#i know the title's done and dusted. i guess charles knows it too

[armandssilkshirt]

Wip wednesday, for a fic I’m tentatively titling: such sweet sorrow

I haven’t written fic for a big fandom like this in years atp and I don’t know how to navigate fandom space anymore! Anyway!

-

The plane ticket arrives in a sleek, cream envelope, inscribed with his name and nothing else, written out in neat, precise block capitals. Daniel takes note of several things immediately, of varying levels of importance and with varying degrees of incredulity:

The Vampire Armand knows his address, and either hand delivered the ticket himself, or puppeteered one of his neighbors or delivery guys into doing so on his behalf. By extension, either he was close by, or has been in near enough vicinity to get someone else to do his bidding, just waiting to ruin Daniel’s perfectly good Tuesday afternoon. It occurs to Daniel, too, that the plane ticket is Armand purposefully tipping his hand. The likelihood that he’s still around, watching him receive his spontaneous gift right now through a goddamn crack in the wall or some other gross invasion of privacy, is significantly greater than zero. He always did like to see a plan through to the end, after all. This is unlikely to be the exception.

The timing of the ticket itself is also more than disquieting, and not likely to be a coincidence. Daniel signed off an all his last approvals two days ago, and is now waiting on his publisher and agent to get back to him with details about the proposed marketing campaign and book tour, as well as hear back from the designer’s mock up for the cover, which he can comment on, but not, apparently veto. In publishing, Daniel has long learned you need to pick your battles and let the book speak for itself. Everyone’s going to think he’s clinically insane anyway, who cares if the art department intern who gets shoved this job gets a little carried away with it. Anyway—Daniel’s work is mostly done, and from here till the promotional calendar, it’s pretty much dead time. Armand has been listening. As far as ‘Congrats on completing your book!’ presents go, Daniel’s had better but he’s also had worse, too—his ex-wife served him divorce papers after his last one—so Daniel will take the plane ticket, actually. And Armand knows that if he’s going to take a vacation, now would be the time to do it. He wonders if his emails are accessible, or if Armand’s just been playing it old-school, standing on his balcony listening to him bitch out his editor, instead. He supposes he should be grateful that he’s been allowed the short lull beforehand, and that the ticket is booked a week in advance, enough notice to tie up any loose ends in New York that he might need to attend to. Considerate, really, Daniel has to admit.

All of which is to say, of course, that any illusions Daniel had been laboring under about the safety of his own home—the ignorance is bliss attitude he’d adopted since he’d stumbled through his front door two months ago, still shaking the Dubai wall dust off his shirt—are shattered. He’s attracted an undead stalker, and you can’t exactly take a restraining order out on those guys. It’s a bitch, because Daniel really did like this apartment, too. Even if Armand isn’t here to kill him—the plane ticket seems to suggest he at least has a different location in mind—that isn’t to say some other vampire won’t try to beat him to the job, and decide to turn his living room into a morgue as some sort of warning if/when he happens to not be at home. Maybe he should drape a sheet over his couch. He’s spilled enough red wine over it to know it stains like hell.

Charles De Gaulle airport is unexpected, but in a split second retrospect, he guesses it shouldn’t be. Obviously, Armand wants to rehash the story, spin his own series of events, even if he was too late to try to edit the first book, and he’s dramatic enough to want to walk the streets he spilled with blood while he does it. Daniel hasn’t been to Europe in a while. He remembers Paris in October as being beautiful; the turning of the leaves running crimson and orange through the city, cool and crisp but not yet so bitter as to be unpleasant. He could have picked worse places to stage his temper tantrum. Daniel can also understand him wanting to get out of the metropolitan maze of Dubai, and the penthouse that might as well have been a prison tower, though for whom, Daniel’s now not sure.

Which brings him to the shock of the ticket itself, and Armand’s unwelcome but now obvious presence in his life. When Daniel picked up his few belongings and high-tailed it out of the penthouse before any more rubble could fall on his head, literally or figuratively, Armand had been hunched in on himself, tucked against the baseboard, plaster hanging like teardrops onto the black of his eyelashes. Even with the baleful look in his eyes, he’d seemed, to Daniel, like a boy—suddenly forced to stop playing dress up and close the costume-box lid. Smaller, younger, both fearful and indignant at his newfound nakedness. Ready to lash out, of course, but also on the precipice of caving in. An unstable death star. Perhaps it would have been too easy, but he’d wondered if Armand might, as one last act of self-sacrificing spite, find himself a fire to throw himself into, hoping to haunt Louis as Lestat did. He’d even been half-expecting it. That he didn’t is almost more concerning. It suggests that Armand has unfinished business. If it’s with Daniel, for ruining his shambolic supernatural marriage, then Daniel supposes Paris is as nice a place to die as any. Hopefully Armand will dispose of his body efficiently. He’d hate for his daughters to have to pay for posthumous repatriation. That would be a terrible reason to go into credit card debt.

Lastly, with an almost amused observation, he notes that the handwriting on the envelope is not the same as the writing in the margins of the script he flung down like a hand grenade on that table weeks ago. Armand’s writing there had sprawled across the page, the loops of his cursive proving to be his noose. That he’s decided to adopt a new style is unsurprising. As a professional chameleon and an evidenced control freak, it makes sense that Armand would pay attention to details enough to change this aspect too. This is Armand reinventing himself; a signifier of the new start he’s trying to establish and the distance he’s trying to put between himself and his past crimes. In comparison to the writing on the script, this new style is careful, takes up little space, and is officiously self-aware. Deceptively nondescript. It almost makes Daniel laugh. Armand’s relying on him knowing who the envelope is from anyway, so the change in signature is nothing but set-dressing.

Well, not quite—the very last thing he observes, with some belated horror and disappointment aimed squarely at himself—is that immediately, Daniel knows he’s going to take the ticket. It’s barely a conscious decision. There’s precedent, of course—he’s already jumped on a plane in an ongoing pandemic to go on an ill-advised research trip. Armand could be reasonably sure he’d roll the dice and go for another. He tries to argue with the part of himself that screams it’s the height of stupidity to take another risk in exactly the same way, that, actually, staying would only be shoving his head in the sand. He’s made himself a target, or he’s about to when publication rolls around, and Armand might turn out to be the least of his problems, in the long run. Why not see what he wants in the meantime? And besides—isn’t it better the Devil you know? 

[celticcrossanon]

Hello Celta, it was also a new moon last night/this morning, August 16th morning or overnight wherever you are. believe the new moon is in Leo. I’m so over Charles not resolving the issue of Harry one way or another. All the decisions or non- decisions were made by Elizabeth, and Charles is simply continuing on the tradition of non decision decision-making. Not choosing to act is a choice, a decision.

From reading your interpretation of the meaning of the cards of your attempted reading, I get an avoidance energy from dear old CSW, like she’s deliberately throwing up confusion, like dust in our eyes. It’s funny I never had much of an opinion of her over the years. But I’m seeing her now as a very dark horse. We see now she was/is adept at playing in the shadows to further her agenda to emerge as quite the power player after Elizabeth.

There’s been talk among like minded blogs about her agenda, particularly vis a vis the coronation. The non release of even existence of photos of the King and the Wales line after the coronation, ie Charles and the heir and the heirs family. Instead we get Charles and CSW with her grandkids. Their names and her dogs names sewn into her coronation/wedding gown.

There’s talk of her desire to have her kids be titled. Except the thinking was it would look unseemly and too much in this time of Charles ‘austerity’. Lol. His ‘austerity’ that made him demand Catherine not wear tiaras or new clothes at both his coronations. Bloggers were complaining that Catherine wore a rewear at the Scottish event. My guess is that Charles on SCW behalf made ‘demands’ on Catherine, just because she can, and just because she’s the height of snobbery where Catherine is concerned. That she is behind the absence of Catherine at the opening of Parliament last year, and Catherine’s absence this November. The date is set for when William and supposedly Catherine will be in Singapore for Earthshot.

By the way, the France state visit is still on for this September for Charles and CSW. Watch out for her to wear all the diamonds and tiaras and crowns in the vault, just like Germany. Poor CSW, it’s all she has now. And subterfuge, she’s always had that, now we see it clearly. She’s been leading Charles by his little head all this time, and he can’t say no to her. Not even for his own bloodline. So yeah, decisive Charles, ah no. You can’t expect miracles here. Expect Charles to make a non-decision decision about everything, especially Harry. I’d be happy to be wrong though.

Hi AnonymousRetired,

The gossip does say that Camilla is a big influence on Charles, and when the courtiers want something done they go to her as she will then convince Charles to do it, so I think we do have to take into account her behind-the-scenes influence.

I believe the date for the State Opening of Parliament is set by Parliament itself and not the King, so I am not sure how much influence Charles and Camilla would have on that date. I don't know whether it is presented to them as 'this is happening on this date', or whether the date is decided in consultation with their staff and their schedules (which sounds more likely to me), or if it happens in another way. In all other areas Charles and Camilla appear to work as a team, with her being the greatest influence on his decisions. She does appear to be pushing her family forward to either be seen as equals with or to try and overshadow the blood royal. If you look at history that sort of behaviour rarely ends well.

I feel that it has got to the stage where Harry has to be dealt with. It does not have to be anything drastic, but the King needs to make a clear line between working royals and non working royals. Making the distinction clear on the royal website would be a very good start, as would not naming Harry as a Counsellor of State. As long as the lines are blurred Harry and Meghan can continue to exploit that and claim that they are a bigger part of The Firm than they real are (which is 0%).

Added: Thank you for the New Moon information. I think that had something to do with my confusion as well, as that New Moon hit several sensitive spots in my chart. Now I am waiting for things to settle down, which they should do in a few days (when Mercury, a fast moving planet, moves off my natal Uranus).

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

The Brothers Sun e7

Damn, that was so clever having people kill the Boxers, June really took her job to heart, good for her

I love that the mom also brought tea😂

"The head of the Boxers must be so pissed right now." Man is panicking😂

"My time in the shadow is over."

"Shit, you go, girl! Hey what's yours." Good job TK, being a support dude

"Or or don't go, Girl!" The panic in Bruce's tone😂

The way the mom is literally asking her son who's given everything for her, to support her in her quest to become head of all crime. Wow. And he is gonna do it cause he's a good son 🥺

They're making a seating chart 😂

I like to think the goggly eye is a reference to Everything Everywhere All At Once

I too would have bad blood if someone lost my pet

TK asking Bruce to put in a good word with his family 😂

Yeah, TK is definitely not a good gangster 😂

Aw, the Mama's face🥺

Oooof, Bruce has snapped, and I can't blame him🥺

Aw, the way the mom recognizes that Bruce is a good friend for trying to keep TK away from everything, and how he'd rather his friend hate him than be put further in danger 🥺😭(but what if TK goes to the bad side?)

That's got to be hard for Charles to see how much his mom is protective of Bruce, but not of him🥺

Charles telling him mom he wants to stay, and her saying that a bakery is a great way to launder money😭 I WAS SO SCARED SHE WAS GONNA DENY HIM THE HAPPINESS

Hey who turned out the lights?

IS IT THE GHOSTS

Nope it's just Charles's friends who aren't siblings at all😭😂

OH SHIT THE DAD IS THERE?

Oh shit. Xing, seriously?! You ASSHOLE!

IS THE NECKLACE POISONED

She's deeply upset by him🥺

Oh shit, the dad got Bruce his dream car👀

Yeah, this isn't good at all

Aw Alexis is in danger

I think the Dad is gonna try to kill the mom👀

Nooooo Charles doesn't want to be the head of all crime he wants to run a bakery🥺

The way the tailor pulled Bruce back😂

Oh no, I'm guessing the dad is gonna try and bring Bruce into the fold 🥺

Nooooo my boy🥺 he looks as if he is about the burst into tears

Oh shit, the mom saying that the dad can't have both of them🥺

Bruce, listen to your mama

The way Bruce asked if Charles would prefer to watch the cooking channel🥺

Charles being totally different because of peer pressure sucks(as a younger sibling I totally get Bruce)

You may be his son, Charles, but you're also your mother's son

The way Bruce is begging his mom and brother to see the truth and do what it is they want, not what is expected of them.

Frankly, if I was Bruce, I'd run away and fake my death, then when the dust settles and hopefully the mom and brother have fixed things, I'd reappear

The way she admitted to manipulating Bruce to his face is so hard, because she's hurting him and I think she knows it,

THE BASTARD DARED TO BRING UP HOW SHE LEFT HER ONLY SISTER TO DIE ALONE? IT WAS HIS FAULT

"The only purpose you were serving was me." FUCK YOU

He's definitely a villain, he didn't wash his hands and then touched her face😳🫣

She's definitely doing more than getting her hair done😂

Grace is pissed

The way Bruce didn't even get the title right for dragon head😂

Bruce is literally the only one who is willing to do anything for his family without his pride getting in the way

Oooooooooooo they shook hands it's a official 👀

Bruce trying to get Charles to go get churros instead😭

Charles' phone is in the other jacket (what if Bruce accidentally takes that one)😂

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww the way Charles is saying he'll send his brother money so he can live his dreams 😭😭😭

The good looks so tasty

All the ghosts have arrived

That's a good question, where IS Charles

Oh he's in the kitchen 😂

Poor Bruce is being haunted by his actions when watching the great British Bake off of 😂

I wonder who he's calling

I'm willing to bet that at least some if not all of the servers are part of the Boxers

Oh shit, Bruce is wearing the jacket with Charles' phone😂

Aw, he called June😂 love how she's happy to go as long as she gets to kill Bruce's girlfriend 😂

Awwww it's also because they're all the family she has left🥺

The way that TK sat in front of the car😂

Why did he get in sideways??😂

Ouch, I love that June just pushed him off😂

The way Charles just noticed Bruce and the others behind a fish tank😂

I don't think that the dad is actually going to put Charles up for the role of head dragon

I feel like the mom is gonna make a grand entrance

Oh, he did put his son forward but I don't think this is gonna end well

Fuck yeah I called it! THE MOM JUST MADE A GRAND ENTRANCE FUCK YEAH

Also, bad bad bad nec

HA THE ONE GUY WANTS TO HEAR WHAT SHE HAS TO SAY LOVE THAT!

FUCK YEAH HE GAVE HER HONORARY MEMBERSHIP!

"Self centered dinosaur"😂 love that

Oh shit, tea leaf story😂

Oh shit IT'S A BOMB

The way everyone is just awkwardly standing

The way that Bruce just ran into the room and got the bomb😂 tripping as he ran away with the cart😂

Oh damn RIP to those FBI guys

It's a shootout!

Damn it Grace killed someone

The way that Xing charged at the guy who killed Blood Boots, that was some swift and brutal justice right there

Charles' friend did the move from his favorite movie and got killed, at least he loved him s dream 😂

The way the mom is getting Bruce out of there

Oh no, the dad now has a gun, and I seriously worry he's gonna kill Mama Sun

I love June

Damn, a fishhook is a big ouchy🥺

I love that TK took the FBI guy down 😂

Charles looking at the chair with a smile😂 he looks like Christmas cake early

Oh police dude, you naive man,of course he survived. He's Charles fucking Sun

Fuck no, Charles don't listen to your dad, don't kill your brother🥺😭

[leqclerc]

Sigh. As much as I love and respect Laurent and personally believe he’d be a much more palatable TP than Binotto this unfortunately points towards a bigger issue within the team, this idea of constantly reiterating that nothing’s wrong, there’s no reason to change anything, most of their poor results are down to outside factors, no one really understands their plight, etc.

Granted, they’re hardly going to openly admit morale is poor or whatever, but not taking responsibility and doggedly defending bad decisions, when everyone else can clearly see many, many costly mistakes were made, is not a good look either. It’s difficult to feel sympathetic when the team’s policy so far has largely been denial (there’s no reason to change anything within the team), deception (claiming the race in Hungary was unwinnable regardless of strategy simply because the car had “no pace,” which was absolutely not true for Charles), and delusion (there’s no reason we can’t win the remaining 10 races), or some mix of the three. It’s frankly insulting. To Charles, to all the people back at the factory who worked so hard to make a championship contending car, and to all the fans tuning into this clown show. In all my years of following F1/Ferrari, I don’t recall a time when they so blatantly made so many bad calls with such frightening consistency. It’s not just a genuine mistake here and there. It’s week in, week out; the rule, more so than the exception at this point. You can comfortably go into a weekend and predict that the pitwall will do something to compromise Charles’s race and be correct more often than not, and that’s concerning.

And now, a little over halfway through the season, they’re closer to Mercedes in the standings (30 points difference) than Red Bull (97 points), who started off as their main rival for the championship(s). My prediction? They’re going to be pipped for second by Mercedes and ultimately finish the season in P3 in the Constructors’ standings. Mercedes. The Mercedes whose resurgence was supposedly a good thing for Ferrari, because it would “take points away from Red Bull.” Yep. P3. From P1. P3, where they finished last year, a result that was considered a massive success for their then-midfield car, coming off the back of a disastrous season. And the worst part is, should it happen, it will be absolutely deserved. P3 is just a more accurate reflection of their goals and ambitions than P1. After all, Binotto shamelessly moved the goal posts while the championship fight was already well underway and downplayed their ambitions from winning a title to just winning some races here and there.

In its current form, with its current attitude, this is not a team that has a genuine hunger and determination and desire to win championships. When Red Bull or Mercedes lose out, they are sick. They’re disappointed, they (generally) hold themselves accountable, and they analyse their weaknesses in order to come back stronger at the next opportunity. To them, anything less than a win is not good enough, especially when they know they have the car and drivers to achieve such results. They’re always pushing for more, bigger, better. There’s ambition there to win - and not just a race, but races, and, crucially, titles. Ferrari, meanwhile, seem to be content with mediocrity, treating the ultra-competitive sport that is Formula 1 like it’s a school sports day, where everyone’s a winner simply for showing up and participating.

In the past their title bids have also been flawed and ultimately fruitless (2017, 2018) but, I don’t know, at least I could feel they tried, they wanted it, which is more than I can say for the current pitwall/management. It’s this feeling that they just don’t care, that they’ve thrown in the towel much too prematurely and are now pretending this was the plan all along...that’s the inexcusable part. To have everything in your grasp, have the driver, have the car at your disposal...and then so carelessly dismantle everything for no discernible reason. If there is one given behind the scenes for this fiasco, then we’re not privy to it.

If the management, the people who hold actual executive power, who are responsible for making important decisions, really and truly see no issue with how the team is being mishandled at the moment, the way it’s failing to reach its full potential, then this malady is more serious than we initially thought. If there’s only talk of “learning lessons” and no actual, tangible action follows - worse, if the same mistakes keep being repeated over and over and keep being defended in the face of fair, constructive criticism, then the team has a massive problem, and I can’t, right now, see any clear solution. They are insane for this (derogatory). After all:

[crash-cinematic-universe]

A Speedster, A Nuclear Bomb, and a Worn Down Walkman (prologue)

pairing: Peter Maximoff/fem!Wilson!reader

summary: Y/n Wilson is the only child of the renowned X-Man Deadpool. When Y/n is asked to enroll in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters by Charles Xavier himself, she has no choice but to accept; much to the dismay of her father. Y/n isn’t used to the knew surroundings or the constant stress of her mutation. All she wanted to do was disappear. Little did Y/n know, she caught the eyes of a certain speedster who wasn’t planning on letting her fade away anytime soon. 

based off of this request:  Hey, I was wondering if you could write something about dating peter maximoff and being deadpools kid - @8-eight-8​

warnings: none 

notes: fuck it. Peter Maximoff series #2. I can’t be stopped.

___________

          "Dad, I thought you hated the X-Men," I asked as the car turned into the long driveway to the mansion. 

          "Y/n, it's time that I put our differences aside and lend them a hand. I need to be the bigger person" My father says, slowly bringing the car to a stop.

          "You owe Charles a favor, don't you?" Wade chuckles before nodding.

          "I accidentally destroyed half their medical wing. To be fair, it wasn't technically my fault–" I cut him off

          "Any time you have to say 'technically' proceeding a horrible accident, it's not a great sign." Wade laughs, pulling the keys out of the ignition and stepping out of the beaten car. 

          The X-Mansion was beautiful, the golden sunlight hitting the brick on the outside giving off an odd, homey feeling. The grass was a bright, vibrant green, small flowers and other plants scattered around here and there. Trees shade the lawns, a glimmering lake surrounded by brush reflecting the sun onto the side of the building. Students were gathered in small groups, laughter and chatter riding the gentle breeze. I understand why so many people love living here, it's breathtakingly gorgeous; the architecture alone is stunning.

          "Hello? Earth to Y/n? We're supposed to meet dear old Charlie inside." My father calls, already walking towards the large wooden doors. The stone pathway leading to the entrance has small purple flowers along both sides, a few small weeds growing through the cracks in the grey stone. I'm careful not to trample any of the small buds as I follow behind my father. 

          The interior of the mansion is equally as breathtaking as the exterior, if not, more. Carefully crafted marble pillars stand in the common area, each room expertly designed to perfection. I was at a loss for words; the mansion is extraordinary.

        "Thank you, darling," a voice from behind me said, startling me slightly. "I made sure each part of the mansion was fit to suit my students." Charles Xavior stood-- or, sat-- before me. 

          "What you've done here is amazing, I'm beyond impressed. Not that my opinion means that much." I chuckle. 

          "Actually, your opinion matters the most to me. That's actually why you're here today, but we'll get into that bit later." Charles assures, soon turning to greet my father. 'your opinion matters most to me'? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

          "Y/n, Charles and I are going to his office for a bit. We'll call you when you're needed." My father gives me the I'm-confused-too-just-go-with-it look, and I nod slowly. 

          "A few of my students were very excited to meet someone new, they should be here soon." Charles smiles before leaving with my father. 

          It feels odd to be standing in the middle of a vast mansion completely alone, doing absolutely nothing, so I decide to take a closer look around. The hallways are wide, each classroom bustling with action and emotion although no classes are going on. I soon find myself among the endless bookcases in the library, each title a work of classic literature, poetry, old sonnets or plays; the library is peaceful, and calm. That is, until the beginning notes to Hotel California echo through the hallways, breaking my enamored trance. A smile breaks out on my face.

          "I love this song," I say to myself before pulling a compilation of Edgar Allen Poe's works off the shelf. I'm shocked to see a pair of brown eyes staring at me from the other side of the shelf.

        "So, you're an Eagles fan, huh?" The young man across the shelf asks me. I nod slowly.

         "Uh, yeah, although I'm more of a Pink Floyd kinda person." The man smiles before walking over to my side of the bookshelf, finally letting me get a better look at him. His hair is a light, shimmering silver, a similarly colored jacket covering the majority of his torso, the exposed fabric beneath it showing a worn down Pink Floyd t-shirt. I smiled, extending my hand. His hand shoots out a bit too quickly and he shakes my hand too vigorously, and that's when his mutation becomes clear. 

          "So, super speed? Cool. Ya know, that comes with a bunch of other cool mini-mutations." I explain. 

          "Really? Wow!" the man exclaims, soon catching his own excitement. "I mean, uh, yeah, I might as well have cool mini-mutations. I am the coolest person here." He smirks. "I'm Peter, Peter Maximoff."

          "Y/n Wilson." I say. "So, what's there to do around here? The scenery and architecture is gorgeous, but there's not much else." 

          "Well, uh, that's true." Peter takes a careful step closer to me. "We have to make our own fun around here."

          "Oh yeah?" I drawl, a smirk growing on my face. "I guess I'm gonna have to see if you really are the coolest person here." Peter returns the smirk, his brown eyes flashing with excitement and amusement. He moves closer, and I make the snap decision to mess with him.

           "You seem like you have good taste in music," I say, slyly moving away from Peter. He looks slightly sad, but the smugness soon returns.

           "Wanna test the theory? I have a record player in my room, we could go…" he draws on. "... explore the collection."

        I'm about to respond, but my attention is soon caught by a puff of black smoke that soon disperses to reveal a young boy, his skin a deep blue.

           "Hi! You must be ze new girl! My name is Kurt Wagner, very nice to meet you!" Kurt says, a smile breaking out on his face as I shake his hand. 

            "Oh, uh, I'm not a student here. At least, I don't think so. My dad owes Charles a favor, and I guess I needed to come along." I clarify, and out of the corner of my eye I see Peter's face flash with disappointment. 

            "Speaking of which, I should probably go check in on them." I say, stepping backwards away from the two men. "It was wonderful meeting the both of you." I shot a genuine smile toward the pair, my eyes meeting Peter's for a split second. I shoot him a wink and bite back a laugh when I see his face flush and his cheeks dust with blush.

            By the time I reach Xavier’s office, my father is waiting outside the door. The expression on his face was unreadable. I walked into the musty office, the door shutting behind me. Wade was still outside. Charles speaks.

            “Please, Miss Y/n, have a seat.” He motions to the chair in front of his desk. The room is silent, the air is heavy with unspoken words.

            “Professor Xavier, did I do something wrong?” I inquire worriedly. Xavier’s face darkens.

            “I see you’ve become acquainted with Peter. I can hear it, he thinks you’re interesting.” Charles ignores my question.

            “Professor, if there’s something you need to tell me, you must tell me. I’m not a kid, I can take it.” I insist, urging him on. I didn’t hear the office door open behind me, but suddenly Wade is next to me.

            “He wants you on the X-Men, Y/n.” He says flatly. “He wants you to enlist in the academy. He wants you to stay here for good.”

            “You’re growing more powerful, Y/n, and you know it.” Charles interjects, his voice firmer than before. “We need you, you’ll have more opportunities here, you’ll find more friends, hell, you already caught someone’s attention.”

            “You don’t know her Charles! She’s my goddamn daughter!” My father shouts, anger evident in his voice. It all escalates quickly, and soon enough Charles and Wade are shouting at each other. Their voices are loud-- too loud, and it’s all much too overwhelming. They’re yelled and yelling and yelling and yelling and---

            “SHUT UP!” I shout, a burst of energy blowing them both backwards. It’s only then that I realize Charles is right; I’m getting powerful. Soon, I won’t be able to control it. “Charles… how long would I be staying here?” My father’s face drops.

            “However long it takes to ensure that you can control your abilities.” Charles explains.

            “Y/n, you and I both know that’s just smart people talk for ‘forever’.” My father snaps, but I raise my hand to silence him.

            “Charles, I’d like a minute alone with my father.” My voice is firm, unyielding, and unforgiving. Charles is quick to exit his office, leaving me alone with Wade. His eyes plead with mine before he speaks.

            “Y/n, please, you’re all I have. You-- You can’t go, you just can’t.” Wade makes no effort to hide the desperation in his voice-- or in his eyes. It breaks my heart to have to leave, but it’s for the best.

            “Dad, you know Charles is right. I’m getting stronger, I could hurt someone if I lost control.” His eyes flashed with acceptance and realization, along with a pang of hurt. “It’s not like I’ll never see you, I’ll come visit, I swear.”

            “Answer me one question.” My father says quietly, standing straighter than before. “Please, tell me you’re not just doing this for that Peter kid.” My eyes widen, and I’m almost offended. Peter hadn’t so much as crossed my mind during my decision making; did Wade think that little of me? “Of course not, what kind of person do you think I am?” Wade realizes his mistake and is quick to correct it.

             “I didn’t-- I meant-- I just wanted to make sure you thought this through.” I do nothing but nod. “If this is really what you want then… I guess I can’t stop you.” With that statement, my father walked over to the door and called Charles back in.

            “Have you reached a decision?” Charles’s voice calls through the room. I turn to look him dead in the eyes. 

            “I’m in.”

[dp-pastandpresent]

Past and Present: Chapter 9

Sam woke up that Saturday morning excited and nervous. While yesterday had been simply wonderful–what with the kiss and all–it was the prospect of today that made her heart flutter.

'Our first official date…'

After they had gotten through the awkwardness of the kiss, reality had set in that maybe they needed to spend some more time together. Up until now, it had really only been sporadic rescues appearances. And neither of them could seem to stop thinking about the other.

She hopped out of bed happily, then stopped, remembering the words of Tucker yesterday.

'He's a ghost. And as a ghost, he can't really age or change.'

She had found herself debating these issues all of last night, not really sure what to do or say; in the end, she ended up just falling asleep.

But now that it was morning, and her head was clear, she began to smile again.

'Tuck, I love you, but I gotta do this for me.'

She quickly ran into her closet, hoping to find the perfect outfit for her date.

It had been ages, literally, since Danny had been on an actual date, and going on one as a ghost was definitely a new experience.

He did his best to hide the nervousness with excitement, but his mind kept going back to the whole idea of dating a human. Yes he had been one once, but now he wasn't. He had emotions, that was true, but he also had ghost powers. He'd never age again. He'd never die. He'd never truly be able to give her a proper life. If he made even one wrong move, he could send her back to that dark place she was the night they met.

'Just stop. Obviously she doesn't seem to care – yet – or this wouldn't even be happening. Just take it one day at a time. Maybe what you need right now is a friend. Someone on your side.'

And then there was the idea of hanging out in public, something he usually tried to avoid during the day unless he was on a rescue.

'But she can't be expected to stay out at night. You have to do some giving as well. Take some risks.'

And the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that no matter the situation, he had to make it work. Make THEM work. If nothing else, to make up for what almost was all those years ago.

Memories had been coming back in bits lately. Memories of what once was, the girl he loved and never told, and the night he almost did.

'If that fire hadn't happened, maybe we'd be together right now.'

But they weren't, and here he was, a GHOST. In love with a HUMAN.

Could the afterlife get any more complicated?

--

Purple clutch in hand, Sam raced down the stairs, hoping to sneak out unheard. Unfortunately for her, Grandma was waiting at the bottom and, unable to stop, Sam soon found herself on the ground.

"Sammy, where's the fire?" Grandma exclaimed, reaching from her chair to help her granddaughter up. Upon looking her over, she got that glint in her eye and knew exactly what the rush was.

'Could she possibly be going to spend more time with him?'

"Well look at you, all dressed up! You trying to impress someone?"While Sam didn't originally think her look was that fancy today, apparently anything beyond the norm could raise a flag. And as she dusted herself off, she did have to give herself some credit: she cleaned up well.

She had ended up with purple flip-flops and black tights, paired with a purple skirt with lace trim to match the purple lace that accented her black tank top. She had let her hair fall down messy, barely even brushing it that morning as she had applied her standard purple eyeliner and lipstick. And it was all completed with the silver chains that she wore around her neck and wrists.

"Grandma, why can't I just dress up for once?" she asked, blushing.

"I know you too well kiddo–you only dress up this nice if your'e trying to impress someone so spill it! Did this Dash fellow finally apologize?"

'Let's see how well she gets out of this one.'The image of Dash making out with Paulina quickly found itself in Sam's head before she grimaced.

"Ewwww no! Grandma why would I ever!?"

"Well, who else would you be rushing off to see? Not good enough to introduce to your favorite Grandma?"

"You're my only Grandma…" Sam commented, starting to sound annoyed.

'Ok Sam, you win today, but I will get my answers soon.'

She gave her granddaughter a wink, which meant that the was done asking questions."Just go have fun, but be safe ok?"

Some days, she really wanted to slug her grandma, and yet she always ended up hugging her instead.

"Thanks, I won't be out too late."

--

Danny wanted to be a normal teenager for once, and today seemed like a good day to do it. But he also knew that the connection they shared was anything but normal. Could it really ever be normal?

Still, he couldn't help himself from swiping some 'human clothes' to wear on their outing, and thus found himself in a baggy t-shirt, torn jeans and a punk band baseball cap.

'Because nothing screams normal like this crap…'

When the clothing style had changed, he did not know, but he desperately wished that this was not what was considered cool.

'Blend in, just for a bit. Be normal'

Having agreed to try some normalcy also meant no flying, something he desperately wished for as he walked to the corner of Sam's street. She had refused to let him come around the house and risk being seen.

But as he approached, Danny found himself feeling anything but normal.

She was really an angel. Standing in her beautiful dark clothes underneath the street sign as she patiently waited.

Looking up and seeing him in his baggy clothes, she smiled and let out a small giggle.

"I know we said normal, but I think I preferred the ghost clothes." She laughed louder as he got closer.

"Really? Is it that obvious I don't belong here?" he joked back.

"So obvious!"

Whatever fear he had before quickly melted away. She didn't want some 'normal' high school boyfriend, she wanted him. The emotional, somewhat concealed, GHOST that he was.

Danny pulled off the cap, letting his messy white hair hang free, and threw it into the street.

"Ready to go?" he asked as they took each other's hands and began to walk.

"Ready, but I have one more question…" she said still smiling.

He nodded.

"Can we fly?"

--

Flying wasn't normal, and Sam didn't care. Normal was out the window the second Danny showed up.

'Who needs normal anyway?'

If she wanted normal, she wouldn't have found herself in this relationship to begin with.

"So where are we headed? The pier, a movie?"

"Better," he replied, glancing down at his dark angel before coming to a landing outside that same record store from before.

"The record store?"

"I figured it was time we got to know each other."

--

While he had spent a great deal of time atop the store, Danny had never found himself inside, and thus did not know what to expect.

During his time on Earth he had listened to a fair amount of music on the record player, all his favorites with their scratches and nicks from being listened to so often.

Naturally, walking in to a store full of CDs and computers was not was he expected.

Sam could see the shock on his face and started to laugh again.

"I think you need a little welcome to the millennium tour." She smiled as she grabbed his hand and pulled him inside,not even realizing that it wasn't as cold as it usually was.

The first aisle they went to was Sam's auto-pilot aisle: the heavy metal, gothic rock genres. She quickly grabbed a "Dumpty Humpty" CD and took Danny to a kiosk. All the while, he just went though the motions, unsure what to really think.

Handing the bewildered ghost the headphones, Sam couldn't help but chuckle as he tried to figure them out and, once he did, frowned at the music they omitted.

"People LIKE this?" he said rather loudly over the heavy drums and guitars that filled his ears. "How is this even music?"

"It's not music, it's a mood. Feeling. It takes me where I need to be when I need to be there," Sam explained.

'I guess I can understand that,' Danny thought, 'but I still wish it wasn't so explicit.'

After a few more seconds, and a lot of concealed laughter from Sam, Danny finally pulled off the phones.

"Do they have any Elvis? Ray Charles?"

"Who?" Sam asked somewhat jokingly as she walked him over to the "Oldies" section.

'Much better.'

Danny reached for a copy of "Heartbreak Hotel" and walked back over to the kiosk, fumbling to figure out how to put the CD in.

"Here, listen to this," he said five minutes later as he handed the headphones to a laughing Sam.

"Hmmmm I think I've heard my Grandma play this one before," she commented as she listened. "I remember vaguely liking it, but it's not Dumpty Humpty."

Sam winked as this, knowing full well that Danny needed some adjusting if he wanted to get used to this time.

Danny missed the wink, for at the mention of Grandma his mind went back to her and the possible connection there could be.

'Not today, not now. Stay cool. Be normal. Forget there could be a connection.'

"You're doing it again," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Doing what?" Danny asked, completely bewilderment in his voice.

"Flickering. Your glow. Every time you're around me you flicker…" Sam explained, hoping Danny may have an explanation.

"Really? I… I never noticed. "

'Add that to the list of things I need to investigate later.'

Seeing Danny's confusion, Sam quickly decided to change the subject.

"Here, let's try something in the middle," she said as they made their way to the "Classic Rock" section. She had a feeling he'd like what she was about to pick out.

"But close your eyes, I don't want you see the title."

"Really, we're playing that game now?" he joked as he put his hand over his eyes like a child.

'She's pretty cute when she jokes like that.'

Sam put the CD into the player and handed him half of the earphone, putting the other half onto her own ear.

With both their heads together under the same set of headphones, Danny found his cold body turning warm. The sound of guitars filled his ears and the words began to form.

"Oh yeah, I'll tell you something I think you'll understand When I'll say that something I wanna hold your hand…"

A smile on her face, Sam tried to turn her head to face him and the same time he turned to face her. They both had bit of blush in their cheeks and a small smile on their faces. They closed their eyes, knowing it was about to happen again...

CRASH!

The world stopped. They both jumped, losing their headphones, their song, their moment.

"Remember my name!"

Danny turned, his senses heightened as he saw a girl floating above the shelves.

She hadale blue skin, fiery teal hair, she was holding a guitar which was emitting ghostly musical notes left and right.

'This cannot be good…'

--

"You will remember my name!" she sang loudly as more notes filled the air. The people in the store had all stopped and turned, suddenly finding themselves clapping along with the ghost.

"Ember! Ember! Emberrrr!" they chanted as her hair blazed stronger.

'She's gotta be a ghost. But how did she get here?'

After the lunch lady yesterday, he had a feeling he'd start seeing more ghosts around town; with the Fentons always opening that portal, it was bound to let a few out. Still, he didn't quite feel prepared to battle any.

'Ok think, how can you take this one down?'

"Danny! Yesterday, the lunch ghost. Your hands! Remember?!"

Almost as if his body answered her words, he found his hands glowing green, the same way they had yesterday when he used his rays.

'This could work…'

He looked up, held out his hands, took aim, and prayed.

Green beams shot out of his hands and knocked the guitar half way across the room, catching the other ghost off guard.

"Well, if it isn't a little dipstick, coming out to play," she snarled, but without her guitar found herself unable to do much of anything.

'Ok, so the guitar is her power…'

Danny's hands glowed green again as he flew closer, taking aim once more at the guitar on the floor.

'Stronger, stronger, stronger…'

The guitar exploded in a cloud of green light, sending shards everywhere, while the rocker ghost just hovered, her hair slowly fizzing out.

"Not so tough without the guitar, are you?!" Danny shouted, some confidence coming back to his voice.

She opened her mouth to sing, but instead found nothing. Her powers were gone, and she had no more fans to bring them back, since they'd all scattered when the guitar exploded.

"You win this time, Babypop, but I'll be back. No one ever forgets Ember McClain!".

And with that, she flew out of the store in a huff, defeated and helpless.

--

The whole time Danny was battling the ghost, Sam found herself in the corner, behind the headphone kiosk, completely useless.

'There has got to be something I can do for Danny!' she kept thinking, even though there really wasn't.

Then she remembered: yesterday during the lunch incident, she had seen his hands glow green, something she had never expected. They had become powerful, useful, dangerous.

"Danny! Yesterday, the lunch ghost. Your hands! Remember?!" she shouted from her hiding place.

She could tell he heard her, for his hands began to glow as he took aim and knocked the guitar across the room.

'Yes!'

The battle continued as Sam watched on, wishing there was more she could do, but knowing that Danny could handle whatever came next. It wasn't until the ghost finally disappeared that she let out a sigh of relief and ran over to shaking Danny.

"Danny! You did it! You did it!" she said, jumping up and down like a little girl.

"Sam… How'd you remember… the beams? Weren't you passed out yesterday?"

"Sometimes when things are important they just come flooding back." She smiled.

--

While it hadn't been the date they were expecting, it had been a wonderful day in both their minds, and the walk home couldn't have been better.

"Seriously, you listen to THAT?!" Danny asked again of her tastes in music.

"It's not THAT BAD once you get used to it. Better than that bubble gum pop that all the radios play."

"Still, it's a bit intense don't you think?" Danny smiled.

"And 'Heartbreak Hotel' isn't? I never pegged you as an Elvis fan." Sam smiled back as she gently nudged him.

"What can I say, it was the times…"

They stopped, looked at each other and laughed.

The age gap, while apparent, was becoming a great quirk in the relationshipSomething about how things were then and how they were now kept the mood light and open, things they both needed so desperately lately.

"But really, what was that last one? I LOVED IT!" Danny found himself asked.

"'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' I can't believe you weren't around for the Beatles!"

They stopped again, this time without the laughter, as Sam's eyes got big.

"I am sooo sorry! I never… I mean... I know you're … ugh!".

"Just stop, Sam. It's ok. I know. I'm not from here. This time. It's fine. I'm not… normal." He turned away, trying to hide the frustration in his face at the fact that things could never be normal between them.

"But… Danny… You don't have to be. I know it's weird. I know you're… a… ghost… But we can figure this out. I want to figure this out."

He turned back, a small smile forming on his face again, yet still showing a trace of sadness.

"Yea?"

"Yea. And you know why?"

She walked closer to him, wanting to make the first move this time. She leaned in, eyes closed, ready.

SMACK. Her head hit the ground.

Out of pure instinct, Danny had goneintangible at exactly the wrong moment.

"Shoot! Sam are you ok?" he asked, turning solid again and leaning down to pick her up.

"You need to warn me next time you do that." She said, rubbing her head and praying it wouldn't bruise.

"This is what I meant! I am not normal. I'm a ghost. I can shoot RAYS OF LIGHT from my hands. I can FLY! I can turn INVISIBLE without even trying. Half the time I can float THROUGH things! This can't work!" He turned away and began to walk the other direction.

'Why doesn't he understand? My life was normal before and I was miserable! I don't want that again. I need excitement. Unexpectedness. You!'

"Danny!"

He kept walking.

"Danny!"

Still walking.

"PHANTOM!"

That stopped him.

He turned around, a look of confusion in his face.

"Please Sam, just try to understand."

"I do understand. But I don't think you do. Don't you see? You've saved me time and time again. And you have never had to at all.".

She ran closer as he stood there, waiting.

"I think it's time I saved you."

And this time when she leaned in, he stayed as solid as a human.

[jeremystrele]

Rone’s ‘Empire’ Eclipses All That Came Before

Rone’s ‘Empire’ Eclipses All That Came Before

Art

by Elle Murrell

Rone’s Empire has taken over Burnham Beeches in Melbourne’s east. Pictured here: The Study. Photo – Rone.

The Street artist has been working on the largely self-funded project for over 12-months. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

The 12 vast zones incorporate Rone’s Jane Doe murals, the muse for which is actress Lily Sullivan who came on-site early in the project’s development. Photo – Rone.

Part exhibition, part installation, part VR and AR experience, Empire combines art, vision, sound, light, botanical design and scent to take audiences on a hauntingly immersive multi-sensory journey. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

‘It’s almost like we’ve discovered a forgotten time capsule and cracked it open for the world to see,’ he says. Photo – Rone.

Interior stylist Carly Spooner of The Establishment Studios was back, after teaming up with Rone for Omega, and has proved integral to the sourcing of items, propping authenticity and the final film-set-like styling. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

The year-long project coincided with the birth of Rone’s first child. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

This grand piano that was left to the elements for several weeks to achieve its aged patina before being transplanted back into the house – moss, leaves and all. Photo – Rone.

No task is too menial for the internationally-acclaimed artist. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

Inside Her Room. It was given the working title of Diana’s Room as it is rumoured Prince Charles and Lady Diana once stayed at Burnham Beeches in its luxury hotel heyday. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

The dedication to seasonality, tonality and historical accuracy is astounding across the vast rooms. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

The experience has been meticulously curated to evoke a distinct series of moods as audiences move from room to room. Photo – Rone.

‘Once I got inside and realised that I had free rein on an entire mansion my mind was blown with ideas of what could be possible. It was quite overwhelming,’ tells Rone. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

Fragments of inspiration came from Johnny Cash’s heart-wrenching Mark Romanek-directed film clip Hurt, (where he covers Nine Inch Nails), but Rone was careful not to dictate the narrative. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

‘I want people to walk in and feel like they can explore the possibilities of what might or might not have happened here,’ he explains. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

The project has now been supported by Visit Victoria and Yarra Ranges Tourism. Photo – Rone.

Built-in 1933 Burnham Beeches was the family home of wealthy industrialist Alfred Nicholas. It later served as a research facility, children’s hospital and luxury hotel until being shuttered in the late 1990s and purchased by current owners, The Vue Group in 2010. Photo – courtesy of Rone.

Rone doesn’t like to cut corners… unless he’s trying to make vintage Chesterfield armchairs appear submerged. ‘That wall is four-and-a-half metres, and that is three-and-a-half metres, and if we have a row of books every 30 centimetres, that’s eight rows,’ the Melbourne-based artist calculates, as we peer into The Study he is creating. Tyrone Wright’s precise project-manager demeanour comes as a bit of a surprise, but it really shouldn’t have. If you’re familiar with his art, it’s clear that the same meticulous, exacting detail applies to both his large-scale murals and the 40-something spreadsheets he’s been coordinating to bring Empire to life.

‘…that comes to 64. So I thought to myself, “OK, go find 64-metres of hardcover books that are the same height”. That’s where I started,’ reflects the artist. It seems an arduous task that someone so internationally-acclaimed might outsource. Nope. Scouring Gumtree and racking up miles around Melbourne, Rone pulled it off. Then he proceeded to paint one of his stunning Jane Doe artworks – this time in the image of actress/’girl-next-door’ beauty Lily Sullivan – on the library of said books, before flooding the entire room to create a captivating reflection. Inspired by a leaking, OH&S-liability ceiling and concept sketch from years ago, The Study is arguably the most ambitious room of the 12 spaces transformed throughout this neglected Art Moderne manor.

Following the wild success of his now-demolished The Omega Project, the artist was invited by past-collaborator Shannon Bennett of the Vue Group to ‘come and check out a place I’ve got up in the hills, maybe you should paint a wall there… it’s empty at the moment’. It was, in fact, the sprawling Burnham Beeches: a glamorous 1933-built home of wealthy industrialist Alfred Nicholas, which later became a research facility, children’s hospital and then a luxury hotel, but has been vacant for decades.

For all the exceptional location’s promise, this was a risky gig, especially as it was self-funded up until some support came through just a few weeks ago. ‘I’d taken a dedicated six-months off before our first baby came, and decided “let’s go for a drive up the hills and look at this place”. When then I saw it and I thought, “well, there goes the next year!”,’ Rone explains. ‘It was a very serious sit-down conversation with my wife as we didn’t know how our life would look after a baby. Yet, it was the most incredible opportunity I’d ever been offered..” could we make it work?” If we could pull it off and at least break even, It would just blow peoples’ minds, and that alone would be worth doing it for!’

On subsequent visits, potential collaborators were equally intrigued and quick to sign on. Interior stylist Carly Spooner of The Establishment Studios was back, after teaming up with Rone for Omega, and has proved integral to the sourcing of items, propping authenticity and the final film-set-like styling. After linking up over Instagram, Wona Bae and Charlie Lawler of Loose Leaf added their botanical sculptures, including an incredible twig-lined hallway, while composer Nick Batterham has scored the scenes, incorporating months of ambient audio recorded in the estate’s gardens. Further elevating this immersive experience, is the bespoke scent design by Kat Snowden and cinematic lighting by John McKissock, along with an area for before-and-after augmented and virtual reality experiences.

As well as bring together the exceptional team to realise his ambitious vision, Rone has done everything from sleuthing second-hand furniture across the city to collecting bundles of branches from around the property, and he’s even been pilfering from the onsite café’s coal ovens to dust the entire installation! If you can look past the transfixing details – epic murals upon aged wallpaper, trees growing through walls, a forgotten Champagne tower or that grand piano that was left outside to weather for weeks – the dedication to seasonality, tonality and historical accuracy is astounding across the vast rooms.

Rone encourages visitors to walk in and explore their own imagined possibilities of what may or may not have happened here. Yet, his own veiled narrative draws on aspects of Johnny Cash’s melancholic music video, Hurt (2002), and the project takes its name from the Trent Reznor lyrics delivered ever so harrowingly: ‘And you could have it all, My empire of dirt’. Standing in His Room, while Her Room is at the far end of the hallway, Rone explains, ‘already they have become separated, maybe he has lost her. I guess the whole concept of Empire is: “I’ll give it all up for you”. Having that realisation about what is really important… It’s not all this material wealth,’ he gestures. ‘You have the feeling that it has all been walked away from, that this grand stuff, without her, is nothing.’

Empire truly is something. Spine-tinglingly unforgettable, it shouldn’t be missed!

Empire by Rone March 6th to April 22nd  Burnham Beeches, Sherbrook Road Sherbrooke, Victoria Book for day and night sessions at R-o-n-e.com.

Limited-edition art photographs of Empire, taken by Rone, are available to view and purchase in an on-site gallery. Just like his meticulously documented The Omega Project, which has now toured internationally as a photography and virtual/augmented reality exhibition, he hopes Empire will continue to be experienced into the future and in alternate locations – stay tuned!

[peppurthehotone]

Last week I wrote this whole thing about wedding stories n’ such titled, “When the Fairy Tale Runs Dry“. Well, I’ve got another tale for you…

In September, I went to my college-roommate’s wedding. You know how these particularly special weddings go; they’re always a reunion of sorts where a lot of beer is consumed and hugs are hugged and drunken tears are shed over college memories relived and then suddenly it’s over. This wedding was no different, but it was sooo much more.

Photo by Lisa Stearns

I think Denise and I met the very first day we moved into the “Y” at Marquette University in Milwaukee, when we were eighteen years old. The “Y”, short for YMCA, had just been acquired by MU. It was a mid-sized building with a gym on the ground level and had several floors of apartments that I guess had been used for slightly transient people (?). I don’t know. I just know that it was the only dorm on campus with single rooms and I desperately wanted my own room. I know you guys know me to be super outgoing and friendly and stuff, but I’m actually afraid of people, especially strangers; especially certain stranger types from Wisconsin. (I’m from Wisconsin, so I know of which I speak. #RedState).

Trivia: We were the last MU class to be called Warriors before we became the Golden Eagles.

My stepmom is from Mississippi and was a part of this incredible program where Viterbo University sponsored or “sent for” or somehow got students from the South to come up North to be teachers. My stepmom was a pioneer to this program. It was the late 1960s or so. My stepmom told me about how when she arrived at the dorm to move in, her white roommate saw her and the girl moved out. Like immediately. I didn’t want that to happen to me ’cause I don’t like surprises; so I really wanted my own room.

Luckily, even though Denise and I didn’t actually become roommates until we moved off campus Junior year, she was nothing like that girl from Viterbo. Instead, Denise is this lovely, no-nonsense, blond, Irish Catholic from Massachusetts with rosy cheeks and an inviting smile. She has the biggest, most generous heart and funniest giggle-laugh. She’s anti-floss n’ fluff and shuns people and things who are. She also has this slightly wicked accent she always tried to cover up because its Boston-ness stuck out against our Wisconsin nasal. Wicked accent or not, she’s pretty awesome.

“D” and I just might be twin soul mates because it turns out our parents were both based at the Great Falls, Montana Air Force Base, possibly at the same freakin’ time! I was actually born in Great Falls, so, we were destined to be friends just like I’m destined to be Great.

Denise and I have this very cool ying-yang thing going on, and not for the visually obvious reasons. I’m chatty with strangers (“Heeeyyy everybody!”); Denise isn’t (“There she goes again.”). Denise is a crusader, a warrior; I’m not. She will boldly go where no woman has gone before; I wait back for the report and then go ahead on and follow. I’m taller, Denise isn’t. One year for Halloween, we stuck six cut-out feet on her and we made a sign that said, “All my life, I wanted to be six feet tall, and now I am.” And then at the Halloween party we went to, some idiot tore off one of the feet and she was back to 5’3.

Speaking of parties, this is one place where I would lead. Every night that we’d go out, she’d say, “Peppur, we’re not out all night. I have to study.” I’d say, “Okay!” and then we’d get home at 3 am. Because with a party, I am The Warrior . AND I know what Denise needs: Excitement! I’d do recon, locate the keg, spin my chatty, smiley, magic sword and within minutes, we’d be beer-laden and all was right with the world. Comrades would come from fraternities far and wide and we, Peppur and Denise, would hold court! Social shenanigans would ensue, and as any collegiate attendee knows, this work cannot be done in a matter of mere hours. Dawn must arise, Real Chili must be eaten and occasionally, (naked*) beer slides along a beer-drenched floor at a bar that has since closed, must be slid to prove our valor.

Real Chili in action.  Photo courtesy of “Wisconsin L” on Yelp.

We were all for one and one for all. Even if I was leading, Denise was watching from behind to make sure we didn’t get into any shit. To protect us. To shield us. Like that one time this fucker of a guy asked me my name, and when I said “Peppur!” and he said, “That’s too black. I’m going to call you something else.” Denise was right there to tell him to shut up and stabbed him in the neck with her words because all I managed was to stand there, sword clanking to the floor, fallen.

We were pals like that.

And, we didn’t just drink together, people. She’d listen to me when I’d come home from track meets and cry because I got second place instead of first. We’d go to the library and close it down together because getting a “B” in anything was not an option for either of us. On the weekends, she would come home with me to Kenosha and we’d have dinner with my parents and my brothers and do laundry and watch movies on the VCR. We really were pals, like that.

Later, after we got older and Denise had her own dental practice in St Charles, Illinois, she’d have my dad come down for his cleanings and stuff and she would never let him pay. She’d tell me, “That man let me do laundry at his house! His money is no good here.”

Fast forward to today. Denise moved back home to Massachusetts. Her marriage had ended and she simply wanted to be home. She bought her parent’s house from her mom, the one she grew up in, and was ready to make a new, quiet life for herself as a single woman living in a small town on the Cape.

In the Spring of 2017, way beyond those years when we’d go to my home to do laundry,  I finally, for the first time, made it to the warmth of hers. D’s mom and sister stopped by so we could hug and I could cry at the loveliness of it all; it felt so good to be at home.

Over coffee, after her mom and sister had left, D and I stared out her kitchen window.  A quietness fell over us. The kind that happens between friends. The kind that’s filled with shared memories and thoughts on mute. In that quietness, I knew we were both sort of exhaling. We’d both been through some things over the past year, the type of things that leave you retreated from what you believed to be true only to be placed front and center in a newness to be absorbed and welcomed. Alone. Like warriors. After a few moments, she pointed out her kitchen window and showed me where she’d wanted to plant a garden. “I want to be sustainable,” she’d said. Then she took me outside. While her dog ran about, playing hide and seek with the woods that surrounded her huge corner property, we walked the backyard with its expanse of grass and majestic pine trees and she showed me where she wanted to have chickens and goats. “For the kids I want to adopt,” she’d said. And as we stood back, standing where the garden would be, she told me how she wanted to add a wrap-around porch and bring some additional charm to this beautiful, quaint home that was built in 1890. “For my two rocking chairs,” she’d said.

The next day, we drove near the water. D and I walked along the water’s edge. It was past the tourist season on the Cape; the air was cool and we watched the calm waters before us just sort of exist. She told me how she would take her boat out there and get clams and mussels and how she used to fish with her dad. He’d passed away several years before and she shared these memories with me. There. Where’d they’d happened.

On our last night together, we drove the forty-five minutes out and spent the night in Boston. We were two post-collegiate girls out on the town. In our forties. We were actually a little sad, and not because staying out until 3 am and doing beer slides was no longer like, feasible, but because I was headed back home to Prague the next day, and who knew when we’d see each other again. We decided to soothe our sorrows at an Irish bar.

And that’s where this wedding story begins, guys. Because, THAT NIGHT, at THAT Irish bar, we met Denise’s new husband-to-be.

Denise and I were holding court; just the two of us, really. But I like to think Irish-wannabes had come from far and wide to be audience to our shenanigans that were now rousing “Remember When” stories we were rehashing to each other between sips of Jack. One tall gentleman, with a beard of slight scruff and eyes of bright blue happened upon us. I lifted my magic sword and said, “What say you, man? Join us!”

And join us, he did.

How they fell in love, and all that stuff, is their wedding story. To be told by them. But what I CAN tell you is that Jay of Slight Scruff is mean with a power tool, and with a cast-iron skillet, and with fixin’ boats, and makin’ compost; he’s a dad and he can strum a few tunes on the guitar. Denise loves that kind of stuff.

Together, they built their own version of Chip & Joanna’s Magnolia Farms known quaintly as Harborside. Handyman Jay built a chicken coop and a goat barn and three garden beds and you guessed it, a wrap-around porch. This past April, Matt and I (#WeLiveInLA) went for a visit and we got in on the fun farmy stuff too! We harvested eggs from the chickens, pet the goats and sent baby dust to one of which that had just been mated (or, schtupped). I planted some raspberries in the garden and Matt, tooling about with a wheelbarrow wearing city slicker hard-soled shoes, helped Jay plant some barley (for homemade beer, of course) and sunflowers. Over homemade whiskey, we toasted to their newly-announced engagement and they spoke of wanting a simple wedding in the back yard, Harborside.

All was right with the world.

And then, right after Jay finished building the wrap-around porch, a bit of tragedy-not-tragedy-but-tragedy happened. The house caught on fire. Every bit of the 1890’s house, that housed her family for over twenty-five years, was licked by flame or singed by smoke. Destroyed.

Most people would crumble and just like, die. But not my friend, Denise. Yes, she bawled and had her own moments of buckling as she and Jay and her family took assessment of so many things lost in the fire. But like I said, she’s a warrior. She stuck to the fact that no one did die, including her dog who had been trapped in the home alone when the fire broke out. Guys, AT THE WEDDING, via friends of friends, she found out that a stranger driving by had seen the flames and the dog inside, stopped and let the dog out!

The wedding went on. In the backyard, as planned. The burnt out house was open for browsing and marveling; a backdrop to it all. But really, it was a reminder to what’s actually important in life: Rebuilding.

Matt. Thinking this photo was not a good idea.

  Our college girlfriends came together from our corners of the world, to uphold, be witnesses to, and be there for our dear friend. Ready to continue the story and build more memories.

Pep, Denise, Lisa and Jenny (Julie is there in spirit from CO and Annie is there in spirit from heaven.)

Right before she went on, D called me aside. She pulled me into the trailer and she said, “I want you in here with me and my mom and Jay’s girls while I get ready.” I followed the leader. I helped tie the pink satin ribbon she wanted around her waist to match those of the two young girls, to whom she would be a new stepmom. I watched as her mom put on her sparkly necklace which I think was the something borrowed and blue. I watched as Denise applied her own lipstick; a lovely muted, sheer and rosy plum from NARS. Simple, pretty and sophisticated, just like her (and maybe the something new). And that was it. Nothing else was needed. My friend was going boldly into a new life. One I knew she’d dreamed of and waited for even though we’d never really spent those umpteen girly hours talking about such things. Watching her, I knew that all she really wanted was love, respect, a place to peacefully and happily grow those things…and a few chickens and goats.

As I was about to leave, she said, “Hold on, Pep!” She handed me a bouquet of sunflowers that matched hers, “I want you to be in my wedding.” You know how I told you I don’t like surprises? Well, this one was okay.

Yes, I was crying.

Under an awning made from the burnt bathroom doors re-purposed and repainted with love, Jay and Denise gave their vows and got married. And, yes, when the officiant said that part about “Through good times and bad…” everyone knew that the bad had already passed and it was time to let the good times roll. Simply.

More about this later.

      *Note: The ‘Lanche was known for Naked Beer Slides. People would throw their beer on the floor. Boys n Girls would strip, run and slide. Although I wanted to have the courage to do this, I never did. Neither did Denise. #GoMarquette.

When Warriors Lead. Last week I wrote this whole thing about wedding stories n' such titled, "When the Fairy Tale Runs Dry…