to understand what’s going on,” Parra said. “We try to cultivate a warm, welcoming space for everybody, where language isn’t a barrier to getting the most from this experience.” JULIA JACOBS

When: Saturdays at 10 a.m. through Sept. 28 at Bryant Park; bryantpark.org.

The Frame Makers

Bill Schunk, 64, and Rose Pappalardo, 57, owners of Frames New York

The work of Bill Schunk and Rose Pappalardo has been seen by thousands of people — and yet it hasn’t, because, as they put it, their work is best if it vanishes. “The frame sort of needs to disappear,” Mr. Schunk said. “If you’re noticing the frame, maybe something is wrong.”

The husband-wife team has quietly been supporting the art world since the late 1980s, giving prints, photographs and paintings a border, an edge.

Mr. Schunk works with individual artists who flutter in and out of their studio in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and Ms. Pappalardo works with galleries and corporations in New York and across the world, including the new Pace/MacGill Gallery. (She is currently working on its upcoming Peter Hujar exhibition.)

Each frame is created at their studio from locally sourced materials, like wood and glass. They finish it off with stains or layers of lacquer and, finally, they decide on a type of glazing.

Over the years, the couple has worked with the Irving Penn Foundation, Hudson Yards and artists like Chuck Close, Jean-Michel Basquiat and Ed Ruscha. “It’s like we have our own private show with each piece that comes in,” Ms. Pappalardo said.

They agreed that seeing artists progress and develop is the best part. It’s “like watching them all grow up,” Mr. Schunk said. ALISHA HARIDASANI GUPTA

When: “Peter Hujar: Master Class” opens on Sept. 14 at Pace/MacGill Gallery, 540 West 25th Street, Manhattan; pacemacgill.com.

The Projectionist

Evelyn Emile, 32, film projectionist at Anthology Film Archives

For Evelyn Emile, a projectionist who has been working at Anthology Film Archives for more than three years, films aren’t just seen and heard; they are also something you touch.

“I love handling film,” she said. “I have some contact with reality when I’m projecting film that I don’t have when I’m doing something digital.”

Working with film prints, she explained, requires precision and constant attention: “If I move the focus knob a millimeter, I know it will come into focus. Small movements can make a big difference on the screen.” And that’s what’s rewarding about it, she added. It’s up to her to ensure that the sometimes fragile reels of film show up onscreen in the way they were intended.

This isn’t accomplished by simply pressing a button. Film prints have to be inspected and occasionally repaired, cue marks have to be added, and lenses, aperture plates and sound formats must be set properly. All that extra effort, she says, is worth it. “Working at a theater that continues to program and screen films in their original format is very important to me. I think that when the film gets digitally transferred, it does lose a little bit of its soul.”

Film projection, she said, keeps her grounded. “Everything that I do in the booth, especially with film, has a consequence for how the film is shown. If I make small movements with framing adjustments, it affects how people see the film.”

The tactile relationship that Emile has with the films she projects has only deepened her love of cinema. Emile is particularly excited to screen films by Carl Dreyer, including “The Passion of Joan of Arc” (1928) and “Ordet” (1955), over Labor Day weekend. “Each of his films is really extraordinary,” she said. “They have simple plots showing everyday people, not judging them, just showing their relationships and how they work through the problems of their lives.” PETER LIBBEY

When: Carl Dreyer’s films will be shown through Sept. 3 at Anthology Film Archives, 32 Second Avenue, Manhattan; 212-505-5181, anthologyfilmarchives.org.

The Manager

Larry Siegel, 44, general manager of SummerStage in Central Park

Larry Siegel wears many hats at a venue that, this summer, has hosted performances by the British singer-songwriter Corinne Bailey Rae, the indie-rock act Japanese Breakfast, singers from the Metropolitan Opera and others. Even Taylor Swift stopped by, for a live performance broadcast on “Good Morning America.”

This is what a typical day looks like for Siegel, before and during a show.

“I get in between 7 and 8 a.m., and that’s when we have our first production meeting. After that the band starts coming in. We make sure our hospitality teams are setting up coffee and tea and opening the dressing rooms. I make sure our delivery of portable toilets are coming in, that our turf is clean, and all the leaves and debris from last evening have been blown off.

“Then I check in with the union workers over at the stage. I meet with our production manager, then the front-of-house manager. That’s all in the morning. Then our security deployment arrives and we check them all in, make sure they’re all up-to-date with any threats or anything that we receive from the N.Y.P.D. or Homeland Security.”

This is the time in the day, Siegel said, when they get ready to open the doors to thousands of concertgoers. Then things get frantic.

“There’s a lot of running around. My radio is going off constantly. There was a medical situation last night, so I dealt with that. We tend to have a lot of fainting at shows. Taylor Swift, especially. We had her last week. That was a lot of little girls fainting.

“The best part of my job is knowing that people are coming to us to enjoy their lives, to take a few hours out of their grind. Once a show is up and running and the band is performing and there are smiles on the people’s faces as you’re looking out across them — that, to me, is worth every piece of sweat.” AS TOLD TO GABE COHN

When: SummerStage continues through Oct. 5 at Rumsey Playfield in Central Park; cityparksfoundation.org.

The Bingo Host

Linda Simpson, host of “Linda Loves Bingo” at Le Poisson Rouge and other locations

“I started hosting bingo in the late 1990s. And ‘Linda Loves Bingo’ as an entity started about 10 years ago at Le Poisson Rouge. That’s where my main residency has been and, yes, I have been there that long.

“What I’ve created, I hope, is a real escapist environment. It’s a no-political zone, which I find kind of important these days, and it’s just a great chance for people of all kinds — it’s a very mixed crowd — to enjoy themselves.”

“The challenges include always shopping for prizes because I offer discount-store delights, which means I scour the stores of New York City for fun stuff. I actually enjoy it, but it’s a lot of schlepping — it’s time-consuming. I do have a great crew that works with me — I have D.J.s and drag queens and burlesque girls that work as the Vanna Whites. I will say, even to this day, there’s a little preshow jitters, but I think that’s good.

“Some of the players, I’m genuine friends with them now. And it’s been really good affirmation for me. I always wanted to make a living doing drag, and bingo has just allowed me to live as a drag queen.” — AS TOLD TO ALISHA HARIDASANI GUPTA

When: Saturdays at 7.30 p.m. at Le Poisson Rouge, 158 Bleecker Street, Manhattan; lindalovesbingo.com.

The Theater Guide

Ricky Jones, 35, TKTS patron services supervisor

Times Square isn’t a setting normally associated with well-informed conversation, but Ricky Jones says that’s what you’ll get if you come to the TKTS booth at 47th Street and Broadway to buy discounted theater tickets. “One of the big things about us,” he said, “is that you can really have a discussion with people about theater, which I think is really special.”

Part of his job, he explained, is to circulate among the customers waiting in line to go over the shows that have tickets available and that might be of most interest to them. For visitors not on top of the New York theater scene, these exchanges can reduce the stress of choosing among unfamiliar offerings. “When a lot of people come to New York City for the first time, they might know about ‘Phantom of the Opera,’ ‘Chicago’ and maybe ‘Wicked,’ but they probably don’t know about all the other shows on the board,” Jones said.

Instead of offering their opinions on shows, Jones and his team try to find the right play, musical or dance performance for each customer. “I usually ask what kind of show they are looking for, if they’ve seen a Broadway show before, and then I try to pair what they’ve seen before with what they’re looking for.”

For theater experts, these conversations can go deeper. “We can talk about the show you saw or want to see and geek out about it,” Jones said. He speaks from experience, having first come to TKTS as a theater-obsessed kid: “We would come to New York every year for Thanksgiving, and I remember there was a promoter, a British guy with purple hair. While my Mom waited in line, I would just talk theater with this guy, to the point that he has watched me grow up since I was about 8 years old.” PETER LIBBEY

When: Daily at the Times Square booth, as well as the TKTS outlets at Lincoln Center and South Street Seaport.

Sahred From Source link Travel

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[jaclynbross1]

Living Room Makeover with Little Greene (And A Guide to Hanging Wallpaper)

I've been busying myself over the last few weeks with our living room renovation - getting the walls prepped, the ceiling pepped, opening up the fireplace, sanding floorboards (post on that coming soon!) and finally - we're at the painting and decorating stage. I think this is probably the quickest makeover I've ever done - talk about girl on a mission!

So, this post is in collaboration with Little Greene, who have recently launched a new range of absolutely gorgeous wallpaper; Archive Trails II. I have been incredibly fortunate and as part of this collaboration, I was able to choose and feature one of those wallpapers in our living room. And I can't tell you how much I love Little Greene wallpapers, so I am thrilled to pieces to be working with them!

First things first though - here's a quick look at the living room pre-decorating. If you'd like to see a full room tour of the 'before' then please do check out this post. But it certainly looks a little different from how it did four weeks ago though, doesn't it?!

Decorating is my most favourite kind of DIY. I love painting - always have, always will. And it's this stage that totally transforms a room. Like totally. Paint is the best thing since sliced bread and can change the feel of a room in an instant. From giving a room a fun and young feel, to rich and regal - it can literally do it all. I gave this room a really quick white-wash a few weeks back, just to keep my sanity so I didn't have to stare at those horrible green patches for too long - But the actual paint I've decided to go for in this room, is a very light grey; a sophisticated, gentle grey. One that's warm in tone and feels really cosy in the room. It's the colour 'French Grey' by Little Greene in their Absolute Matt finish.

I've never used Little Greene's paint before, but I can now honestly say the coverage of it is exceptional. It's quite thick and a little really does go a long way. I only had a 2.5L tin to do three (large!) walls in this room, which I would usually have bought a 5L tub for. To say I was worried it wouldn't stretch is an understatement - but it did! After two walls, I still had just over half a tin left. And I think that's really good going!

I also really like the fact their paints are eco friendly. They're water based with almost no VOC content which makes them odourless and of course, they don't add to pollution in the atmosphere. They also have 40% more pigment than oridinary paints which provides a greater depth of colour, which you can pick up in different lights. And of course, lots of their paints (and wallpapers!) are based on historic colours and finds, which makes them perfect for period houses like ours.

I always do one full coat of paint and then patch up any imperfections in the wall. I know this might seem a little backwards but you can never really see every little minor imperfection on a wall until it's one flat colour - so the paint helps to show these up. I have however already repaired the majority of the bigger imperfections before painting (you can read about patching old walls here) but the imperfections the paint helps to show up are usually are little holes or little scuffs in the plaster. You might not be as fussy as I am, but I quite like to cover these up for a perfect finish.

When it came to the skirting and the cornicing, I decided to keep it simple and white. I used Zinsser BIN primer on both first and then used a white trade matt emulsion on the cornicing (the same as the ceiling). The skirting will have a white eggshell on it eventually, although I've currently left it primed for the time being.

To get a really crisp line between both the skirting and the cornicing, I've used Tesa Tape (which is a kind of masking tape) in their precision sensitive variety. I know lots of people have problems with masking tape pulling paint off the walls - but this one is very gentle and isn't very sticky (if you know what I mean!) and so far, I've had no problems with paint coming away from the wall. Would definitely recommend!

Once the walls had two coats of paint - I was then onto wallpapering. Luckily I've wallpapered a couple of times in the past, so I have a little bit of experience in doing it. It's definitely DIYable and with a little of patience, you can 100% get a professional finish for a fraction of the price.

The first thing to do when it comes to wallpapering - is to line the walls with lining paper. This is actually something I've never done before - probably because I've just been lazy and tried to cut down on the costings. However, lining paper is super cheap (literally its about £5 a roll) the adhesive is super cheap (we're talking £3 a bag) and there are so many benefits to use it, that you really should. Not only does it prep the walls so that all those imperfections wont show, but it also helps to prevent shrinkage when the wallpaper dries - which can quite often cause that split along the seam. The wallpaper I'm using is absolutely beautiful and I certainly didn't want to take any risks by not doing a proper job, so this time around I used lining paper for sure.

Lining paper comes in different grades - from 800 (the thinnest) to 2000 (much thicker!). Generally speaking, 1400 is the middle of the road and recommended for most walls. But if you have a new plaster, you could go for a thinner and if your walls are in bad condition a thicker one would be better. The lining paper I'm using if from Screwfix which you can find here. Unlike wallpaper, lining paper is supposed to be hung vertically across the wall. However, this requires a lot more skill and despite my best efforts - I don't think it's something you can do single-handedly (Grant was at work!) especially if you're using just a ladder rather than a platform like me. Trying to hold up wallpaper, move a ladder, stop everything from creasing - lets just say it didn't work out. So after a bit of research, the internet told me vertical was OK as long as the finishing wallpaper on the top can overlap those joins. So that's what I did.

The process of wallpapering is really quite simple - the trickiest bit is achieving a perfect join and cutting the paper to perfection. I waited a couple of days to make sure the lining was fully dry and then began to hang the wallpaper I had chosen from Little Greene, which is called 'Wrest Trail' in the colour Lead. It's absolutely beautiful and I'm sure you'll agree.

The first thing to master is how to fold the wallpaper to allow the paste to soak in. You don't want to apply too much paste, but you also don't want to apply too little. Make sure it's even with good coverage and then use concertina fold method to fold the paper to allow it to soak. I recommend this video from B&Q for a good tutorial on doing this. But here's some photos to give you an idea of the method..

I left the paste to soak into the wallpaper for around 5 minutes, as the instructions recommended.  Each wallpaper will be different so make sure to check your own first! I then moved the wallpaper to the wall and gently lowered it into position. You want to try not to just drop the wallpaper suddenly as it could cause a tear (a helping hand is always advisable if it's your first time!). If it's the first length of wallpaper you're hanging - you'll want to draw a spirit level line onto the wall and match it to this. Otherwise, you'll want to match it up to the pattern of the wallpaper next to it. Starting at the top, I used a wallpapering brush initially to press the wallpaper down and then a hard smoothing tool to push out any air bubbles. If the pattern isn't matching perfectly, lift the wallpaper off the back and back down into position.

Working down the wallpaper from the top, continue this method making sure the wallpaper continues to match side by side to the one next to it. There shouldn't be any overlap and there shouldn't be any gap. Try not to overwork the wallpaper by pushing it with your hands too much as you could stretch the wallpaper. You want to just lift off the wall and back down to reposition. If you find any edges don't have enough wallpaper paste on them, lift off and apply a little more paste with a brush behind it.

It's really important to keep the front of the wallpaper adhesive free - so you'll need clean water and a sponge on hand to wipe down the edges as you go. If you don't do this, the adhesive will dry - and you'll most definitely be able to see it. I also wipe down the decorating table after each use as well.

Once the wallpaper has been smoothed out and cleaned off, you can use a roller to press down along the seam. You shouldn't be able to see the join after this - unless you have an incredibly picky eye and get up close and personal with it. But it should be almost invisible.

To cut the paper at the skirting board and ceiling, you'll need a very sharp knife and I actually recommend using a snap-off knife (like these) where you snap off the blade to reveal a fresh one every so often. We've used a metal cutting guide as a straight edge to ensure we don't go off cutting at any funny angles accidentally. Cutting wet wallpaper does take a bit of practise and I can only recommend taking your time to get it right. I actually left this bit to Grant for the most part as I knew it was something he would be better at doing.

When it comes to the corners, I cut the wallpaper roughly to size before applying the wallpaper paste, just so I didn't have to tackle with as much paper excess putting it up onto the wall. I then pushed the wallpaper into the corners with my fingers first and then used the same tools as before to smooth it out.

To cut long-ways, I used the same guide and method as I did with the ceiling and skirting board. The trickiest part is very top corner and bottom corner where you'll need to cut a diagonal line into the corner to be able to push the paper right into it. In my opinion, this is the hardest bit as you don't want to cut too much and you also don't want to cut too little and accidentally cause a tear. It's a bit of trial and error and will require a fair bit of patience and time to get right.

And that's it! It took us about a half a day to do, although we certainly weren't rushing with the job. Wallpapering is very much a practise makes perfect kind of DIY, so I do recommend allowing yourself plenty of time to do it. An hour before the school run, probably isn't recommended. I still have some work to do on the chimney side of the room, hence why I haven't decorated there yet - But this side of the room is looking absolutely gorgeous! The wallpaper is truly beautiful, detailed and just stunning. It's based on original remnants discovered by English Heritage, but re-imagined, re-coloured and bought forward into the 21st century. It means the wallpaper has a slightly traditional feel with a modern kind of twist and I love that! It's the perfect for our Victorian house with its period features but at the same time, modernised. I also think it looks great with out sofa (a made.com delight) and our new vintage crate side tables, which were an eBay find of just £2.50 for each one!

I think it also works really well next to the French Grey paint - they're along a similar kind of tone but it also allows the wallpaper to stand out against it. The wallpaper also appears to have the same kind of rich pigment as the paints - you'll notice it appears slightly different in colour with different lights, which I love. All Little Greene wallpapers are also from certified forests and for each tree used to make wallpaper, four more are planted. I had actually bought a second sofa which I hoped to feature in this post along the other wall - but to cut a long story short, it's stuck in a courier's broken down van. I know - just my kind of luck!! So whilst it's looking a little bare with furniture, it's still a massive massive (did I massive?!) transformation. It's literally added a whole punch of character into this room; something paint alone just can't do. The wallpaper catches my eye every time I walk past it - and it's beautiful detailing just pulls you in, to look at it further. It's honestly just beautiful.

I'll be sharing more updates over the next few weeks as we build two alcove units, fix up the chimney and hopefully (finger crossed!) that second sofa arrives! But it's looking pretty darn amazing so far, right?! Let me know what you think. Do you love the wallpaper as much as me?! *The wallpaper and paint featured in this post were sent to me as part of a collaboration with The Little Green Paint Company. All words and opinions are my own. Thank you for supporting the brands who support this blog!

from Tips For Basements http://www.kezzabeth.co.uk/2018/03/living-room-makeover-with-little-greene.html