#Opera Coast

[cyclopscats]

in honor of finally seeing foxy shazam live for the first time in like. 15 years. here is a beauty i made

[overgrown-estate]

Coming to Magic the Gathering in Standard 2025!!!

Q1 - "Death Race"

Q2 - "Return to Tarkir"

Q3 - "Space Opera"

Q4 - "Return to Lorwyn"

[curiosity-killed]

family matters

A child sat on the throne.

A child who had, Rafia couldn’t help noting, broken his arm six months prior falling from a tree he was explicitly forbidden from climbing.

“He’ll be a puppet,” Dimidon said, pushing the heels of her palms into the dough and gathering it back up again. “If anything, it’s easier this way. You just need to keep an eye on his advisors and see that they don’t sway too close.”

Leaning against the table on the other side and well out of the way of the mess, Rafia frowned at her.

“He’s Valyn’s age,” he pointed out.

“And he looks up to you,” Dimidon rejoined. She shifted the dough half a circle and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Treasure, I realize the situation is…more fraught, perhaps, than it appears on the surface, but let this at least be easy. The child sits on the throne. So long as he is protected from assassination and manipulation, he will be the imperator that his closest advisor makes of him.”

“I study the law,” Rafia pointed out. “I’m not a—a grasping little lordling.”

“We are all what the situation requires of us,” Dimidon replied philosophically.

She patted the dough one last time and then scooped it up in both hands to drop into the green ceramic bowl beside her. A linen cloth was draped over top and the whole thing slid away from the mess of flour still strewn across the table. Dusting her hands against each other lightly, she folded them over the table and leaned her weight into them. She waited, watching him levelly.

“He’s a child,” Rafia said at last. “He— Alir should never have named him successor. Ilios or Sinaris are hardly out of reach, and Avarance and Etirina could easily be recalled. She may have gotten all her favorite siblings killed, but there were options beyond putting a nine-year-old on the throne.”

“Such as yourself.”

He stopped short, pulling back and staring at his spouse hard. She waited him out, expression even and expectant. Pressing his lips together, he met her stare but could not hold out against her patience.

“I don’t want to gain from my sister’s death, Dimidon,” he said finally, short. “I’m not some craven vulture, plucking at her corpse for gold.”

“Vultures are holy creatures in much of Arradine,” she rejoined. “Taking what can be used and leaving the rest to Aellerta’s care. It would not hurt you to follow their lead in this.”

“And what? Leave the boy on the throne in honor of Alir’s words and toss the rest of her will to the wind so that I might rule from behind the throne?”

Even the suggestion left a sour, stinging sensation in the back of his throat, like he’d drunk too much ginger tea in one sitting. He crossed his arms tight across his chest, fingertips digging into the fabric of his sleeve over his marriage tattoo.

“The boy has been named imperator princep. He may yet grow to earn that title—but as you said, he is a child.” His spouse’s expression was unflinching, carved from the same hard stone as the manor in which they stood. “Who can be expected to grow well without guidance and nurturing? Better you do the guiding than a loudmouth like Hildor or a coward like Baltu.”

Rafia looked away. Worked his jaw. From across the table, he heard Dimidon sigh and then the sure tap of her footsteps rounding the corner.

“Rafia.” Her hand was warm over his, dry from the flour. “Your sister was a fool.”

He startled, pulling back.

“Aliras has been named divisaye by the Cotella. Gloried and seated among Moti’s court.”

“And outside, she can receive glories all the days to come,” she rejoined, implacable. “But let us be honest here, in this room: she was a fool to place a child on the throne. Her eyes were clouded by her own pursuit of glory to miss the clear choice standing just beside her.”

It would be a lie to say the same thoughts hadn’t crossed his mind, bitter and exhausted. Trying to coax their new boy emperor to speech, he had stewed over Alir’s choice and flung venomous words at her in the safety of his own mind. Hearing them turned back on him, though, he couldn’t help recoiling. She was his elder sister—his eldest, given Birafran’s indiscretions—and more than that, she was his imperator princep. He had sworn fealty to her under their mamán’s watchful eyes.

“Think of it this way, if you must: if it were Valyn in his place, would you want our firstborn to fend for theirself or to have someone who truly cared for them and the kingdom at their side?”

There was an intentional patience in Dimidon’s expression that betrayed how unnecessary she thought this consideration. Her ruthless pragmatism was one of the things Rafia most respected about her, though he was most accustomed to it being turned away from him.

“I would have to spend much of my time—most of my time—in Ancelm.”

Voicing that argument of all of them was as good as waving a white flag. Dimidon patted his hand conciliatorily. Theirs had always been a traditional marriage—one of economics and politics. As much as they were well-matched companions, there was no romance between them.

“It will be good for Valyn to visit and start to get a sense of the court,” she mused, as if their child would understand court intrigue at eight years old. “Mamán will be there more often, as well, thanks to your little proposal for the council.”

She smiled, the first real pleasure to cross her face in this entire conversation. Rafia didn’t have to ask to follow her thoughts: with Perduto Lumeira distracted by the court in Ancelm, Dimidon would have greater rein here over the Perduto estate. He couldn’t feign surprise that she was coming out of this crisis with the upper hand.

Catching his frustration, she stepped closer and softened her smile.

“He is the child of a divisaye,” she said gently. “He could be a great imperator princep—as long as he survives that long and as long as he does not go astray. All you have to do is show him the way.”

Closing his eyes, Rafia inhaled slowly. Callebero was nine. In twelve years, he would be an adult in all eyes. Sooner than that, he would be old enough to fight and old enough to make his own decisions. It was not a lifetime commitment, trapped behind the throne.

He didn’t know the boy very well; aside from teaching him the funerary rites a year before, when Taegen got himself killed in Alir’s war, he had never chosen to spend time with the child before this past month. Children were volatile and difficult to communicate with and wildly distractible. It was always a relief to know that Valyn’s nursemaid would always collect them after an hour or so.

There would be no nursemaid for the little imperator princep. He could not afford for the country to see him as a child anymore. He would have to grow up quickly. Rafia could help him do so. Could teach him how to navigate the intricacies of policy and politics, could show him how to walk through the thickets of courtiers without letting the barbs of their gossip catch on his skin.

“Until he is grown,” he said, opening his eyes. “I will guide him until he is old enough to fight for himself.”

Dimidon smiled, gave his hand a last squeeze, and won.

[supercantaloupe]

opera stream alert!

What: La Fille du Régiment, Donizetti (Teatro la Fenice 2022, dir. Doucet & Barbe)

When: Saturday December 23rd, 2:00pm EST

Where: Kosmi – link is here!

Who: everyone is welcome!

Extra info: a charming comedy in two acts, featuring all the classics: love vs. family duty; a tenor fighting for his life with nine high C's in a single aria; french nationalism; and, above all, a girl and her 1000 dads.

[lovelettertomybeloved]

Thank you to the Cheesecake Shop at Tweed Heads, on the Gold Coast for making me my Phantom Of The Opera inspired Cheesecake for my birthday! It was sooooo delicious and such a beautiful cake! Best. Birthday. Ever!!! 🍰🥹❤️🖤🌹🪞🕯️🐒🎹🎭🫶🏻🇦🇺

[todays-listening]

Good afternoon my lovely listeners! Today we're listening to what I see as stoner dad music. A good mix of psychedelic rock from the 60's and 70's, a lot of pretty obscure stuff as well as a good amount of Pink Floyd, as well as The Executives, Elmer Gantry's Velvet Opera, The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band, and many more!

[krenenbaker]

Pomefiore Character Songs and Associations

Finally getting this part posted! since Tumblr ate my post the first time... I love this website ((:

We now move onto the most historical dorm - Pomefiore. The three characters here are some of the most dramatic, all in different ways from each other. But what music may connect with the three most tenacious people on campus?

Notes: Every song is from my liked songs playlist (so feel free to judge me for my taste, haha!) and I only allowed myself to use an artist once for this project. There is also some strong language and mature themes in some of the songs, so be aware if you choose to listen to them. I’ve included: - A song that represents them - A song they’d listen to - and (for some) an additional song, depending on the character and circumstance

The full Spotify playlist for ALL songs and characters is linked at the end of the post.

Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

Vil Schoenheit

Represented by: Rock Me, Amadeus - Falco

I was a little apprehensive about using this song for Vil. While it does fit his character and vibes, it is a little bit... suggestive. Putting that aside, Vil is (at least most of) this song. He's a superstar, popular, dramatic ("has flair!"), and everyone finds him to be beautiful and perfect, despite his flaws. And he does have flaws, which he doesn't want to address. I also headcanon that he has Austrian / German ancestry (or whatever the Twisted Wonderland equivalent is).

Listens to: Jackie and Wilson - Hozier

Again, I don't know why, but I believe Vil would listen to Hozier.  Vil would probably like the atmosphere created in Hozier's music.  And he'd appreciate Hozier's vocal tone and colour. I can't explain it further, but I think he'd really, really like it!

Epel Felmier

Represented by: Autotheist - Baby Bugs

Epel has some struggles with who he is. He's trying to figure out who he is within his personality, appearance, and identity. He feels a lot of pressures from others trying to shape who he is, how he looks, how he acts, and what he thinks. He's trying to find a place for himself, and he is angry about not having found it yet.

Listens to: That Turbulent Uneasy Feeling - D.O.A.

Epel would like fast-paced, aggressive music, that he can just feel. I think he would especially enjoy songs that criticize the mainstream social norms that he feels stifled by - hardcore punk would be his go-to genre. I can imagine him listening to this in his room after fighting with Vil... again. This song also represents his character well, actually!

Rook Hunt

Represented by: Prince Charming - Adam & the Ants

Rook is flamboyant. He is theatrical. And he, above almost all else, supports others in becoming their most beautiful selves. As such, the message of the song reflects Rook's motivations and thoughts. Additionally, the theatricality and subtle notes of violence of the group mirrors Rook's character beautifully. (Rook would also without a doubt listen to this, and other songs by Adam and the Ants. He is simply too dramatic not to!)

Listens to: Goodbye & Hello - Tim Buckley

Rook would simply adore the poetry of this song, and in fact, most of Tim Buckley's music. He would spend time listening, absorbing, and analyzing the lyrics, music, and history of the song. It also has an almost... historical, European-esque(?) feel to the instrumentation and musical lines that would highly appeal to him.

Bonus - Also listens to: All I Ask of You (Phantom of the Opera)

One of Rook's hobbies is going to theatre productions, and he would have just loved the grandeur and the tragedy and the heart of The Phantom of the Opera. I'm certain that he would consider "All I ask of You" to be an absolutely beautiful declaration of love and commitment, and would likely be one of his favourite musical theatre pieces.

[a-really-bad-decision]

For all the hate I give Bethesda, I do genuinely enjoy 3 (and parts of 4) for what they are. They just kinda exist off in a corner I think of as Fallout Land��️, which is a fun place I can take a 60+ hour vacation to occasionally, but doesn’t have any actual bearing on the wider lore.

[threeravenspublishing]

Are you ready to Face The Storm?

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Ok, imagine this. Lewis being a father and when he is at Ferrari, his daughter is helping him with his Italian, because daughters mother is from Italy. Maybe Lewis and the Mom still being good friends and daughter always spending a few months in Italy since she has been small so that is why her Italian is so good.

Sorry, English is only my second language!

Rosso e Sole

When Lewis stepped into the Ferrari garage for the first time, clad in red from head to toe, there was a buzz in the air. Not just because of the legend now standing under the Prancing Horse emblem, but because standing beside him, a touch shorter than his shoulder, was a girl with wavy dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and greenish-brown eyes that sparkled like the Italian coast.

Her name was Yn. Sixteen, confident in her quiet way, and with an Italian lilt to her English that made the engineers smile every time she spoke.

“Papa,” she said that morning, standing just outside the hospitality suite, looking up at her dad who was clearly trying to memorize his morning briefing in Italian, “you just said the car is made of bread. You meant carbonio, not pane.”

Lewis blinked down at her. “Wait, really?”

“Veramente,” she smirked. “You said: ‘la macchina è fatta di pane.’ Which would make for a deliciously fragile car.”

He groaned. “Oh my god. Why is this language so hard?”

Yn shrugged, stepping up beside him and tapping on his tablet. “You’ve just got to stop trying to make everything so literal. Italian is a feeling, not a formula.”

Behind them, a few of the mechanics stifled chuckles. One even whispered to a colleague, “La ragazza di Hamilton è meglio di lui in italiano.”

And she was. Always had been.

Yn was born under a hot sun in Tuscany, in a small private hospital where her mother, Maria, had insisted on giving birth near her parents’ home.

Lewis had been there, holding Maria’s hand, tears falling on the baby’s blanket when Yn let out her first cry. They had been young, ambitious, wildly in love, but even then, they both knew that love alone wouldn’t be enough to build the life Yn deserved.

So when Yn was barely a year old, Maria and Lewis sat together on the terrace of Maria’s father’s home, drinking espresso while the baby slept inside, and made a decision that would shape the rest of their lives.

“We’re not going to make each other happy, not in the way we thought,” Maria had said softly.

Lewis nodded, fingers fidgeting with the sugar packet in his hand. “But we’re going to make her happy. That much, I know.”

And they did. They built something beautiful out of what they had. A friendship that turned into a lifelong alliance. Two worlds that somehow always made space for each other.

Yn grew up between two countries, two languages, two lives. When her parents had to be away—photo shoots in Paris, testing in Bahrain—she’d stay with her Nonno and Nonna in a house full of lemon trees, espresso machines, and old records of opera playing in the kitchen.

She never minded. She never resented it. Because her parents never made her feel like she came second. Every reunion was filled with joy, every phone call with love. They never missed a chance to tell her she was adored.

Now at sixteen, Yn was becoming her own person—curious, witty, always carrying a journal around to sketch or write little thoughts in Italian and English. And since Lewis joined Ferrari, she had become somewhat of a celebrity in the paddock.

“Hey, principessa,” called one of the engineers as she passed the garage entrance. “Did your papa learn how to say ‘rear wing’ yet?”

“Not unless he wants to tell you about his red wine again,” she quipped, without even turning around.

That afternoon, Lewis and Yn sat together under the canopy outside the Ferrari motorhome. She was scrolling through her notes app where she’d written down a few helpful phrases for her dad to memorize before his post-qualifying interview.

“Okay,” she said, handing him her phone, “repeat after me: La macchina ha avuto un ottimo bilanciamento oggi.”

Lewis furrowed his brows. “La macchina ha avuto un ottimo... bilanc... bilanciamento... oggi.”

“Perfetto!” she grinned.

“Wait. What did I just say?”

“That the car had great balance today.”

“Right. That’s... true, I guess. We can pretend it did.”

She laughed, and then leaned over to fix his collar.

“Fans love this, you know,” Lewis murmured. “Us talking like this. Teaching me Italian. You’re becoming more famous than me.”

“Impossible,” she teased. “But they do like it. Especially when you mess up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Papa,” she said, her tone suddenly softer. “You know I love this, right? Being here. With you. Watching you race.”

He looked at her then, his expression warm, the lines around his eyes softening. “You don’t think it’s weird? That we missed so much time together when you were younger?”

“Not weird. Just… life,” she shrugged. “I never felt unloved. Not once. And I always had Nonna and Nonno. They taught me how to cook and yell at the TV during football.”

“I owe them everything,” he whispered.

“We all do,” Yn replied.

There was a beat of silence between them before Lewis spoke again.

“Do you ever wish we’d done it differently? Your mom and me, I mean?”

Yn tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But then I wouldn’t be me, would I? I wouldn’t have grown up between London and Florence. I wouldn’t have learned to be strong, or independent. I wouldn’t have learned to miss people and still love them just the same.”

Lewis stared at her for a long moment, then pulled her into a hug. “You’re too wise for your age.”

“I read a lot of Italian poetry,” she smiled into his chest.

That Sunday, after the race, Yn stood in the paddock, holding her dad’s race suit jacket while he did interviews. As usual, she corrected his phrasing gently when he slipped up.

“No, Papa, it’s soddisfatto, not soffritto. You just said you were ‘onion-fried’ with the car’s performance.”

Somewhere nearby, a fan held up a cardboard sign that read: Yn for Italian Teacher of the Year!

Maria arrived a bit later, fresh from a photoshoot in Milan, her heels clicking on the pavement. She waved at Yn, who ran into her arms, and then the two joined Lewis for a brief chat near the motorhome.

“We’re thinking of renting a place in Rome for the summer,” Maria said. “You should come.”

Lewis raised a brow. “You mean all three of us?”

“Why not?” she shrugged. “She’s growing up. We should enjoy the time we get.”

Yn beamed. “Can we? Please?”

Lewis smiled. “Only if you promise to keep teaching me Italian.”

Maria smirked. “And maybe some fashion, too. You still can’t dress without her help.”

“Rude,” he said, but laughed.

As the three of them stood there, blending the past and the present, the paddock moved around them, fast and loud. But in that moment, Yn didn’t feel like a girl caught between two worlds. She felt exactly where she was meant to be.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

[overgrown-estate]

Edge of Eternities preview panel is happening this weekend at MagicCon Las Vegas! So let's look back at a few pieces of card art that have been previewed already. Above are three images of Legendary permanents plus Radiant Summit which, by the name, sounds like it'll be a land card. Tezzeret's looking a bit buffer than usual. Gorodoro is an Alien Kavu. Dawnsire will either be a Vehicle or however they're treating spaceships in this set.

As for creatures, I think the humanoid creatures that were previously revealed are all in White except for the Robot/Construct/etc. That one may be Green or Colorless. All of these art pieces are pretty awesome to see.

And the non-humanoid creatures are just as cool. Baloth Prime? Are we saying Baloths are all alien? Famished Worldsire is interesting but what is it? And the Space Whale, I've said I need that on my wall.

Just a little look to drum up excitement. Can't wait for the preview panel!

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

in your fic how do you think social media and the general public feel about timothy?

like how do they feel about him from dolly parton-elon musk

is he a poor little meow meow or super hot or the most hated man in existence?

Tims social media presence is very "LA influencer" because its an easy formula for him to mimic, and keeps up appearance as everyones like 11th fav nepo baby and private school graduate.

The closest to "Just another guy" you can find is on his alt account only netizens have put together where he reblogs chess contrevorsy and reviews of local theater shows and opera recordings. Or likes his "friends" social media.

Sure he has lifestyle fans, and people who find him super attractive- but Tim "values his privacy" to an extreme and turns up his smug asshat to an 11 which when dressed in a gucci suit instead of his preferred grunge skater fit- it raises some brows enough to ignore him.

Hating him is either hating what he represents or a memed "Fuck you Gwenyth Paltrow" vibe

When he was younger absolutely he had people who hated him for what he represented just as they hated his parents. But then they died and he had a very public incident demanding the police reopen the case after it was ruled a murder suicide

Since then its always been a walking on glass sort of scenerio. Yes hes just another bland east coast influencer, yes hes filthy rich and a "nepo baby" ceo, but outside defaming tabloids of public benders and what not- everyone just pitys him

People know his name, but its not one that comes to mind. Some people like him, most just feel- apathetic?

Its that kind of pathetic "You cant be mean to the brutal orphan" tabboo surrounding him, the same that hovered around Bruce for so long but wore off when he got older. Timothy isnt older yet though, so outside some older generations with enough audacity or Gothamites who breathe tragedy and dont give him an excuse, hes stuck in a limbo.

[dadvans]

imagining chim stealth texting eli a pic of tommy and buck at the hospital wedding reception with their matching messy faces like “you’re missing out on the wedding of the year” and eli is like “wait Howie are you in a hospital?” then a minute later “wait did TOMMY maul your BROTHER IN LAW?” like give eli a hundred odd drunk masshole rescues a week, he is never returning to whatever the fuck soap opera shenanigans are happening on the west coast

[dj-triumph]

fuck it i'm posting a poto essay.

Okay so listen I know I do a lot of shitposting about The Phantom of the Opera, and this more like...Advanced Shitposting Literary Critique from a former English major who prefers to do analyses in serious shits and giggles format. So, here goes:

In true Austenian fashion, for a moment I would like us to consider Christine’s marriage prospects from the SEXIEST possible angle. That is, from the perspective of marriage as a financial proposition.

Because what is a single man in possession of a good fortune in want of? Why, a wife, of course!

As we know, marriage as a financial proposition certainly comes up in the story, namely when Philippe is trying to convince Raoul not to marry Christine. Philippe knows it would be exceedingly beneficial to Christine if she does exactly what he is afraid she’s doing: marry up. Find a rich husband and then have a kid to seal the deal.

This is because our girl Christine is as poor as a church mouse. She’s a ballet dancer who just got promoted to opera singer. Both of these are synonyms for “fancy prostitute” as far as society is concerned. And of course, she's an orphan.

Christine MAYBE stands to inherit whatever Madame Valerius leaves behind because I don’t think she has any heirs. The Valeriuses "treated Christine like a daughter," but who knows what’s in Prof. Valerius's will. If there is no will or she's not in it, and it goes to probate, Christine is fucked. Her dad refused to take any money for their busking together and they were nomads, so he left her with exactly nothing. 

On the other hand, Raoul has money, but like both of his sisters, he's entrusted Philippe with the entire estate and from this Raoul receives an allowance. It’s probably a comfortable sum, and he’s in the navy and lives in the family home when he’s not away doing navy stuff, so probably his portion is continuing to grow (idk, hopefully Philippe is a good investor, his siblings certainly think he’s doing it fine). 

Meanwhile, Erik, a hermit who hasn’t had a real job since the Populaire opened like 15 years ago, is coasting on his extortion checks that must FAR exceed the monthly pin money of the fourth child of even one of the oldest French estates. Like, I would be willing to bet that what Erik pulls in a month is equal to or more than what Raoul makes in a year.

Erik is…well. Many of us in the phandom think he’s a catch, in a sense, because we are Built DifferentTM, but career-wise he’s an architect conman etc.

As far as husbands go, Christine could do better, and she could do worse. Financially speaking! There are very few ways she could do worse in the broader sense of a marriage. I AM SO SORRY, I LOVE ERIK TOO, BUT IT HAS TO BE SAID. And I’m not including his looks in the equation! As we know, Erik does enough to self-sabotage without his face even being part of the conversation.

Those who know me know that I ship Erik/Christine, and every time I talk about Raoul I end up making fun of him. HOWEVER I also know, objectively, Raoul is the better choice. (Erik also knows this; he had to hold a barely metaphorical gun to Christine’s head about it.) I ship Erik/Christine in my heart, spiritually, but lord if I wasn’t praying for his downfall throughout that entire book.

“I’ll be as gentle as a lamb” he says. INCORRECT BUZZER. YOU TIED HER UP, ERIK. Y’ALL HAVE BEEN IN FISTICUFFS BEFORE.

“I’ll make you laugh every day” he says. Y’all the way I almost threw the book across the room when he started doing his ventriloquist act for her. I couldn’t take it.

“I’ve invented a mask that makes me look like everybody else and we will live in a normal apartment and go for walks in the park” Now I’m just making myself sad.

So, you know, Erik is a ��catch” in his own right but Christine is not the world’s best fisherman.

But financially….Erik is making the modern equivalent of $3.1M USD each year in today’s money. Dude is LOADED. (Side note but I do not know how the Populaire afforded this? One might theorize that a big reason why Poligny retired is because he was tired of fundraising.)

Okay now WHAT do I mean by all of this. Stay with me.

If we are balancing the scales, looking at this love triangle situation in its entirety, Leroux gives him the biggest conceivable advantage in marriage for the time and place in history, but does Erik anytime reference this in conversations with Christine about their impending marriage? OF COURSE NOT. At least not directly and not as far as we ever see. There are a few reasons for this. First of all, Erik and Christine are romantics. They care about music, about love, about eternally divinely entwined souls, etc. 

Also Erik and Christine are Catholic so probably they wouldn’t get divorced over finances like everyone in the modern era in a place where no-fault divorce is a thing. He’s certainly not worried! He’s going to build them matching coffins!

For all the grand promises Erik makes throughout this book (Empress Giry, anyone?), he only promises Christine an apartment and music. That's literally it. Meanwhile he is making, once again, THREE MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS A YEAR and has been doing so for years! He wants to have a normal life, he's tired of living in a house with a torture chamber and a false bottom, but is he equally as tired of having more money than god??

Many a fandom scholar has asked this, but literally WHAT are the 20k francs per month for? Like I know he just wants to inflict pain, cause chaos, wreck havoc, etc, but dude can't even figure out how to enjoy his spoils properly! Erik doesn’t eat or drink, and he has all his mom’s horrible furniture. I personally think he stole all the bouquets of flowers from upstairs, so those were free, too. Nice paper, red ink, enough candles to light all of Paris, and a few romantic moonlit carriage rides can be expensive…for people making normal amounts of money. His bribe to Madame Giry is a box of chocolates and a little cash here and there. This man isn’t even paying property taxes. Erik more than likely has more money than he knows what to do with by a lot.

Other than pregnancy, “I’m ugly and horrible but I’m rich” is like THE most classic marriage trap there is, and that has literally zero effect on the story. Leroux gives Erik this huge W that he doesn’t cash in on. He makes his blorbo richer than the vicomte, writes about it as the entire B plot with the managers, but in terms of the A plot, it means NOTHING TO NOBODY.

Leroux even cuts off Raoul at the kneecaps for a while when Philippe threatens to cut him off from his inheritance. A navy man’s salary is nowhere near the cash Erik is bringing in! But what does that matter to any of them. (Of course, Raoul will get his money when Philippe dies, so Leroux brings it all back around to a…happy…ending of sorts.)

Really, the truth of the matter is that not a single character in this book is a practical person. Maybe the managers but they’re also idiots. Maybe Philippe. But they're not even impractical in the Pride & Prejudice sense. It's an entirely gothic romantic point of view to have this ghost-turned-romantic lead with a grossly extorted fortune just for shits and giggles. Just because fuck you and what about it. God, I love this frustrating novel so much.

From a character pov, I find it so interesting that Erik cannot for the life of him figure out how to try to make this shit work in his own favor. He has actually seen too many operas at this point and of course we know he’s not exactly living in a shared reality with anyone else, but he wanted to have more money than god because he could and so he did, and he ends up giving it away in the end as this sort of symbolic do-good thing. Or at least, he gives away 40k francs of it. Who knows what happened to the rest.

Why all this fuss, with the murders and the pranks? Was it fun, do you think, just to hoard the way rich people do? More fun than telling your gf she's about to become the wealthiest woman in Paris??? Would Christine have even cared a little bit if that was true???? Probably not! Her dad taught her that shit didn't matter, although surely by now she knows that's not true.

Obviously in either marriage she would’ve been just fine (again, financially, as long as Raoul retains his inheritance) but it is so funny to me that Erik is soooo much richer than everybody else for no reason. An outlandishly competitive suitor and for what.

This is just like him, though, isn’t it? To be so desirable, so full of potential and everything this woman could want, yet to be so unattractive, so unwanted? And further, to be re-imposing society’s burdens upon himself.

Anyway, poor Erik, poor everybody, even the rich ones, and most of all, poor Christine. Hope you and your hubby figured out the inheritance stuff for the de Chagny estate before you fucked off to Scandinavia!

[sevencolorsatlast]

Archons Reacting To Their Creator Singing Pt. 2

Part 1 [Venti, Zhongli, Ei and Nahida] || Part 2 [Furina] (You're Here!)

Author's Note: 4.2 Update Spoilers! You've been warned! Song used: "Curses" by The Crane Wives. No beta, we die like my heart while playing this quest.

Update: I changed the verse weeee. Also corrected a couple of mistakes.

Content Warning(s): None.

Other Notes: Default SAGAU / GN!Reader / Drabble / 800+ Words / Ao3 Link

[ Furina ]

"There's still cobwebs in the corners

And the backyard's full of bones

Won't you stay with me, my darling

When this house don't feel like home?"

You came down from the heavens weeks ago, knowing Fontaine is in danger but kept your head low and disguised yourself as a Fontainian to seek solutions to their prophecy. No one suspected you aside from the Vision wielders and a few Guardes who eventually left you alone since you seem to be harmless. You also manage to avoid any unpleasant encounters with your followers while roaming around the city.

Visiting Focalors in the opera house when no one was around was... rather an eventful one; she hopes you do not intervene with her plans to save her beloved people. You tried to reason with her: you are her god — you can forgive her and her people but she says it is her duty as Hydro Archon as prophecies cannot be changed. To pursue "justice", so to speak, is via the death of her and her throne.

You no longer attempt to pursue the topic which Focalors tacitly appreciates. Instead, you promised to look after her "human" self... Furina.

She smiles ever so graciously, knowing that such a divine being like you would keep Furina safe and sound - even after she meets her fate. You ask if you can hug Focalors, she happily accepts as this will be your first and last meeting her. You give most of your strength to hug her and you pull away, saying your tearful goodbye.

Everything went down according to her plan; watching scenes unfolding right before your eyes. Furina's trial was heart wrenching to watch, you want to jump and defend her... but this was all part of her "divine" self's plan. You shouldn't interfere, you reminded yourself, you clench your fists as the last puzzle of the prophecy reveals itself in front of you and the rest of the audience.

After the flooding in Fontaine died down and you let weeks pass by to let the country recover, you sought out Neuvillette. He is surprised to see you, easily seeing through your disguise. He bows before you and airs his concerns about Furina who had moved away from Palais Mermonia. You gently grab his hand and hold it in-between yours, telling him to stand up. You reassure that you'll be discreetly visiting Furina and the Hydro Sovereign gives you the address on where she currently lives.

During sunset, you found Furina cooped up in her new home. You knock and it took her a while before peeking through the small gap of the door. To put it lightly, her place is in disarray even when the gap of her door is small — her things are littered on the floor and she... doesn't look too good. She is far from well-presented and she looks like a ghost.

You can tell her eyes are red from crying and lack of sleep is evident on her unusually pale face. Her once kept hair's a mess and her clothes aren't well-presented like they usually do. Her hat is also nowhere to be found, it must've been included in the pile of mess scattered about her floorboards.

She weakly asks who you are and tells you that she doesn't accept visitors. You look around, making sure no one is around to see your transformation. Once you know the coast is clear, you transform into your normal self; soft glow emanating from your skin.

Once you are done dusting off your robes, Furina suddenly pulls you into her home and slams the door behind her - stuttering "Your Grace" under her breath and muttering how she's embarrassed that she's in a mess.

You turn around to speak and, instead, you are met with a tight hug from Furina. She buries her head into your shoulder and clutching onto your robes.

She doesn't understand why you hadn't come down from the heavens sooner... and you tell her Focalors wanted to do her part while you witnessed everything. She remained silent for a while before letting out a few sobs. You finally let your arms wrap around her; like a parent hugging their long-lost child.

To calm her down, you sing a song you know from the depths of your heart; the one that is ingrained to the forefronts of your mind even as a child. You alternate between singing and humming while gently running your hand up and down on Furina's back.

Her sobs subside as the last lyric of the song leaves your lips. She wipes her tears away with her hands and regains her composure. She pulls her head away from your shoulder, her eyes yet to look at your direction.

"My apologies for seeing me in such a state, Your Grace." She says, her voice slightly above a whisper, "And ...That's a wonderful song you've sung. I... appreciate it..."

She sniffles; it reminded you when you were a kid. You smile at the fond memory.

"The song was sung to calm me down by my caretakers." You say, "I suppose it still holds its charm."

She lets out a weak chuckle and meets your eyes, "I... Thank you, Your Grace."

"For what?" You inquired despite knowing the answer. She pulls you into another hug, you could've sworn you had seen her genuinely smiling for the first time.

"For being here with me." She says, a small spark of joy coming from her voice, "For seeing the 'real' me."

As she hums your song, you hold each other close until the sun finally sets from the horizon.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Sinners dancers revealed.

Timestamps: 00:17 – Choreographers: Aakomon “AJ” Jones & Amy Allen 01:15 – Lindy Hoppers (Breonna Jordan, Kendalyn Dene Breakfield, Faith Rockward, Leroy Harris Jr., Jeremy Denzel, Donald Jones Jr.) 02:40 – Pearline’s Ancestor – Amari Vaughn (Acholi Dance, East African influence) 04:08 – B-Boy Ancestor – Cuso Fresh (Breaking) 05:22 – Future Pearline – Jarrell Hamilton (West African + Modern Dance, Afrofuturist look) 07:15 – Gen Z/Millennial Spirit – Trinity Mitchell (Twerking, Southern Hip Hop, Mapouka, Punta) 08:35 – Smoke’s Crip Ancestors – Ritho Johnson & Jeoffrey Harris Jr. (C-Walking) 09:50 – Chinese Opera Ancestor – Alexander Huynh (Monkey King) 10:50 – Water Sleeve Ancestor – Winnie Mu (Chinese Opera) 11:42 – Zaouli Spirit – Arouna Guindo (Zaouli, Ivory Coast) 12:35 – Future Spirit – Phyouture (Memphis Jookin, Funk + Hip Hop Fusion) 14:20 – Ballet Ancestor – Jahaira Myers (Black Ballet, Dance Theatre of Harlem, on pointe) 15:27 – Final thoughts: symbolism, legacy, and credit where credit is due 16:59 – Full credits for the dancers