#phantom is the same!! christine may not have been real but the love that exists is!! he is a performance devoted to one person!!

[zeravmeta]

guda: hey phantom can you do me a favor and stand right here -holds up phantom like a shield- thank you

phantom: ahh christine....to be held and to protect you on this stage....i am truly honored

guda: yes i know thank you

aphrodite: how. you. how the fuck are you not affected by my song?

phantom: to hear that dissonant song of passion and tragedy intertwine so deeply that they are the same tone, yet it rings hollow, for there is no audience for your performance, you sing and dance alone on a stage of corpses who love you only because you stand on the stage, how could I be moved by such a performance?

aphrodite: what the hell is he saying?

guda: oh you didn't understand? spell it out for her phantom

phantom: ahh christine.... this amateur song fucking blows

[paladin-lynx]

Human SQUIPtober 2019, Day 6: SQUIP^2

Human SQUIPtober 2019 Day 6: SQUIP^2

Ships Involved: RiverWay (Two River SQUIP [River] x Broadway SQUIP [Ly])

Setting: AU where River and Ly somehow both became human after being SQUIPs for their respective Jeremys, and they now live together. They don’t quite understand how they can both exist, but it isn’t worth questioning it.

Trigger/Content Warnings: None

Author’s Notes: (I know it’s technically Day 7 already, but I got busy, so oh well.) I finally have an excuse to write something for this pairing! I think I tend to write my usual human Squip more like River than Ly, but it’s fun to mess with writing the two of them together. I’ve fallen hard for this ship, and I hope you enjoy! I know I rambled a bit in the beginning, but I just got a little too into exploring River’s mindset versus Ly’s.

Most people said that SQUIPs in themselves defied logic, so River had long since given up trying to figure out how everything had come to this.

Perhaps he’d been granted a second chance. Perhaps it was a punishment for failing his host. Perhaps it was some protocol that he had never bothered to read when he had his code. He didn’t know and frankly, at this point, he didn’t really care to try and solve the mystery, as much as he loved puzzles.

Ly was a whole other story. He wasn’t keeping himself up at night or anything of the sort to figure everything out, but he was definitely more intent on trying to connect the dots. Then again, it did seem like Ly in general had more energy and enthusiasm than River did. As adorable as it could be, more often than not it drove River up a wall.

While they had both once been SQUIPs and had a decent amount in common, in a lot of ways they couldn’t be more different. River was older in appearance than Ly, and to go along with it River felt he was more mature. He spoke more formally, dressed a bit more nicely, tended to act more stoic. River may have been human longer, but he was still adjusting to it after all this time. He had a habit of treating everything like a calculated process like he had before, although being human meant things tended to make less sense.

Ly, on the other hand, acted as young as he looked. He had fully embraced their change in form. He went out and explored the world, talked to others, attended parties, and River was quite certain he’d hooked up with his fair share of people – although he always stopped Ly’s ramblings about how he’d spent the night before it got to those details.

River had contemplated time and time again how Ly had adapted so much more easily than him. Did it have something to do with the 3.0 patch? There were plenty of bugs in River’s original 1.0 programming that had been fixed over time and corrected with Ly. The learning computer aspect had improved immensely, to the point that River wondered if it had gotten too good. River had tried connecting everyone in the school for the sake of making sure Jeremy had friends and the girl of his dreams for as long as possible. Ly, on the other hand, had realized a higher calling and had been intent on using Jeremy to take over the entire goddamn world, with Christine as a bargaining chip.

But with Ly’s upgrades, he’d had a better sense as a SQUIP of the human spectrum of emotion. River had seen it as a nuisance, an obstacle. Ly saw it as a tool. Maybe that was the reason he’d more quickly become used to suddenly having a real-life human brain upon deactivation and then, for lack of a better term, “reactivation.”

It had been long enough that River had moved past his guilt and sadness over having failed his one mission as a SQUIP. Over the years, he’d debated seeking out his Jeremy, but he had a feeling the boy would just shut him out. Actually, River wasn’t even completely sure he’d be able to find his Jeremy.

Because when Ly had suddenly showed up, rambunctious as ever and insisting that they become “roomies,” River hadn’t understood where or how or why. Because here was another young man who had once been a pill-sized supercomputer that had served one Jeremy Heere to get one Christine Canigula – River could still hear the way Jeremy would always dreamily sing-song her name – and had ultimately failed when one Michael Mell had discovered the secret of Mountain Dew Red. River’s Jeremy and the rest of the squad may not even be in this whatever-they-were-in. Ly’s might not be, either. It could be an entirely fresh start.

But it did seem that no matter the timeline or dimension or universe or whatever it was that allowed them to both end up SQUIPs for Jeremy Heere, fate had it set that they would fail. Perhaps because that failure would allow Jeremy to, in fact, end up with Christine and with a whole new group of friends, as well as a strengthened tie to his best friend. River and Ly had both wondered that if a new patch came out, if another SQUIP would go down the same prewritten route with another Jeremy.

River knew that, as comfortable as Ly was in his new skin, he still had his moments. River had had the time to grieve his past. Ly was still recovering from it. Perhaps it was his enhanced A.I. that had caused him to become more attached to his version of Jeremy, or maybe it was because his Jeremy just in general sounded more pathetic and so Ly had had to look after him more closely. River had been attached, too, but it was just a job. He had felt some semblance of betrayal when he had been deactivated, of course. Ly, though, had been more furious to mask the intense hurt he’d experienced. River knew he still sulked about it and that he tended to act casual about his Jeremy to hide the fact that, sad as it was, he missed his host.

River supposed it couldn’t be helped, though. He had times, too, where he wished he’d done better. SQUIPs were meant to fulfil their hosts’ goals, after all. Even if Ly had formulated objectives of his own, he in the end had still wanted to help Jeremy.

But even with his dramatic episodes, Ly seemed to have a better handle on being human than River. He was more outgoing and eager to take advantage of their resurrection, whilst River was still somewhat of an introvert. He preferred staying in and reading a book, versus Ly who would rather hit the town. Maybe it helped that Ly, with his younger attitude and hipper style, was more trendy-cool and could make the most of a confusing situation. He was probably better at pretending he knew what he was doing, with his natural charisma, although River liked to think he was also well-off in that department.

Although as annoying as Ly could be, with his stupid smirks and constant flirting, River supposed he was glad he had some company and someone who could actually understand what he’d gone through.

After all this time, River was just fine pretty consistently. But he still had moments when everything suddenly became too much. The phantom pains of being drowned in Mountain Dew Red, the terror of suddenly becoming human in an unfamiliar place, the unfamiliar sensations of having a physical body and a functioning mind, and everything in between. At times like that, he would just shut down. He’d find a quiet place to calm himself and just get away from the world, pretending none of it existed. He had a feeling, had he still been a SQUIP, such actions would lead to him suggesting going to therapy, but ‘do as I say, not as I do’, as the saying went. Ly had learned to leave River alone when he got into moods like that.

Today was one of those days. Everything had suddenly felt like too much, and River found himself out on the balcony of their little apartment, sitting on one of their cheap outdoor chairs with his legs pulled up to his chest. He felt like a petulant child when he got like this, but it was just how he dealt with it. The sun was starting to go down, and he just gazed out at the red bleeding into blue, trying to keep his mind blank. That wasn’t usually an easy task, though, given how River had a tendency to overthink and overanalyze regardless, and now he had all of the painful memories and uncertainties bouncing around in there, as well. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants as he sunk more into himself.

“…Riv?”

He’d been so caught up in thinking about not thinking that he hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and River nearly jumped, glancing behind him. There was Ly, dressed so casually in shorts and a T-shirt while River was here in his button-up and khakis. It was almost a comical picture. At least they both had good hair. River wasn’t completely sure what to say. Ly usually steered clear of him when he got into slumps like this, but there he was with an unusually soft look of concern painted on his face.

“Did you need something?” he asked quietly, hating how tired his voice sounded. That had to be one of the worst feelings of all, being tired.

“Er, no, I just…wanted to check in on you,” Ly admitted, his tone almost embarrassed, like he knew he shouldn’t be intruding. River wasn’t annoyed with him, like he tended to be. He was more confused than anything else. “Do you need anything, like…I don’t know, water? Tea?”

River managed a little amused smile. “Worrying about me?” He couldn’t say he was entirely surprised by that. Bothersome as he could be, Ly had a tendency to help wherever he could. He was still intent on improving the world, even as a measly human.

Ly huffed, rolling his eyes. “If something happens to you, then the police could pin it on me.”

That pulled a little laugh out of River before he sighed, turning back to the lazily setting sun. He rested his chin on his knees. He often ridiculed Ly for how he tended to ‘perch’ on things, and here he was, with his feet on his seat like a cretin. “…I’m fine, thank you. You can go back inside to your…video games or Tinder or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Geez, I have some life, you know?” Ly jeered back, and there was a beat before he made his way over and sat down in the chair next to River’s. River debated telling him to go away, but he found he didn’t really have the energy to protest the company. Maybe he didn’t really mind it, anyway.

They sat in silence for a good few minutes before Ly scooted his chair closer to River’s, wincing as it groaned loudly against the concrete. River couldn’t help a tiny smile when he could practically sense Ly’s annoyance at the piece of furniture for ruining what he had probably hoped would be a moment. “Yes, Ly?” he prompted.

Ly hesitated still, drumming his fingers on his leg. “I know that you like to be alone when you…get like this, but you know it would help to…get it out of your system.”

River peeked over at his companion, raising an eyebrow. “And what made you decide to suddenly say something?”

Ly gave a small shrug, looking over at him. “I guess I got tired of watching you feel sorry for yourself.”

River bristled, his cheeks heating up. “I do not—”

“Okay, okay, then…whatever this is. I get it, you know? Maybe I got used to all of these changes more quickly than you because I was more used to everything beforehand, but it still wasn’t easy for me. Sometimes it still isn’t. But it’s…it’s been years for you, and yet you’re still here, falling into a mess at least once a month.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” River muttered.

Ly snorted. “Loosely. You still love sticking to a schedule.”

River chuckled weakly, going quiet again. He wasn’t really sure what to do. He didn’t feel like talking would help him, and even if he did attempt to talk, he had no idea what he’d say. Ly was definitely the more empathetic of the pair, but River was learning. He tended to leave Ly to himself when he had his own slumps, although every now and then he’d leave his dinner, a cup of tea, or some sweet piece of junk food outside his bedroom door in the hopes that he’d see it at some point. It wasn’t much, but he supposed Ly believed the thought counted, sentimentalist as he was. He knew River was trying and had his own little ways of showing he cared.

River sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “There’s nothing to speak about, Ly.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Mind your language.”

River could almost feel Ly rolling his eyes again. “Old man,” he teased, reaching over to give River a nudge, making River curl up a little more. “Come on. You know you can tell me anything. If it’s serious, I won’t make fun of you. You…you know that, right?”

River let out a breath, finally letting go of his legs so he could sit properly. Just as River had a soft core under his hard outer shell, Ly had a heart of gold often hidden by his immature actions. And River knew that Ly would steal the moon for him if he asked. They were connected in a way that no one else could possibly replicate or even comprehend.

“Of course I know that, love,” River murmured. They always pulled the pet names on each other because they knew it would either make the other melt or make him sputter in protest. But River’s voice was quiet and cautiously fond. He felt like he had walls up, like he wasn’t allowed to be open. He knew he was no longer a machine but damn, sometimes it felt easier to act like he was. “But you also know it isn’t that simple.”

Ly offered him a little smile. “I could help you, you know. With all of the emotions stuff. I’m no therapist, but we already know that you aren’t gonna be able to actually go to therapy. They’d throw you into the mental hospital on day one.”

River scoffed. “It would take more than a day,” he protested, but he did seriously mull over the proposal. Loath as he was to admit it, there were a plethora of ways that Ly was smarter than him. It probably came with having been a more advanced and up-to-date SQUIP, even if River had more experience being a living, breathing human out in the real world.

River paused. “…How would you help me, then?”

Ly hummed in thought. “Well, you’d need to tell me when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed, or confused about what you’re experiencing. Whenever you get like this, you just run from everything until you swallow it all down and can move on—”

River grimaced. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”

Ly snickered. “And you say I’m inappropriate. Anyway, as I was saying, you could tell me when you’re feeling something and I could just…talk you through it. There’s a big difference between knowing what an emotion is by definition and actually experiencing it. Although I’m sure you know that by now.”

River nodded silently. That was a titular statement for their existence if ever there was one. They had all the knowledge in the world in their heads and yet oftentimes they could feel absolutely clueless about how to deal with the world around them. It was the timeless ‘intelligence versus wisdom’ argument.

But River wasn’t sure he would be able to just tell Ly when he was ‘feeling something,’ because Ly was right: he would hide when he was overwhelmed, mainly out of pride. He was supposed to be above everything and he didn’t want to be seen so small, even if it was completely justifiable. Even if he had someone right there who was going through the same thing and constantly extending a hand to try and assist.

A SQUIP’s job was never done, was it?

Change was intimidating, but River was never going to learn if he didn’t get over his fears and insecurities and actually try to embrace it. He would probably make an idiot of himself along the way, but he supposed that was just part of the human experience. Sometimes you had to act a little stupid in order to achieve something. The universe was cruel like that.

Sighing, River tugged down the sleeves of his shirt, trying to get out the wrinkles. “…I suppose I can…try to let you know. But I make no guarantees.”

“Hey, that’s more than I expected to get out of you, so I’ll take it.” Ly chuckled and once again scooted his chair closer, and River knew what he was trying to do. After a moment of hesitation, he shifted so he could lay his head on Ly’s shoulder and shut his eyes as he felt an arm come to rest around his own shoulders.

Ly spoke after a moment, his voice gentle: “What are you feeling right now?”

River cracked open his eyes, noticing the sun was all but gone below the horizon, turning the sky pink and dark purple. He had to think before answering. “…Tired,” he finally confessed. “But…better. More relaxed. Er…thank you, Ly. I do appreciate your help.”

Ly grinned. “Glad to be of service. One of these days, I’ve gotta take you into town with me. You might actually enjoy yourself for once.”

River rolled his eyes. “Are you going to try to get me to hook up with someone?”

“Of course not, boo,” Ly all but purred, and River felt his cheeks go up in flames when Ly pressed a kiss to the top of his hair. “I’ve gotta make sure I’m your first.”

“Oh my God, Ly, shut up. And don’t call me that.”

“You know you love it.”

River just huffed and turned his face more against Ly’s neck to hide his darkening blush.

But he knew that, as always, Ly was right.

[darealbellabelleoftheball]

Phantom Rambles

Chapter Twenty One - Interesting and Instructive Vicissitudes of a  Persian in the Cellars of the Opera

(Vicissitudes Definition -  a change of circumstances or fortune, typically one that is unwelcome or unpleasant.)

(This is the room in which Raoul and the Persian found themselves.Art by the amazing TalviEnkeli   on deviantart.)

The Persian's narrative. (Heck i’mma just dump the whole chapter in here and comment where I will!)

It was the first time that I entered the house on the lake. I had often begged the “trap-door lover,” as we used to call Erik in my country, to open its mysterious doors to me. He always refused. I made very many attempts, but in vain, to obtain admittance. Watch him as I might, after I first learned that he had taken up his permanent abode at the Opera, the darkness was always too thick to enable me to see how he worked the door in the wall on the lake. One day, when I thought myself alone, I stepped into the boat and rowed toward that part of the wall through which I had seen Erik disappear. It was then that I came into contact with the siren who guarded the approach and whose charm was very nearly fatal to me.

I had no sooner put off from the bank than the silence amid which I floated on the water was disturbed by a sort of whispered singing that hovered all around me. It was half breath, half music; it rose softly from the waters of the lake; and I was surrounded by it through I knew not what artifice. It followed me, moved with me and was so soft that it did not alarm me. On the contrary, in my longing to approach the source of that sweet and enticing harmony, I leaned out of my little boat over the water, for there was no doubt in my mind that the singing came from the water itself. By this time, I was alone in the boat in the middle of the lake; the voice — for it was now distinctly a voice — was beside me, on the water. I leaned over, leaned still farther. The lake was perfectly calm, and a moonbeam that passed through the air hole in the Rue Scribe showed me absolutely nothing on its surface, which was smooth and black as ink. I shook my ears to get rid of a possible humming; but I soon had to accept the fact that there was no humming in the ears so harmonious as the singing whisper that followed and now attracted me.

Had I been inclined to superstition, I should have certainly thought that I had to do with some siren whose business it was to confound the traveler who should venture on the waters of the house on the lake. Fortunately, I come from a country where we are too fond of fantastic things not to know them through and through; and I had no doubt but that I was face to face with some new invention of Erik’s. But this invention was so perfect that, as I leaned out of the boat, I was impelled less by a desire to discover its trick than to enjoy its charm; and I leaned out, leaned out until I almost overturned the boat.

Suddenly, two monstrous arms issued from the bosom of the waters and seized me by the neck, dragging me down to the depths with irresistible force. I should certainly have been lost, if I had not had time to give a cry by which Erik knew me. For it was he; and, instead of drowning me, as was certainly his first intention, he swam with me and laid me gently on the bank:

“How imprudent you are!” he said, as he stood before me, dripping with water. “Why try to enter my house? I never invited you! I don’t want you there,(LOL) nor anybody!(What a mood Erik) Did you save my life only to make it unbearable to me? However great the service you rendered him, Erik may end by forgetting it; and you know that nothing can restrain Erik, not even Erik himself.” (I adore how Erik talks in third person.) 

He spoke, but I had now no other wish than to know what I already called the trick of the siren. He satisfied my curiosity, for Erik, who is a real monster( Bit RUDE) — I have seen him at work in Persia, alas — is also, in certain respects, a regular child, vain and self-conceited, and there is nothing he loves so much, after astonishing people, as to prove all the really miraculous ingenuity of his mind.(SEE EVEN THE DAROGA AGREES WITH ME PEOPLE!!!)

He laughed and showed me a long reed.

“It’s the silliest trick you ever saw,” he said, “but it’s very useful for breathing and singing in the water. I learned it from the Tonkin pirates, who are able to remain hidden for hours in the beds of the rivers.”

I spoke to him severely.

“It’s a trick that nearly killed me!” I said. “And it may have been fatal to others! You know what you promised me, Erik? No more murders!”

“Have I really committed murders?” he asked, putting on his most amiable air.

“Wretched man!” I cried. “Have you forgotten the ‘rosy hours of Mazenderan’?”

“Yes,” he replied, in a sadder tone, “I prefer to forget them. I used to make the little sultana laugh, though!” (OH BABY NO JUST NO)

“All that belongs to the past,” I declared; “but there is the present . . . and you are responsible to me for the present, because, if I had wished, there would have been none at all for you. Remember that, Erik: I saved your life!” (I’M YOUR FATHER AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME DAMN IT!!!)

And I took advantage of the turn of conversation to speak to him of something that had long been on my mind:

“Erik,” I asked, “Erik, swear that . . . ”

“What?” he retorted. “You know I never keep my oaths. Oaths are made to catch gulls with.”

“Tell me . . . you can tell me, at any rate . . . ”

“Well?”

“Well, the chandelier . . . the chandelier, Erik? . . . ”

“What about the chandelier?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh,” he sniggered, “I don’t mind telling you about the chandelier! . . . IT WASN’T I! . . . The chandelier was very old and worn.”

When Erik laughed, he was more terrible than ever. He jumped into the boat, chuckling so horribly that I could not help trembling.

“Very old and worn, my dear daroga! Very old and worn, the chandelier! . . . It fell of itself! . . . It came down with a smash! . . . And now, daroga, take my advice and go and dry yourself, or you’ll catch a cold in the head! . . . And never get into my boat again . . . And, whatever you do, don’t try to enter my house: I’m not always there . . . daroga! And I should be sorry to have to dedicate my Requiem Mass to you!”

So saying, swinging to and fro, like a monkey, and still chuckling, he pushed off and soon disappeared in the darkness of the lake. (hOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THIS FLAMING DUMPSTER CHILD?!)

From that day, I gave up all thought of penetrating into his house by the lake. That entrance was obviously too well guarded, especially since he had learned that I knew about it. But I felt that there must be another entrance, for I had often seen Erik disappear in the third cellar, when I was watching him, though I could not imagine how.

Ever since I had discovered Erik installed in the Opera, I lived in a perpetual terror of his horrible fancies, not in so far as I was concerned, but I dreaded everything for others.

And whenever some accident, some fatal event happened, I always thought to myself, “I should not be surprised if that were Erik,” even as others used to say, “It’s the ghost!” How often have I not heard people utter that phrase with a smile! Poor devils! If they had known that the ghost existed in the flesh, I swear they would not have laughed!

Although Erik announced to me very solemnly that he had changed and that he had become the most virtuous of men SINCE HE WAS LOVED FOR HIMSELF— a sentence that, at first, perplexed me most terribly — I could not help shuddering when I thought of the monster. His horrible, unparalleled and repulsive ugliness put him without the pale of humanity; and it often seemed to me that, for this reason, he no longer believed that he had any duty toward the human race. The way in which he spoke of his love affairs only increased my alarm, for I foresaw the cause of fresh and more hideous tragedies in this event to which he alluded so boastfully. (Yeah how do you tell your psychotic friend that he may not be loved in return???)

On the other hand, I soon discovered the curious moral traffic established between the monster and Christine Daae. Hiding in the lumber-room next to the young prima donna’s dressing-room, I listened to wonderful musical displays that evidently flung Christine into marvelous ecstasy; but, all the same, I would never have thought that Erik’s voice — which was loud as thunder or soft as angels’ voices, at will — could have made her forget his ugliness. I understood all when I learned that Christine had not yet seen him! I had occasion to go to the dressing-room and, remembering the lessons he had once given me, I had no difficulty in discovering the trick that made the wall with the mirror swing round and I ascertained the means of hollow bricks and so on — by which he made his voice carry to Christine as though she heard it close beside her. In this way also I discovered the road that led to the well and the dungeon — the Communists’ dungeon — and also the trap-door that enabled Erik to go straight to the cellars below the stage. (The Daroga is a smarticle particle) 

A few days later, what was not my amazement to learn by my own eyes and ears that Erik and Christine Daae saw each other and to catch the monster stooping over the little well, in the Communists’ road and sprinkling the forehead of Christine Daae, who had fainted. A white horse, the horse out of the PROFETA, which had disappeared from the stables under the Opera, was standing quietly beside them. I showed myself. It was terrible. I saw sparks fly from those yellow eyes and, before I had time to say a word, I received a blow on the head that stunned me. (Rude ERik!) 

When I came to myself, Erik, Christine and the white horse had disappeared. I felt sure that the poor girl was a prisoner in the house on the lake. Without hesitation, I resolved to return to the bank, notwithstanding the attendant danger. For twenty-four hours, I lay in wait for the monster to appear; for I felt that he must go out, driven by the need of obtaining provisions. And, in this connection, I may say, that, when he went out in the streets or ventured to show himself in public, he wore a pasteboard nose, with a mustache attached to it, 

(This is always what I picture ^) 

instead of his own horrible hole of a nose. This did not quite take away his corpse-like air, but it made him almost, I say almost, endurable to look at.

I therefore watched on the bank of the lake and, weary of long waiting, was beginning to think that he had gone through the other door, the door in the third cellar, when I heard a slight splashing in the dark, I saw the two yellow eyes shining like candles and soon the boat touched shore. Erik jumped out and walked up to me:

“You’ve been here for twenty-four hours,” he said, “and you’re annoying me. I tell you, all this will end very badly. And you will have brought it upon yourself; for I have been extraordinarily patient with you. You think you are following me, you great booby, (*Snorts*)whereas it’s I who am following you; and I know all that you know about me, here. I spared you yesterday, in MY COMMUNISTS’ ROAD; but I warn you, seriously, don’t let me catch you there again! Upon my word, you don’t seem able to take a hint!” (SAYS THE DUDE WHO IS KEEPING A GIRL IN HIS HOUSE UNWILLINGLY!!!)

He was so furious that I did not think, for the moment, of interrupting him. After puffing and blowing like a walrus, he put his horrible thought into words:

“Yes, you must learn, once and for all — once and for all, I say — to take a hint! I tell you that, with your recklessness — for you have already been twice arrested by the shade in the felt hat, who did not know what you were doing in the cellars and took you to the managers, who looked upon you as an eccentric Persian interested in stage mechanism and life behind the scenes: I know all about it, I was there, in the office; you know I am everywhere — well, I tell you that, with your recklessness, they will end by wondering what you are after here . . . and they will end by knowing that you are after Erik . . . and then they will be after Erik themselves and they will discover the house on the lake . . . If they do, it will be a bad lookout for you, old chap, a bad lookout! . . . I won’t answer for anything.”

Again he puffed and blew like a walrus.

“I won’t answer for anything! . . . If Erik’s secrets cease to be Erik’s secrets, IT WILL BE A BAD LOOKOUT FOR A GOODLY NUMBER OF THE HUMAN RACE! That’s all I have to tell you, and unless you are a great booby, it ought to be enough for you . . . except that you don’t know how to take a hint.” (Erik you c h i l d)

He had sat down on the stern of his boat and was kicking his heels against the planks, waiting to hear what I had to answer. I simply said:

“It’s not Erik that I’m after here!”

“Who then?”

“You know as well as I do: it’s Christine Daae,” I answered.

He retorted: “I have every right to see her in my own house. I am loved for my own sake.” (Uh huh sure you are bb)

“That’s not true,” I said. “You have carried her off and are keeping her locked up.”

“Listen,” he said. “Will you promise never to meddle with my affairs again, if I prove to you that I am loved for my own sake?”

“Yes, I promise you,” I replied, without hesitation, for I felt convinced that for such a monster the proof was impossible.

“Well, then, it’s quite simple . . . Christine Daae shall leave this as she pleases and come back again! . . . Yes, come back again, because she wishes . . . come back of herself, because she loves me for myself! . . . ”

“Oh, I doubt if she will come back! . . . But it is your duty to let her go.” “My duty, you great booby! . . . It is my wish . . . my wish to let her go; and she will come back again . . . for she loves me! . . . All this will end in a marriage . . . a marriage at the Madeleine, you great booby! Do you believe me now? When I tell you that my nuptial mass is written . . . wait till you hear the KYRIE . . . ”

He beat time with his heels on the planks of the boat and sang:

“KYRIE! . . . KYRIE! . . . KYRIE ELEISON! . . . Wait till you hear, wait till you hear that mass.” (awe he wrote a wedding song for her *Screeches*)

“Look here,” I said. “I shall believe you if I see Christine Daae come out of the house on the lake and go back to it of her own accord.”

“And you won’t meddle any more in my affairs?”

“No.”

“Very well, you shall see that to-night. Come to the masked ball. Christine and I will go and have a look round. Then you can hide in the lumber-room and you shall see Christine, who will have gone to her dressing-room, delighted to come back by the Communists’ road . . . And, now, be off, for I must go and do some shopping!” (LOL)

To my intense astonishment, things happened as he had announced. Christine Daae left the house on the lake and returned to it several times, without, apparently, being forced to do so. It was very difficult for me to clear my mind of Erik. However, I resolved to be extremely prudent, and did not make the mistake of returning to the shore of the lake, or of going by the Communists’ road. But the idea of the secret entrance in the third cellar haunted me, and I repeatedly went and waited for hours behind a scene from the Roi de Lahore, which had been left there for some reason or other. At last my patience was rewarded. One day, I saw the monster come toward me, on his knees. I was certain that he could not see me. He passed between the scene behind which I stood and a set piece, went to the wall and pressed on a spring that moved a stone and afforded him an ingress. He passed through this, and the stone closed behind him.

(Ah Daroga you sneaky sneak!) 

I waited for at least thirty minutes and then pressed the spring in my turn. Everything happened as with Erik. But I was careful not to go through the hole myself, for I knew that Erik was inside. On the other hand, the idea that I might be caught by Erik suddenly made me think of the death of Joseph Buquet. I did not wish to jeopardize the advantages of so great a discovery which might be useful to many people, “to a goodly number of the human race,” in Erik’s words; and I left the cellars of the Opera after carefully replacing the stone. (He just noped out of there) 

I continued to be greatly interested in the relations between Erik and Christine Daae, not from any morbid curiosity, but because of the terrible thought which obsessed my mind that Erik was capable of anything, if he once discovered that he was not loved for his own sake, as he imagined. I continued to wander, very cautiously, about the Opera and soon learned the truth about the monster’s dreary love-affair.

He filled Christine’s mind, through the terror with which he inspired her, but the dear child’s heart belonged wholly to the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. While they played about, like an innocent engaged couple, on the upper floors of the Opera, to avoid the monster, they little suspected that some one was watching over them. I was prepared to do anything: to kill the monster, if necessary, and explain to the police afterward. But Erik did not show himself; and I felt none the more comfortable for that.

I must explain my whole plan. I thought that the monster, being driven from his house by jealousy, would thus enable me to enter it, without danger, through the passage in the third cellar. It was important, for everybody’s sake, that I should know exactly what was inside. One day, tired of waiting for an opportunity, I moved the stone and at once heard an astounding music: the monster was working at his Don Juan Triumphant, with every door in his house wide open. I knew that this was the work of his life. I was careful not to stir and remained prudently in my dark hole.

He stopped playing, for a moment, and began walking about his place, like a madman. And he said aloud, at the top of his voice:

“It must be finished FIRST! Quite finished!” (The life of a writer)

This speech was not calculated to reassure me and, when the music recommenced, I closed the stone very softly.

On the day of the abduction of Christine Daae, I did not come to the theater until rather late in the evening, trembling lest I should hear bad news. I had spent a horrible day, for, after reading in a morning paper the announcement of a forthcoming marriage between Christine and the Vicomte de Chagny, I wondered whether, after all, I should not do better to denounce the monster. But reason returned to me, and I was persuaded that this action could only precipitate a possible catastrophe.

When, my cab set me down before the Opera, I was really almost astonished to see it still standing! But I am something of a fatalist, like all good Orientals, and I entered ready, for anything. (LOL I love you Daroga)

Christine Daae’s abduction in the Prison Act, which naturally surprised everybody, found me prepared. I was quite certain that she had been juggled away by Erik, that prince of conjurers. And I thought positively that this was the end of Christine and perhaps of everybody, so much so that I thought of advising all these people who were staying on at the theater to make good their escape. I felt, however, that they would be sure to look upon me as mad and I refrained. (Good call)

On the other hand, I resolved to act without further delay, as far as I was concerned. The chances were in my favor that Erik, at that moment, was thinking only of his captive. This was the moment to enter his house through the third cellar; and I resolved to take with me that poor little desperate viscount, who, at the first suggestion, accepted, with an amount of confidence in myself that touched me profoundly. I had sent my servant for my pistols. I gave one to the viscount and advised him to hold himself ready to fire, for, after all, Erik might be waiting for us behind the wall. We were to go by the Communists’ road and through the trap-door.

Seeing my pistols, the little viscount asked me if we were going to fight a duel. I said:

“Yes; and what a duel!” But, of course, I had no time to explain anything to him. The little viscount is a brave fellow, but he knew hardly anything about his adversary; and it was so much the better. My great fear was that he was already somewhere near us, preparing the Punjab lasso. No one knows better than he how to throw the Punjab lasso, for he is the king of stranglers even as he is the prince of conjurors. When he had finished making the little sultana laugh, at the time of the “rosy hours of Mazenderan,” she herself used to ask him to amuse her by giving her a thrill. It was then that he introduced the sport of the Punjab lasso. (Smarty)

He had lived in India and acquired an incredible skill in the art of strangulation. He would make them lock him into a courtyard to which they brought a warrior — usually, a man condemned to death — armed with a long pike and broadsword. Erik had only his lasso; and it was always just when the warrior thought that he was going to fell Erik with a tremendous blow that we heard the lasso whistle through the air. With a turn of the wrist, Erik tightened the noose round his adversary’s neck and, in this fashion, dragged him before the little sultana and her women, who sat looking from a window and applauding. The little sultana herself learned to wield the Punjab lasso and killed several of her women and even of the friends who visited her. But I prefer to drop this terrible subject of the rosy hours of Mazenderan. I have mentioned it only to explain why, on arriving with the Vicomte de Chagny in the cellars of the Opera, I was bound to protect my companion against the ever-threatening danger of death by strangling. My pistols could serve no purpose, for Erik was not likely to show himself; but Erik could always strangle us. I had no time to explain all this to the viscount; besides, there was nothing to be gained by complicating the position. I simply told M. de Chagny to keep his hand at the level of his eyes, with the arm bent, as though waiting for the command to fire. With his victim in this attitude, it is impossible even for the most expert strangler to throw the lasso with advantage. It catches you not only round the neck, but also round the arm or hand. This enables you easily to unloose the lasso, which then becomes harmless. (He’s so smart)

After avoiding the commissary of police, a number of door-shutters and the firemen, after meeting the rat-catcher and passing the man in the felt hat unperceived, the viscount and I arrived without obstacle in the third cellar, between the set piece and the scene from the Roi de Lahore. I worked the stone, and we jumped into the house which Erik had built himself in the double case of the foundation-walls of the Opera. And this was the easiest thing in the world for him to do, because Erik was one of the chief contractors under Philippe Garnier, the architect of the Opera, and continued to work by himself when the works were officially suspended, during the war, the siege of Paris and the Commune.

I knew my Erik too well to feel at all comfortable on jumping into his house. I knew what he had made of a certain palace at Mazenderan. From being the most honest building conceivable, he soon turned it into a house of the very devil, where you could not utter a word but it was overheard or repeated by an echo. With his trap-doors the monster was responsible for endless tragedies of all kinds. He hit upon astonishing inventions. Of these, the most curious, horrible and dangerous was the so-called torture-chamber. Except in special cases, when the little sultana amused herself by inflicting suffering upon some unoffending citizen, no one was let into it but wretches condemned to death. And, even then, when these had “had enough,” they were always at liberty to put an end to themselves with a Punjab lasso or bowstring, left for their use at the foot of an iron tree.

My alarm, therefore, was great when I saw that the room into which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I had dropped was an exact copy of the torture-chamber of the rosy hours of Mazenderan. At our feet, I found the Punjab lasso which I had been dreading all the evening. I was convinced that this rope had already done duty for Joseph Buquet, who, like myself, must have caught Erik one evening working the stone in the third cellar. He probably tried it in his turn, fell into the torture-chamber and only left it hanged. I can well imagine Erik dragging the body, in order to get rid of it, to the scene from the Roi de Lahore, and hanging it there as an example, or to increase the superstitious terror that was to help him in guarding the approaches to his lair! Then, upon reflection, Erik went back to fetch the Punjab lasso, which is very curiously made out of catgut, and which might have set an examining magistrate thinking. This explains the disappearance of the rope.

And now I discovered the lasso, at our feet, in the torture-chamber! . . . I am no coward, but a cold sweat covered my forehead as I moved the little red disk of my lantern over the walls.

M. de Chagny noticed it and asked:

“What is the matter, sir?”

I made him a violent sign to be silent.

sorry this one was so long but since the chapter was heavily dialogued...Is that even a word???

Since the WHOLE chapter was the Daroga talking it just seemed right to include it. I may continue this format??? Ok bye. 

tag

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@the-angel-of-musicals

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@maladypond  

@summerb4jc

@masksonmasks

@wheel-of-fish

@epwhales

@phantomgraphicnovel

@phantom-of-the-keurig

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@shernoel

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@quill-of-doom

[tophatsnap]

Nothing But a Man Ch 16

Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Webber

Christine

When I turned back he was gone. I smiled to myself and brought my fingers up to trace my lips... as if we had kissed. I could still feel his breath on my face; warm and inviting... tantalising. I could have kissed him. I could have. But I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to have the confidence and assertion; I wanted him to be in control. He was always in control... except when we were intimate. I wanted to test him... and then when he told me that he couldn’t kiss me I could not help but play with him a little. Truthfully I could not see the harm in sharing one kiss with our stolen moment but he was doing everything he could to resist such an urge. I enjoyed the fact that I had power over him in some way; enjoyed how I was able to make him feel. He could do the same to me... when he wanted.

When Meg approached I was still locked in that moment with Erik. I knew that he would keep to his promise and see me that very night and so I was not worried when he suddenly disappeared. In truth I was surprised to see him at all given how worried he was. As soon as he was gone I longed for his presence. I had forgotten where I was; forgotten that I was in the middle of an opera performance. Perhaps this was what he was talking about when he spoke of losing himself...

And we had not even kissed...

How I longed to lose myself with him... Lose myself in a place where there were no time constraints, no danger... Nobody cared who or where we were... we could just be...

But something like that could not happen...

“Christine... what are you doing here? We must get changed for the next...”

Meg looked at me, her brows knitted together quizzically.

“What are you doing?” She repeated. I realised that I was simply facing a wall... not particularly looking at anything. It must have seemed quite strange indeed.

“I... I was...”

Meg’s eyes widened excitedly as the realisation dawned on her.

“You were with him weren’t you?”

“What..? Who?”

“Christine... I have not forgotten what you told me. You went missing last night too. Maman was very worried about you. As was I. And... when I saw you this morning you seemed different; you seemed like your old self again. I didn’t want to say anything... I thought it may have been Raoul?”

“Raoul? No!”

“I know.” She smiled. “This was how you were acting before... when you told me that...” She cast her eyes down and moved closer to me. “Do you think it wise though? To be spending time with him when... he did what you said he did?”

“He isn’t a bad person, Meg. He would never hurt me...”

Meg smiled.

“Come on, we need to get changed! Tell me on the way!”

“I’m sorry Meg.” I began as she took my arm in hers and we hurried toward the change rooms. “I had meant to tell you everything but it all resolved itself last night... and it happened so fast...”

“That’s alright! Does this mean that he will be escorting you to the ball?”

The ball. Of course... the Masquerade Ball. Was it that time of year already?

“Well... I...” Of course he could not escort me to the ball. What was Meg thinking? He was the Opera Ghost... but of course... it was a Masquerade. If there was any event he could attend it would be this one. It would be lovely. I did not want to be escorted by anyone else... It was just a matter of asking him. No doubt he knew it was approaching; he knew all that transpired beneath his roof. But then... why had he not asked me? My stomach sank. Perhaps now that he had my affections... he did not want them?

“I... I would like to but... I don’t know that it would be wise.”

“Oh, why not? It is a Bal Masque, is it not? He could be disguised... It is said that he wears a mask anyway... is this true?”

“Yes... its true but...”

But Raoul has already seen it.

I could think of a million and one reasons not to mention the ball to Erik... but in spite of those protestations I found myself wanting to ask him; wanting to go with him... wanting to appear at the top of the grand escalier on his arm. My selfishness outweighed my good sense.

I would ask him...

“Tell me what he is like! I want to know everything!” She continued excitedly, pulling me closer as we rushed through the wings of the stage; past bewildered stage hands and miscellaneous props.

“Ah... where do I start?” I smiled. Erik was such a complex person. He had so many aspects to him... and many more I was yet to learn. He was so gentle and chivalrous, attentive and caring... and I could not help but blush when I thought of the physical attributes I should not have seen... His chest... His arms... Living in a theatre had made me somewhat impervious to shock when it came to the male anatomy but this was different... They had been more than pleasing to the eye and the fact that I should not have seen them made it all the more intriguing. Then I thought of his face... what I could see of it I thought to be uncommonly handsome... but what of the other half? What of the mask that he would not speak of?

I would find out soon enough...

“Well Christine?” Meg pressed. It was then that I realised I had not been speaking aloud; merely lost in my own thoughts once more. How could I voice what had just gone through my head? I felt my cheeks flush with warmth at the mere thought of it.

“Sorry...” I stammered. “Well... he...”

“Girls!” I turned to the source of the voice to see Madame Giry rushing towards us, skirt in hand and a stern look on her face. “What are you two doing? You must change!”

Erik

That night I waited until it was quite late to see Christine. I hadn’t told her when to expect me but even so I felt the need to reprimand myself for not making solid plans with her. It seemed terribly presumptuous and informal of me simply to call on her when I saw fit but it was the way it had to be... at least for a while and I think that she understood that. After our rendezvous in the wings of the stage I made my way back down to my home; always in the shadows. Ever vigilant... ever invisible; ever the Phantom. This time called for it more than ever. Ordinarily I would not mind so much... but if I were caught now everything I had with Christine would be taken from me. I knew very well that if caught I would be hanged. There was little chance of a trial for someone like me... and I was not ready to meet my end at the gallows. Not yet. I had so much more living to do; so much more to experience with her before I met my end.

On my way down I caught sight of Raoul speaking with the gendarmerie. He was determined...

But he would never find what he was looking for.

Once in my home I sat down at my organ as I usually did and began to tinker with the keys absentmindedly as I thought of a way to see her. I gazed down at the book I had given her; sitting on my writing desk ready for her.

Scandinavian Folk Lore

I smiled as I remembered her face upon seeing the book. Her father had brought her so much happiness...

Her father...

The chapel...

That was it. Christine always visited the chapel after dinner. I would have to be careful as always but no one else usually visited the chapel save for four or five of the chorus girls and they were already frightened of me... or at least the idea of me; something that always proved useful.

The hours seemed to stretch on. How had spent years in solitude with nothing but my own company and interests to occupy myself? I had created for myself a world of magic and art and music... the perfect world that simply did not exist above. I had done it... and I was doing it. The very idea of it still filled me with comfort and joy... only now I wished for someone else to accompany me on my island of dreams. Only one other person... Now all I seemed to do was fill the time between seeing Christine and if I could spend a few hours without completely and utterly dwelling on the idea of her, the afternoon was a success.

What had I become?

With all of my hobbies I already had more than enough activities to fill my time... it was just...

Her...

Finally it was time to head to the chapel. After checking myself in the mirror once, albeit reluctantly I made my way up...

The hallways leading to chapel were dark as they always were, but it was Winter and the sun had long but set. The only light visible was provided by the single candle, presumably lit by Christine and sitting just above a picture of her father. And just as I had hoped, sitting in front of the candle was Christine... the flame licked at her skin gently and for a few moments I was transfixed... unable to speak.

I cleared my throat.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle...” I spoke softly.

She spun around, eyes wide. Of course, she could not see in the darkness as I could. How selfish of me.

“It is me.” I said with a smirk, thankfully not visible to her.

“I know.” She said, smiling and turning around.

“And how is that?” I asked, walking closer to her.

“I’ve been hearing your voice for a long time now, Erik.”

I smiled. Of course she had...

“You still come here every night...” I said.

“Yes. It is the only place I know where to find him...” She replied wistfully. “And... now that I know that... he didn’t send me an angel... I find myself drifting away from him.”

“I’m so sorry, Christine.”

“I know.” She said. “You don’t have to keep saying it... Perhaps it was time to grow up anyway.”

I knelt down next to her in the darkness.

“Never let anyone convince you that you have to do anything you don’t want to... You don’t have to grow up just because people say that you must. I had to grow up before my time and... I never had a real childhood.” I stopped myself before I digressed too much. “What I mean is... you can be whoever you want to be. It does not matter to me.”

She touched my face gently. Evidently now that I was kneeling down next to her she was able to see me as clearly as I could see her.

“Thank you.” She said softly. “But... it isn’t about other people. I think that... you did come to me for a reason. Perhaps you came to me and... revealed yourself to me because somehow I needed you to. It was time to let him go...” A tear slid down her porcelain face. “I wish to go to the cemetery soon... to visit him; say my goodbyes. Will you... come with me?”

“Of course, Mon Ange. Whatever you need from me I will give to you.” I was honoured that she would ask me at all given everything.

Christine looked back to her father’s picture.

“I think that he would have liked you... he was a musician, you know.”

“Yes...” I said, still staring at her. I smiled and held her hand in my own. “You told me.”

“Yes...” She said, hardly a response to me... more to herself. It seemed that she was entranced by her father; by the flickering light above his picture. I however was entranced by her. I had never been religious. Lighting candles and praying to the night sky seemed trivial in light of the life I had lived...

But she was my redemption. In my eyes, Christine was everything good in the world and she had saved me in more ways than one.

“Shall we go?” I offered softly. She nodded silently. I stood up and dusted my pants before offering her my hand.

As soon as we had exited the chapel I felt her tug me backward.

“What is it?” Immediately I feared she had seen or heard something...

She pulled me closer with a smile.

“You owe me a kiss.” She cooed. Regretfully I let out a nervous laugh at the word but before I could condemn myself for such a juvenile action she had pulled my face down towards hers and captured my lips with her own. Immediately I wrapped my arms around her and closed my eyes. God, I loved her. How I had waited to experience such a thing once more. But it was still not safe. It would have to wait until my home...

“Stop...” I mumbled against her mouth.

“Why...” She replied.

“Not here.” I pulled away but I made no effort to stop. I don’t think I would have had it not been for the voices heard behind us; only drunken chorus members but people all the same. She pulled away with a quiet laugh and I found myself laughing along. I felt so silly... but I was enjoying it. My heart swelled with giddy happiness as I rushed her away as if it were all a childish game of hide and seek. At that moment were just like any of the other couples seen enjoying each other in the corners of the Opera corridors...

Weren’t we?

Once down in my home I removed my cape and helped her out of the boat.

“Have you eaten?” I offered. I could not believe how relaxed I felt; not myself at all. I felt... normal. “I could prepare you something? I haven’t had the chance to purchase much but I have some bread if you are hungry.”

“I’m fine.” She smiled. “Thank you.” She looked around nervously. Why was she quiet? Had I done something wrong between the chapel and now? Had she changed her mind?

“What’s wrong?” I questioned, slightly crestfallen. “Have you... changed your mind about tonight?”

“No, no! Not at all!”

“We... can do another night. If you’d like.” It would disappoint me greatly if she agreed but I had to give her the option. It was my home... but I wanted her to feel as comfortable as if it were hers. Perhaps one day it would be?

“No... really.” She walked up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “It isn’t that at all.” It couldn’t be anything terrible if she was still willing to touch me. I relaxed slightly and placed my hands on her waist.

“What is it, Mon Ange?” I asked, staring down at her. She was so beautiful...

“Well... I wish to ask something of you... only I don’t know quite how to ask it.” Was she blushing?

“You know that I am powerless before your requests, Christine. What is it that you want of me? It shall be yours.”

“Alright...” She said hesitantly. I could tell that she was struggling with whatever she needed to ask me and it only served to make me more curious. “Are you free this Saturday evening?”

At this I laughed audibly.

“No, I am afraid not. I am afraid I have already committed myself to a number of other engagements.”

She stared at me then, apparently not quite seeing my humour. I laughed again.

“Of course I am free.” I joked. At that she seemed to smile. Then it occurred to me. This Saturday was New Years Eve; The Masquerade Ball. She was going to ask me to take her to the Masquerade Ball. How was I to tell her that I was already attending? During the endlessly torturous weeks without Christine I had begun writing my Opera. Originally I had planned to coerce the company to perform said Opera with Christine as the lead role. The Opera was to be an ode to Christine and I. It expressed how I felt about her; everything I could not say... I had even played with the idea of casting myself as the leading male; something that could never be possible. At the Ball I would present the work to the managers along with instructions as to how it would play out. Originally I had formulated this plan in the depths of despair and I will admit that I was not of sound mind at the time. Even so the idea to perform it had never left me; Christine would still be cast in the leading role and it would still serve to express to Christine all that I felt for her. But my plan could not possibly work with Christine in my presence. I had official Opera Ghost business to attend to and I needed to keep that part of my life separate to her...

I treasured the sentiment, of course... no one had ever bestowed on me such a gift but I had to refuse.

“Well... I was wondering whether you might...” She bit her lip. “...whether you would consider... escorting me to the Bal Masque?”

Immediately after speaking she looked up at me; desperate for an answer, desperate for anything that would ease the awkward atmosphere she felt she had created. It was awkward, but it had nothing to do with her.

I sighed and slowly pulled her hands down from my neck.

“Christine...”

“You don’t wish to go?”

“No it... It isn’t that...”

“It is that. I know... what you might be thinking.” She took my hand in hers. “...but... it’s a Masquerade! You... won’t be seen. For once we can be out together and no one will care.”

“Out? What do you mean by that?” I pulled my hand from hers. “I know that this is not ideal for courting Christine but it’s all I have. If you wish to be out with someone then perhaps you should speak to your boy.” She looked at me icily and immediately I regretted my words.

“That was uncalled for.” She said plainly.

“I know. I know. It’s just that I know that this isn’t good enough for you.” I waved my hand in gesture to my home. “That I am not good enough for you and sometimes when you say things it really makes me think that you... want to change your mind. I constantly have doubts...”

“I know.” She said. She took my hand again. “I know that you want to come with me.”

“I want nothing more.”

“Then just come!”

“I cannot!”

“Why?” She pressed, pulling at my hand like a petulant child.

“I... have Opera Ghost business to attend to.” I knew that she wouldn’t want to hear that but it was the truth.

“...What does that mean?” She eyed me suspiciously.

“I have to present the managers with something to perform; an Opera.” I pointed to the Organ. “The one you saw me composing when you were last here. The company is to perform it and I have certain instructions I wish to deliver with it. I have to reveal myself that night. I have to stand before the managers for the first time... before everyone for the first time and if they remember seeing you with me... it could be a great danger to both of us. I’m sorry, Christine. I really am.”

“Well... why is this Opera so important? Is it more important than me?”

“Nothing is more important than you but... this Opera is important to me. And I have been gone too long, and so it has to be done in person. I have to know that they still fear me.”

“Fear you? Why do they have to fear you?”

“It is the only way, Christine.” Why didn’t she understand? The world had to fear me. When I was a child I swore that I would feel no fear; that I would inflict it on others. It was how I had gotten by... Kindness did not get me things; fear did.

“The only way for what? Why can’t you just leave the Opera Ghost behind, Erik? It isn’t who you are anymore.”

“It is, though!” Christine jumped. I hadn’t meant to raise my voice. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten her... “I’m sorry.” I pulled her into an embrace. “It... has to be sometimes. As long as I am here... it has to be.”

She took a deep breath.

“Well... perhaps... we could leave together? After your Opera is performed?” What could she possibly mean?

“...Leave?”

“Yes...” She said, looking up at me. “We could... leave together.” Where would we go? I hadn’t left the Opera in years.

“You would... do that for me?” I asked sincerely.

“I would do that with you.” She said, holding me tightly. “Please, Erik. Escort me to the Ball? I would want no one else.”

“I just don’t see how it could work.” She looked down and nodded.

But I knew that she hadn’t given up... I had at least delayed the conversation and I wanted to celebrate this small triumph but I could see another question on her lips. I knew what this one would be and while I was dreading it... I had told her that I would address it and I was nothing if not a man of my word.

“So... earlier today... you said that you would...”

“You wish to know about the mask.” I said sternly.

“I... I’m sorry, it’s just that you said...”

“I know. I’m not angry. You wish to know. Understandably so... Come. Let us sit down. Would you like some wine?” I led her over to the piano bench.

“...Just a glass.” She answered apprehensively.

“Alright. One moment.” I stood up and took a deep breath. When I returned she would ask me. When I returned I would have to explain myself. I loosened my cravat; suddenly finding my surroundings to be increasingly stuffy. “I trust that red is alright?” I called.

“Whatever you suggest.” She said faintly. “I told you, I don’t often drink wine.”

I returned with a new bottle and two glasses. After taking a sip and another deep breath I sat down next to her on my bench and spoke.

“Alright. Ask me.”

She looked at me; a shocked expression upon her face. Almost as if she hadn’t expected me to address it so quickly.

“I... alright.” I saw that she was taking a deep breath herself. What did she have to  e nervous about?

“It is alright, Christine.” I reassured her. “Just ask me.” She looked down before speaking.

“Why do you wear the mask?”

“I wear it because I... I wish to hide myself.” I answered craftily.

“But why?” Who was I trying to fool? I had to tell her. I took another sip of wine.

“I wear a mask because... I... was born with a deformity.” I answered simply.

I was surprised when she nodded in understanding.

“And so you feel the need to wear something to cover it?”

I laughed cynically.

“I don’t feel any need. It is world who sees the need to hide my ugliness. The world does not want to see, Christine. Please do not ask me to divulge anything else just yet... I am not ready to revisit my past.”

“I wish that you would show me...” She whispered.

“I thought that you would ask me that. Please know that I would give you anything you asked for. Anything else...”

“You will not show me.”

“Please try to understand.” I began. “It is hard for me. In the past I have been... made to show my face... and the reactions were always the same...”

“Made?”

“That is all I will say on that.”

“Erik, I don’t want to ask something of you that you don’t feel comfortable giving. But... please don’t keep this from me. I want us to start anew; to tell one another everything. To feel completely comfortable in the presence of one another...”

“If that is what you seek, Christine. I may never make you happy. I have secrets that... I have not divulged to anyone and truthfully I don’t know that I ever will. I do not mean to hurt you by saying this and please know that I would never keep something from you that would harm you; it is quite the opposite.” Christine listened attentively. “I keep things from you because some things should not be heard; repeated, relived. It would kill me to know that... saying this would prevent you from seeing me any further but you need to know this now. I will never be... normal. I will never be perfect. I am broken and as much as you redeem me just by being the wondrous person you are... I will always be broken because of the life I have lived.” She looked at me and spoke the three words that threatened to break me every time I heard them.

“I love you.” She said. She reached up and touched the left side of my face. I held her hand and leant into it.

“God, I love you.” I said; my voice quavering with emotion. I loved her for who she was... and I loved her for loving me.

“Let me... try to fix you.” She said. Those words almost made it seem possible. With that she reached up with both hands and ever so slowly removed my mask...

I did not stop her; I did not even protest. I was frozen where I was; in awe at her healing words; her healing hands. It was almost as if with her I was handsome. Perhaps there was no deformity at all? Perhaps it had all been a terrible nightmare and this was my real life?

My eyes were closed...

They did not open until I felt her small, soft hands touching the right side of my face; the side that had not been touched by another living soul; the side that predetermined my life before I had taken my first breath, the side that had made me who I was. To my utter surprise her fingers were exploring the contours of my horrid face; caressing the planes, the irregularities that made me so... unique...

...And it felt glorious.

I searched her face for a reaction; searched her eyes for fear, disgust... her eyes had filled with tears but she was smiling. Perhaps it was pity but I did not care.

She was smiling.

She was not laughing.

She was not screaming.

She was not running.

She was smiling.

This gave me the confidence I needed to reveal everything... Slowly I reached up and pulled the black wig from atop my head. It fell to the ground. Christine simply watched as my defences crumbled around me. Her expression did not change. She reached up and stroked my hair; copper in hue, not black as she had thought... as I had almost come to believe.

“You... are beautiful.” She said softly.

At these words I choked a sob. Pathetic... but I did not have a care. I brought my hand to her face; un-gloved I was permitted to revel in her warmth as she had presumably revelled in mine. A tear escaped my eye and I had to choke back another sob when she reached up to wipe it.

“Kiss me, Erik.” She repeated. Unlike when she had said it to me, hidden in the wings of the stage I needed no coercion. Those words were all I needed. I captured her mouth hungrily. Our kiss deepened as I pulled her onto my lap. The pipe organ behind me sounded loudly as I was pushed onto the keys. We both jumped slightly and laughed at ourselves before continuing the kiss. Deciding that neither of us cared to experience such a surprise again I whisked her up and carried her to her bedroom. I lay her down on the bed as I had done on her first night with me. Only this time she captured my mouth once more and pulled me down onto the bed. Again we laughed as I fell quite clumsily on top of her.

She pushed me onto my back and I did not care to protest. Her deft fingers removed my cravat and within seconds I felt something unlike anything I had ever experienced; her perfect lips placing kisses on my neck. She began just behind my ear. Her warm breath tickled the skin there and I felt her smile against me as I suppressed a chuckle. It was maddeningly pleasurable. She pushed my jacket off my shoulders as her lips moved down my neck. I could not move. I wanted to kiss her in return; bestow the same pleasure on her but I could not... I felt her hands working at my waistcoat as her lips reached my collarbone.

Soon, my waistcoat had met the same fate as my jacket; discarded on the floor of my home and soon my shirt would meet the same end. In truth, I did not care. Never in my life had I had such little regard for my own clothing...

[broadwayhopeful23]

Christine Daae, but She Cries Less

Okay, plot twist: What if ALW’s Christine is not afraid of the Phantom the whole time and cries a lot less to be the strong female character we know her to be? Let me explain: Christine is somewhere between 16 and 20 years old. She is a strong, independent orphan who runs her own life. She stopped believing in angels a while ago. She knows that the Angel of Music is a person, and it's not a coincidence to her that 'the Opera Ghost' acts in her favor. She's confused and unsure, because who IS this angel/ghost/phantom/man and how does she feel such a strong connection to this person who she's never met/seen? In "Angel of Music" she tells Meg about her music teacher, "the angel", because that's how it began and how else is she going to describe it? Yes, at the end, it says "Your hands are cold/It frightens me" but this is where I say that Christine can be afraid and unsure about something without being portrayed as a frightened little girl. Normal people fear things. She obeys her music teacher in dismissing Raoul, and then follows the Phantom so that she can finally learn more about him. She goes willingly to his lair. In "I Remember/Stranger Than You Dreamt It", Christine didn't mean to 'attack' the Phantom when she took off his mask, she's just a curious person. Then, after seeing his deformity, she pities his pain. Imagine her delivering her lines in "Why Have You Brought Me Here?" with an unsure but decisively pitiful air instead of crying and being scared. 

Christine's parents weren't around to really teach her that some people are born deformed and that happens. Think of the time period, that’s not really something that was discussed. So when Christine sees the phantom/angel/man with a horrifying face, she has a really hard time comprehending it. Yes, his anger when she unmasks him is frightening, but the iconic moment when she gives back the mask evokes the line from the title song, "I am the mask you wear". Christine's talent, and through her, his music, is the part of himself that he shows the world. (I never understood that part until today, and really, the title song doesn't make ANY sense UNLESS Christine knew that the angel and the phantom/opera ghost were all the same person) Christine is, as many people are, afraid of what she doesn't understand - the Phantom's deformity AND his feelings for her, doubled by her strong feelings for him that she can't identify. Christine has never been in love before. 

Yes, I am 100% Team Raoul when Raoul is played right, and Christine IS in love with him. But she has feelings for the Phantom which are real too, she just can't explain them when she is firstly confused in general about his entire existence - a deformed musician guy living in the basement? Back to "Why Have You Brought Me Here?", her description of his lair is just a description, there's no fear in those words unless an actress displays it. “His world of unending night” - again, he lives in the basement. Christine speaks of her confusion and somewhat aversion towards his face, but immediately returns to how the Phantom makes her feel, and the connection they have with each other through music "But his voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound..." She is also of course super disturbed because the Phantom just killed Joseph Buquet and that's really scary, but he was a drunk and a creep - I'll return to this point later. When her and Raoul sing "All I Ask of You" she means every word! 💕 While she may not fully know yet that the Phantom is in love with her (despite the wedding dress - she fainted, and she doesn't definitely look at the mannequin later, so she I think that she forgets about it until “Masquerade” or even the final lair, and thinks that she dreamed that part especially since the bride wore her face) but Christine knows full well that he dislikes Raoul. He did call Raoul "Insolent fool, this slave of fashion". But she decides that Raoul's love - a love of support, protection, and a bit of nostalgia, like a fairy tale - is what she obviously wants over the Phantom's temper and jealousy, despite the feelings she has for him and their connection through music. So when Raoul and Christine get engaged sometime in between acts one and two, it is absolutely what she wants and she thinks that the phantom/angel is hiding from her and the world since he angrily dropped the chandelier and basically told her to leave with Raoul the night of Il Muto. So she knows that not telling anyone about the engagement is the safest plan for Raoul. Especially considering her line to Raoul, post-Buquet's death "We must return/He'll kill you!" So when the Phantom returns during "Masquerade" and says "Your chains are still mine. You will sing for me" she IS scared for Raoul and her relationship with Raoul because the Phantom hasn't given up on his feelings for her. 

And in "Twisted Every Way" she talks about how this time the Phantom will take her to his lair and she doesn't want to go willingly anymore. She thinks that the Phantom doesn't trust her now that she's engaged to Raoul. (Also, since Christine doesn't wear an engagement ring for the rest of act two, did she call off the engagement with Raoul to assuage the Phantom? If so, you go girl! More proof that Christine makes her own decisions) Even though she straight up says "Raoul, I'm frightened. Don't make me do this. Raoul, it scares me. Don't put me through this" she talks about her fear of being kidnapped, but a part of that fear is of Carlotta, Piangi, and the managers in the room who don't give a damn about her feelings and will force her to perform in Don Juan Triumphant. Christine isn't weak, she goes right up to Carlotta's face like "you evil woman" and I've always thought that the line "I cannot sing it. Duty or not" from Christine was actually just her being sassy. Of course she can sing it she’s Christine Daae! With this new perspective on Christine I find that "Twisted Every Way" would be sung rather angry and a little facetious instead of crying and unsteady. She doesn't need that chair! She fainted in the Phantom's lair because she was shocked by a wedding gown with her face in it and then the mannequin moved!! She's not feeling that way now. I think that this is what Christine is thinking: "Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live?" 

Are you guys seriously asking me to do something that I'm super uncomfortable with?!

"Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice?" 

Can I trap him like that? “Who ONCE inspired my voice”, I'm trying to move on from this guy and our unhealthy relationship, and you want me to confront him??? Just because he's being horrible to you doesn't mean that you can use me as a pawn. More historical context: When the her MALE employers (the managers) tell her she has to perform, no, she doesn’t really have a choice.

"He kills without a thought, he murders all that's good"  

This returns to the point of Joseph Buquet. He was not "all that's good". She just says this part to lie convince everyone that she's playing along and pretending to see their point of view as to why she should be in the opera against her wishes. I especially think this because it leads into "I know I can't refuse, and yet I wish I could".

Then we have rehearsal and "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" and then "Wandering Child". Oh boy. She knows exactly who calls out to her at her father's grave but questions his intentions and whose point of view she should be looking through simply by saying "Angel or father? Friend or phantom?" Which role in my life are you playing right now? It's kind of sassy actually.

Angel-teacher

Father-leader

Friend-friend 

Phantom-murderer who loves me

When he picks teacher, she is relieved because they haven't had a music lesson in months. This is a simple joy that she’s missed somewhere deep down. "Wildly my mind beats against you/You resist yet the soul obeys..." She's known for so long that the phantom whom she fears and her angel are one and the same, but she needs some type of comfort from this person who means so much and so many things to her. But then Raoul interrupts. Eh. Jeez, Raoul! Such a hero, but you're preventing major development! Oh well, moving on. 

"Point of No Return" - there's HELLA sexual tension! This is really the first time that the Phantom and Christine have spent 'quality' time together since "Music of the Night", and that was MONTHS ago! She doesn't think for a second that Don Juan is being played by Piangi, she knows the Phantom's voice right away. 

Music IS their main connection...performing HIS music that he wrote FOR her? Especially in such a high stakes situation = 😍😍😍🌹🌹🌹🔥🔥🔥

She takes off his hood so that the two of them can finally stop pretending it's Piangi. And then she unmasks him to see his real face when he tells her “share with me one love, one lifetime” because you need to see someone’s full face when they say stuff like that! And the Phantom is trying to finally be heard by the world, through his opera and his love for Christine. It’s time for him to finally be revealed as himself, therefore symbolically revealing his intentions and emotions. Note that following his unmasking, the Phantom has the most constant stage time and says the most that audience has heard from him throughout the whole show. Symbolism for this idea comes from the title song: “I am the mask you wear/It’s me they hear”. I never liked the portrayal of a Christine that unmasked him to be mean. But after doing so, her worst fear comes true, he becomes angry and kidnaps her. 

I've never heard anyone talk about this, and I think it's really important: The line "Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?" means that Christine either:

1) Doesn't know that the Phantom has killed Piangi. The managers/audience don't discover the body until AFTER she has been kidnapped. She won't find out then until after the final lair. So she may mean by this line that she doesn’t entirely think this, but she suggests that while he left her for those months, he was off killing people and now he’s just back because of his jealousy that he calls ‘love’. She says it just to start a fight and he bites back, not honestly agreeing, but conceding to her bad opinion of him. “That fate which CONDEMNS me to wallow in blood...”. 

OR

2) She had automatically assumed that he killed Piangi in order to play Don Juan and of course she's furious. 

And then the final lair happens and Christine is equally sassy and compassionate. And I also imagine that there is a ton of leftover sexual tension between the Phantom and Christine because they just performed "Point of No Return" and now she's in a wedding dress and she can really look at his face for the first time. It's super unhealthy (he's threatening to hang her boyfriend/ fiancé and that wasn't a surprise move on his part) and the Phantom is not her first choice but she has always had unresolved feelings for him and that's why the "you are not alone" kiss is so passionate. That love is not out of nowhere. 

I also think it’s possible that Raoul tells Christine to give the Phantom his ring back while they are “offstage”. Christine would keep it as a memory of the unfortunate, yet totally deranged, man who fell in love with her and keep it as a sign to show everyone compassion because everyone has a different story, but Raoul hates the Phantom so he’d think it's gross. She doesn't fight Raoul on it, because even though it's a really good lesson, it's also a really toxic memory. And then she leaves with Raoul for their much healthier and very loving marriage. She is slightly traumatized of course, but strong. 

Pretty please comment and ask me questions!!! 

[sage-nebula]

Hi! I was hoping to ask you for any recommendations on fanfics, specifically pokemon ones?? I trust your judgement and have read your writing before (It's flipping amazing) and I was just wondering if you had any favorites??? Thanks for your time :)

First, thank you for the compliment about my writing! I really appreciate it! ♥

As far as fic recommendations go, I’m afraid I don’t have too many since, in all honesty, I don’t read very much fic anymore. To be even more honest, I don’t read as much as I should period anymore, even though I know I need to get back to reading within my genre to sharpen my skills for my original works. A lot of it comes down to time, and how I mismanage what little free time I have (i.e. I spend it playing video games, writing my own fiction, watching cartoons, et cetera), but nonetheless, I don’t read nearly as much as I should anymore. I need to get back to that.

With that said, I can at least recommend some old classics that I’ve loved, although only one of them is a Pokémon fic (and it’s a PokéAni fic, at that). Hopefully you’ll find them enjoyable!

Title: PhantomAuthor: PinkFalconFandom: PokéAniGenre: Romance/DramaStatus: In ProgressSummary: “Misty's Training to be a Master in a large, ancient Stadium, but it isn't easy. First the Battle Ghost gets its greedy hands on her Totodile, and now her old friend Rudi is trying to court her. But the Ghost doesn't like that . . .”Rec Notes: This is, as odd as it may sound, a Phantom of the Opera Pokémon AU. Rather than simply transport the characters into an opera house, however, PinkFalcon took the time to adapt the Phantom of the Opera plot to the Pokémon world, while at the same time creating a bunch of worldbuilding to go along with it. So instead of an opera house, it’s a training stadium; instead of a phantom, he’s a “battle ghost” (and a little something extra, on top of that). Pokémon are still a very, very real part of this story, which I find to be incredibly appealing, because AUs where the pokémon cease to exist really aren’t interesting to me. Pokémon are important---that needs to be kept in!On top of that, the characters aren’t simply copy-pastes of the characters from the original musical / movie. Although each character does have a counterpart to some extent (Misty is Christine, Rudi is Raoul, Ash is Erik, et cetera), they’re still very much IC. The only real snag when it comes to in character characterization is Gary, given that he’s one of the primary antagonists, but even that can be accepted if you squint, tilt your head, and remember that his motivations here are rooted in love and loyalty for his grandfather, whom he feels was severely wronged. Either way, Gary’s role is minimal, so that’s easy enough for me to brush by in favor of everything else (which is really, really good).The primary ship for this fic is Ash/Misty, however much the original play and summary might lead you to believe otherwise. With that said, Rudi is treated extremely fairly. This isn’t a case where he’s the asshole boyfriend that you want to die so that Ash and Misty can be together; rather, he’s treated like a real person, his actions and motivations are believable, and there are times when I even feel bad for him despite the fact that I have ship bias for Ash/Misty. (And while Erik/Christine is a ship with a metric ton of problems in the original musical, believe me, Ash is still very much Ash here; there’s none of that gross nonsense in this fic, trust me.) Also, although this is an Ash/Misty fic, rest assured that Pikachu is still a main character and plays a very important role. One of my biggest pet peeves is when PokéAni ship fics either delete the pokémon entirely, or at the very least render them irrelevant. Trust me, Pikachu is not irrelevant here, and his bond with Ash is very real and very important.Overall, this fic is very well-written and easy to get absorbed in, the characterization is excellent, and even if you’re familiar with the original musical, enough is changed to make it original and refreshing. (Again, it’s far and away not a copy/paste of the musical.) The only real catch here is that it’s unfinished, albeit near the end, and hasn’t been updated since 2013. However, that 2013 update came after something like five years of inactivity, so! PinkFalcon is still working on it. It just takes a long time. But each update is really, really worth it, I promise.Overall, this fic is a real winner. I highly recommend checking it out.

Title: The Girl From WhirlpoolAuthor: SilverShineFandom: NarutoGenre: RomanceStatus: In ProgressSummary: “When Naruto's father met his mother, his only impression was that a village out there must have been missing its idiot.”Rec Notes: You know how Kishimoto included backstory for how Minato and Kushina met and fell in love? It’s irrelevant. It’s honestly irrelevant in the face of this fic. This fic is better than the entire Naruto manga and franchise combined, and trust me, I’m not exaggerating.While the only genre listed for this fic is “romance,” this fic is much, much more than that. At 248,299 words, this fic stands not only as a slow burn Minato/Kushina fic, but it begins with how they met as children and grew as individuals throughout all of the events that led up to the start of the Naruto manga. As such, it not only shows them coming together as acquaintances, and then friends, and then eventual lovers; it also shows their other friendships, the wars they both lived through and participated in, and everything in-between. They also each date other people throughout the course of the fic, so trust me when I say that although this is a Minato/Kushina fic, again, it’s more than that. They’re not the only people in each other’s lives, even as their affections for one another solidly grow over time.This fic is, like the one before it, amazingly written and very, very easy to get absorbed into. The prose is excellent, as is the dialogue. Once again, the only snag is that it’s still in progress, and this time hasn’t been updated since 2011. I don’t know if this one ever will be updated again, but the plus side is that it at least doesn’t end on a cliffhanger. Either way, it’s excellent, and as far as I’m concerned this is the canon backstory for Minato and Kushina. The tripe Kishimoto can take a hike, tbh.

Title: The Legend of Zelda: The ReturnAuthor: Rose ZemlyaFandom: The Legend of ZeldaGenre: AdventureStatus: Complete!Summary: “Takes place after OoT with the assumption that Link lost all of his memories of the events in the game when Zelda sent him back in time.”Rec Notes: Okay, so that summary really doesn’t tell you a whole lot. (No offense, Rose, but it’s true!)Essentially, The Return is a sequel fic (of sorts) for Ocarina of Time, taking place in the child timeline. The idea here is that Link lost his memories after Zelda sent him back (as stated), and so he grew up as a mostly normal boy. There are a few catches, however: He was still banished from Kokiri Forest thanks to the Great Deku Tree dying again (from something) and Mido blaming him for it, and as such he grew up under the watchful eyes of the owner of the archery shop, a man named Bruiser. Everyone else who was involved in the Ocarina of Time plot (the Sages, namely) are fully aware of everything that happened over the course of OoT, though this is being kept secret from Link (as is the fact that he’s actually the Hero of Time, et cetera). And unbeknownst to Link (and everyone else), Ganondorf is seeking to make a comeback now, using Dark Link as his primary agent of choice . . .I can’t say too much more about the plot without spoiling all of it. I can say, however, that this fic (and its sequel) are probably my favorite fics of all time. Rose’s writing has informed so much of what I think about the Zelda-verse over the years (I mean, I discovered The Return when I was about thirteen!), and to this day the origin story she wrote for the Gerudo (which is in the sequel, Reconciliation) is what I hold as the canonical origin story for them, particularly with regards to the OoT Gerudo. It just makes so much sense, on top of being beautifully written. The Return features a multitude of original characters, and what is notable about this is that this is the first fic I ever read where OCs have been related to (or in relationships with) canon characters, and yet it works. In fact, it didn’t even hit me that that’s what I was reading until I was at the very end, and then I was like, “Oh. Okay,” and went along with it, because Rose’s characters are actual characters who feel like they belong, versus just being vessels for the writer or reader. All of her characters (canon characters included!) are extremely fleshed out and three-dimensional. The worldbuilding she includes (such as the aforementioned origin story for the Gerudo) is phenomenal. The plot is engaging and easy to get absorbed in, once again. And RR!Link is the best Link, hands down. Of course, I might be a bit biased because I relate with him an awful lot (his snark is my snark), but all the same, I adore him. (As well as Hunter, and Neesha, and . . .)There are a few caveats here. The writing in the beginning is rough. Rose started The Return back in 2001, and as such, particularly when you read her later work and then go back, you can see how her writing is evolved. It’s still not bad, but her earlier writing is not nearly as pretty as her later writing. I implore you to just sort of . . . forgive that, for the time being, because trust me: Her writing really, really improves over time. (Even over the course of The Return, given that she spent two years on it.) There are also place sin The Return where Rose admits that she included certain things she’s not proud of (such as damseling of certain characters) as a result of her feeling like she had to stick to the Zelda formula. She breaks more and more from that over time (especially in the sequel), so it’s just one of those things where you can say, “Okay, that’s not the greatest, but she has learned and it shows.” (It’s also something she’s avoiding in The Warden’s Return, which is her original work based on this series of fics she has written---and trust me, it’s quite original, it’s not a copy/paste!)Overall, you do need to read The Return before going on to the sequel, I feel, but it’s very, very, very worth it. And I don’t want to talk smack on The Return, because it is still quite good! But if there are parts where you feel like :/ about the writing quality or whatever, just know that Rose does really grow as a writer, it vastly improves, and the rougher parts in the beginning are worth sticking through to get to the really, really good stuff later on. I promise.

Title: The Legend of Zelda: ReconciliationAuthor: Rose ZemlyaFandom: The Legend of ZeldaGenre: AdventureStatus: In ProgressSummary: “Sequel to The Legend of Zelda: The Return. Based loosely on A Link to the Past.”Rec Notes: re: that summary: Rose pls.More specifically, this is the sequel to the above fic (obviously), and as the summary states, it’s loosely based on A Link to the Past, despite A Link to the Past not featuring the same Hero in the actual Zelda timeline (but do we care about that when this fic is this good? No, no we do not). Reconciliation takes place three years (iirc) after The Return, and opens with Link, Hunter, and Neesha returning from a “diplomacy mission” that they had been sent on for the past three months before the fic starts. During that time, Aghanim (who named himself regent to the throne of Hyrule) has been up to some awful nonsense, which kickstarts the plot when Link and Neesha return home only to discover that they’re no longer welcome in Hyrule Castletown . . .Again, this is a case where I can’t say too much without spoiling the plot. I can say that, if you’re familiar with A Link to the Past, there will be some things that are familiar to / expected by you (such as Aghanim being a villain, the three towers that Aghanim had constructed in OoT’s Hyrule, Link needing to retrieve the Master Sword from the Lost Woods, et cetera). However, Rose also veers off course from the game’s plot and, much like The Return before it, makes it an original story, and very much her own. All of the characters from The Return make a comeback, and there are a host of new characters (such as Hylian noble Eldrick) who add to the plot as well. The writing is absolutely fantastic (especially as it goes on), the narrative is absolutely compelling, and there are numerous places where your heart will be broken (but you’ll be glad for it---you’re going to suffer, but you’re going to be happy about it). Reconciliation really probably is my favorite overall fic. I adore pretty much everything about it and recommend it to everyone. The only real catch here is that update wait times are immense; Rose began Reconciliation in 2004, it’s still in progress, and the last update was in 2014. It also ended on a cliffhanger. However, the upside is that she is still working on it, it hasn’t been forgotten, and so there is hope! (There are also a lot of drabbles on her prompt blog. ♥) This fic is really, really, really worth it. So is The Return. So are all the drabbles and midquels and prequels. So is The Warden’s Return. Really, Rose’s writing in general is worth it. Go read it.

Title: Catch Me if I FallAuthor: flusteredkeithFandom: Voltron: Legendary DefenderGenre: RomanceStatus: Complete!Summary: “Ever since the five paladins began to really work together as a team, Allura swore to herself that as long as the universe was at stake, she’d always put their feelings above her own, no matter what the circumstances were. She thought it’d be simple—easy, even. What she didn’t expect, however, was for the complications to arise from within herself.Alternatively, Allura tries not to fall for Keith.(Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work.)”Rec Notes: This fic is what really opened me up to the idea of Keith/Allura as a ship, which made me start thinking about it more and more, which made me really come to love it. It takes place following the events of S2, which means that it covers not only the burgeoning feelings between Allura and Keith, but also how Keith comes to take on the mantle of Black Paladin / Leader of Voltron. Everyone is in character (the dialogue in this fic is on point), the slow burn is there and believable, the parallels are nice . . . really, everything about this one is great. It’s also a one-shot, so it’s a lot less of a commitment to make going into it. If you’re curious about Keith/Allura (or even if you’re not but want to give this a chance anyway), I really recommend it. It’s a good read.

Title: Once Upon a Time There Was an OceanAuthor: ABadPlanWellExecutedFandom: Doctor WhoGenre: AdventureStatus: Complete!Summary: “Rose had traveled through so many different parallels, ranging from the mundane to the bizarre, but now, looking out at the familiar London skyline, she wondered if she'd finally found home at last.”Rec Notes: Everything by this author is, dare I say it, absolutely fantastic, but I’m going to go ahead and rec this one as it’s the first one by the author I ever read, and to this day I still think about it (and, once again, find it really easy to get absorbed in it at any point). This fic takes place between the conclusion of the season two finale, and the end of season four, when Rose is (as the summary indicates) jumping from parallel to parallel with the Dimension Cannon. There are multiple fics with this premise by this author (as part of her Certain Dark Things series), but this one in particular stands out because Rose does make it to her original world in this one . . . only at the wrong time. She ends up bumping into the Ninth Doctor before he ever met her, as well as Captain Jack Harkness while the latter is working for Torchwood 3 (makes sense if you remember his timeline after he gains immortality). Though this author does ship Doctor/Rose, this isn’t a ship fic so much as it is, as the genre indicates, an adventure fic with these three all thrown together at differing points on their own timeline, each of them having only pieces of information about each other. There are times when the writing jumps around a bit where it shouldn’t (where the focus character shifts inexplicably, for instance), but overall the writing is good, the premise is excellent, and I really recommend this one. Though as I said, everything this author has done is great, and that’s the truth.Also, it’s Nine, Rose, and Jack; what more could you possibly ask for?

Title: And On the Third DayAuthor: MerryArwenFandom: Harry PotterGenre: RomanceStatus: Complete!Summary: “Eventually, they find a note tacked to the gargoyle who guards the passage to the Headmaster's office. It is in Granger's handwriting and signed by her at the bottom, and tells them that, the danger being over and the initial aftermath winding down, she feels that the three of them need some time alone to recuperate and will reappear exactly three days from that day, at four o'clock.”Rec Notes: I am very, very, very picky when it comes to HP fic, so you can trust me when I say that this one is fantastic. It follows the ending of DH with a slight canon divergence---namely, that instead of just having Ron/Hermione in love with each other, the fact of the matter is that Harry is involved in that relationship as well, i.e., it’s a Harry/Ron/Hermione OT3 fic. And, again, it’s excellent. The characterization is perfect, dialogue is spot on, and the prose flows really, really well. It’s a one-shot, so there isn’t a lot of commitment here, and to this day I sometimes come back to this fic because it is just that good. Really, if you’re open to the idea of a Golden Trio OT3, go read it. I’m sure this fic will convince you.

[femslashrevolution]

It ain't that deep, bro. It's just important.

This post is part of Femslash Revolution’s I Am Femslash series, sharing voices of F/F creators from all walks of life. The views represented within are those of the author only.

So, this may catch some folk by surprise considering how ridiculously queer I am, but, fun fact: your humble author didn’t actually learn that queer people existed until she was in high school.

(This is relevant. I promise. Hang in there.)

I’m not kidding. I was sitting behind this girl in a creative writing class, my first week freshman year of high school. She was telling a story to another student, and in the course of it made a joke in which she pointed out how incredibly bisexual she was.

It was like I got struck by lightning.

I’d gone to a catholic school from kindergarten through eighth grade. And Holy Family was actually one of the more progressive, kind-hearted schools in the area. I know now that most of the teachers didn’t actually believe the official Church doctrine on the subject of The Gays. So instead of telling us that homosexuality was a sin, they just…never brought it up. If they never mentioned gay people, they wouldn’t have to toe the line and say we were going to hell!

Aaaaand the end result was that I literally was never informed that liking girls was like…a thing? You can do that? That’s an option?!

Mind you it still took me like another six months to figure out why I’d had such a powerful reaction to that realization. Because, you know, obviously I wasn’t gay or anything. You can feel free to insert a mental laugh track there, I’ll wait.

I bring this up because to this day, I remember that lightning-strike sensation. The birth of a whole new universe, fresher and wider and better than the old one, right behind my eyes. I swear to god the colors were brighter that day.

In the months and months between that moment and the moment when I was willing to admit even to myself that maybe, possibly, like girls just a little, I started reading femslash. I read a lot of highly questionable het fics too, obviously, because I was fourteen and look shut up we’ve all made mistakes.

I’d be lying if I said femslash was what helped me realize I was gay as all hell, because it wasn’t.  I handled that just fine on my own, thanks. The fics themselves weren’t actually the catalyst, it was just that I realized I was seeking out f/f pairings and, hmm, you know, maybe there was a reason for that. Really, femslash didn’t start to mean much to me, or connect me to a community, until I started writing it. And…oh, man. That was the watershed. That really was where I came into my own.

I was seriously unprepared for the level of gratitude femslash authors can receive.

Thing was, I wasn’t even really…doing much, from my perspective. I was just…writing fic, like always. I’d watched the Star Wars prequels and fell in love with what was to me the obvious femslash pairing–seriously, watch Phantom Menace and tell me with a straight face that Padme’s handmaiden isn’t in love with her. And I’d gone looking for fic only to discover a massive pile of nothing. That’s thankfully changed a little since; I like to think I kicked off the Padme/Sabe renaissance. But for a decent chunk of time there, I was the only person writing that pairing on the entire Internet.

Let me tell you–that was a trip and an half.

And the response was…pretty average, as AO3 goes. It wasn’t like I became an instant celebrity or anything. But people got so freaking excited, to a degree I had never expected. I think I’m a decent writer, I’m pretty used to people liking my stuff–but people, when they read the Padme/Sabe fics, were freaking out. They overflowed with enthusiasm, they tripped over themselves talking about how invested they were in this pairing now. Overwhelmingly, responses fell into two categories: “I’ve shipped them for years, I thought I was the only one!” or “I’ve never even considered this, but now I can’t stop.”

That’s the moment. That, right there, is the thunderbolt.

It’s why I work so much with what are, on the surface, kind of done-to-death tropes. 5+1 fics. Sith AUs. Humorously snowballing miscommunications that result in Hijinks And Shenanigans™. Dark AUs. Single-point canon divergence “what-if” fix-it fics. Coffeeshop AUs. My flagship Padme/Sabe piece is, loosely, an Arthurian mythos AU. Hell–my current project, because apparently I hate myself, has turned out to be a series of ~20k oneshots for a different Star Wars femslash pairing based on the plots and settings of Disney movies, just for fun.

Now to my credit, I do pull twists on the tropes! I adapt them, I explore variations, sometimes I subvert them entirely because some tropes are pretty unhealthy relationship models; but the fact is, my playground is tropes and AU settings. The latter is because I, as a writer, really enjoy stripping both plotlines and characters down to their core. (What are the really essential elements of this story that I can use to transplant the plot into a Galaxy Far Far Away? What are the core personality traits and features that these Star Wars characters would keep, their turn of phrase–things that will make them instantly recognizable even if they’ve been relocated to 17th-century France?) But the tropes, that’s something that for me is an integral part of why I and a lot of other people read and write femslash.

I do it for that lightning-strike sensation. That moment where someone stumbles across a Beauty and the Beast AU, or a faerie tale, or a story about defying fate to escape an arranged marriage, or something else they’ve seen a million times–except this time the protagonists are queer women, and nobody questions it, and they connect to the basic premise in a whole new way.

Sure, the characters’ love may be forbidden–but it’s forbidden for the same reasons straight people get to have forbidden love. Because one of them is a commoner, because they’re Sith and their masters are rivals. Because the Jedi Code forbids it. Not because they’re queer. Never because they’re queer.

(Mind you I’ve also written some Meg/Christine stuff, wherein the problem is ABSOLUTELY that they’re queer. There’s a place for that. But you’ll notice, if you read my Phantom of the Opera fic, that Mme. Giry figured it out ages ago and, while she might worry, she never disapproves. We face enough examples in the real world of parents rejecting their queer kids. I don’t feel a need to include it in my fic.)

And for a lot of people, these are just fun fics about their favorite pairing. That’s great in and of itself; we’re all starving and scrabbling for crumbs, and my readers are honestly the sweetest and most appreciative people I could ask for. If I just make them happy, hey, my job’s done. But every so often, I get a review or a private message and I can see that thunderbolt realization. I can see their universe opening up.

We can be fairy tales too?

We can have soulmates, these archetypal stories I grew up loving can be about me? We can change each other for the better, we can be heroes, we can be murderous self-indulgent evil-is-sexy Sith, we can be the ones charging the dragon?

We can be genre fiction–stories about assassination attempts and royal duty, intergalactic politics and Greek mythology and dramatic rescues that have nothing to do with the sexuality of the protagonists? We can just…be there because we are?

We’re allowed to do that?

That’s an option?

About the Jo:

Blog | AO3 | RP/etc

22-year-old Psychology major; cis, very white, extremely queer, terrible Cherry Coke habit. In a continuing blood feud with the continent of North America, will bore you by talking about dogs and/or various other animals if you give me half a chance, and I reject the false Star Wars/Star Trek dichotomy. Star Trek is for hope, Star Wars is for stabbing Nazis in the face, and both are Good.