#implied christine/hope

[avelera]

Parallels between Jayvik and the Phantom of the Opera

I can't believe I haven't seen any discussion yet around the musical theater influences in Arcane S2 so far (besides my one mention of its parallels with Les Miserables).

So as a basic, Phantom of the Opera-loving bitch, can we please take a moment to examine the Phantom of the Opera parallels that are literally shoved in our faces during this opening sequence and what that means for Jayvik?

Viktor is the Phantom. The show opening outright says it. The parallels are there. They're impossible to miss.

And then, when you dig a little deeper, hooo boy those parallels become even more stark. Especially if you read Viktor as romantically pining after Jayce, which 99.9999% of humanity does.

To quickly summarize, Phantom of the Opera is the story of a deformed genius who falls in love with an opera singer, Christine, and then nurtures her talents, only for her to in turn fall in love with a nobleman, Raoul. The ensuing love triangle is the heart of the plot, with Raoul and the Phantom both vying for Christine's love.

This shouldn't be a hard one to see the parallels for.

Viktor = The Phantom. Literally a genius born with a disfigurement, in this case a disability he sees as a weakness and a disease that is sapping away his life and hope of a legacy. He is riddled with jealousy for the person trying to pull his scientific/musical partner away from him, a person who happens to be beautiful and live a life of privilege that Raoul/Mel could offer to Jayce/Christine instead.

Jayce = Christine. Instead of sharing genius in music, he and Viktor share genius in science. Like Christine, he is tugged between the glittering world of politics and privilege, vs his genius and love at a more esoteric skill, in this case science instead of music.

Mel = Raoul. Literally an aristocrat who is far more beautiful than the Phantom/Viktor, who steals away his partner's attention and offers them a glittering life of privilege in the public eye instead of the wonders of their joint musical/scientific pursuits. Whether or not Mel meant to embody this, or steal Jayce from Viktor, this is the role she fulfills in Viktor's view of the world.

But the most profound moment for me of, "Oh wow, they're doing Phantom of the Opera! Actually, they're not just doing Phantom, they're doing Phantom fixit fic?!" was this:

Which, if you'll forgive the potato quality of the screenshots, is literally the moment Viktor has his mask knocked away and then cringes in on himself to hide his exposed face from Jayce.

Which... is literally a scene in Phantom of the Opera? Just after "Music of the Night"?

But we're already in Phantom fixit territory, because Jayce doesn't recoil like Viktor expects! Instead, he embraces Viktor and loves him for all his self-perceived flaws.

And then, AND THEN, in a moment that made my Phantom-loving heart sing, Viktor tells Jayce to go!

And Jayce doesn't.

In the final song of the Phantom of the Opera musical, Christine is forced to choose between Raoul and the Phantom. She chooses the Phantom and kisses him. Flooded by remorse, the Phantom then relinquishes her to the man he knows she truly loves, and when Christine hesitates to leave, he shouts at her, "Go!" and then, of course, she and Raoul leave together.

Viktor is expecting that to happen! I think his order to Jayce very clearly implies that he thinks Mel and Jayce are still together. It's the classic, "Go be with the woman you love instead of staying here and dying with me," trope that we see over and over again in dramas.

But Jayce. Defies. The Trope.

Unlike Christine and just about every buddy war movie out there, he stays with Viktor. He chooses his scientific/artistic partner over the life of aristocracy and privilege that Mel would theoretically offer him. He chooses the masked genius with the disability and calls him perfect. He refuses to go when he is ordered to leave. He stays with Viktor until the end.

And I still can't believe that no one else is talking about this!

[dried-mushroom]

Omg can you please write about Lee Russell being mean to you in front of Gamby as like a power display or something but then when y'all get home (y'all are like Secretly dating since you're just a teacher) he's all nice and romantic to apologize?

YIPPEE I found another lee Russell lover! don't judge please I'm Australian so I have little concept of American education. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Lil angsty and implied sex

Be mean to me

Lee Russell x reader (well Christine sucks so she's not in this story)

Life was pretty peachy as a history teacher in North Jackson high school, you were stuck teaching from a range of boring topics to your either half asleep, barely listening or teacher pet students, except you were sleeping with the vice principal, Lee Russell. You couldn't resist that southern charm radiating off his tongue when he spoke those words on your first day as a teacher, in the parking lot.

"Mornin' Sweetheart, are you lost? The names Lee Russell, Vice principal of this very high school and you're way too fuckin' pretty to be a high school teacher."

After taking a good look at the lanky man who called himself the vice principal, you couldn't help yourself, and after promptly introducing you to your fellow teachers, he briskly walked you to the janitors closet where you both spent all morning. Obviously, you both knew this had to be kept a secret, boss and employee dating is a no-go, although that did not stop you both from being affectionate when no was watching, sharing a peck when you went to visit him at his office or the grasp of his hand on your thigh under the table at meetings or after work, where it was safe to be yourselves and you could lay together watching borderline cheesy romcom movies whilst Lee critiques his heart out.

You sighed contently as the bell for seventh period rang, the mingled voices of your 6th period ancient history class rushed out the door to their next useless class and you could finally relax and start lesson planning for the next 45 minutes. You let your hands run down your thighs, smoothing out your new dress (this but more teacher appropriate). You brought this specifically for Lee, you knew of his love for colours, hence his usually eccentric clothing choices, you knew he'd love the pattern on you. You couldn't help but smile giddily and walk out of the classroom, you knew you could easily finish the planning later and you'd rather spend the last of the school day with Lee.

You swiftly walked down the hall to administration, smiled sweetly at Swift, because you knew how rude Gamby was to her for no reason, and she didn't deserve that, like Gamby seriously needs a reality check in your opinion.

"Afternoon Miss Swift, I hope you're doing alright and Gamby isn't giving you a hard time, I was hoping to see Mr. Russell, I had to discuss long service leave with him."

"Oh, thank you miss l/n, vice principal Gamby is albeit rude, but I think he's getting better, and of course let me get the door for you."

You knew she wasn't stupid, and you assumed she knew about you and Lee secretly dating, but it was better to come up with an excuse and be safe rather than sorry. Smith quickly opened to door and shut it behind you.

"Well, hello there honey, I was expecting you- and what's this? isn't this a pretty thing?"

He shot up from his desk chair and sauntered over to where you stood, he placed his hands on your waist and whispered in your ear.

"I can't wait to rip that off you gir-"

Suddenly the door swung open, and Lee jumped away from you, 'of course Neal Gamby, you had to come fuck everything up." you thought to yourself, now awkwardly fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Russell. We need to talk. Why the hell are you here Miss. l/n? I thought Wednesday 7th period was your planning lesson."

Before you could reply to Gamby, Lee interjected,

"Exactly, Scram Miss l/n, I don't need nor want you here, I have better shit to do, plus what the fuck are you wearing? you look like a fuckin mess, pick a goddamn colour."

Your heart sank, an uncomfortable tightness sat in your chest as your face flushed in embarrassment. You knew Lee being a dick to you was only a ruse to throw off other teachers and admin but, fuck it hurt, it hurt so much to have him speak to you in that way. You nodded your head and headed to the door,

"Open or closed Mr. Russell?"

Gamby responded for him, responding in a curt 'Closed.' leaving you to silently shut the door behind you. You walked out of the administration office before your eyes welled with tears, but you waited until you reached your classroom until you broke, sobbing quietly at your desk. You just wished you and Lee could act like a couple instead of the cold shoulder act he'd be giving you. With the mixed signals and nausea swirling through your brain, you grabbed your left-over paperwork and bag before leaving. Usually, you and Lee would leave at the same time, but you couldn't bear to see him at the moment, all your hard work, making yourself pretty for him and resulting in him publicly humiliating you was just too much.

The short drive home eased you a little but when you had to walk up those steps of your shared home, it just brought back that sickly tension. You unlocked the door and set your handbag down (another reminder of Lee since it was an anniversary gift). You kicked off your heels and headed upstairs to your shared bedroom. You didn't bother to change and slumped into bed, fresh tears coming to your eyes, you didn't care whether you were quiet or not, sobbing yourself till you couldn't keep your eyes open.

Lee's POV:

He regretted the words as soon as they came from his mouth. He saw the hurt on your face, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot. He hated being a dick to you, hated it so much he hated himself for doing it. He realised he went way too far this time with you, and he really didn't want to lose you and couldn't help but fidget with his hands whilst blatantly ignoring whatever bullshit Gamby was bitching about.

"Sorry Gamby but I gotta run, not like you'd know what that is though. We'll talk about Brown tomorrow, now get the fuck outta my office."

Neal sighed, muttered some regurgitated insult but ultimately left. Lee rushed to grab his belongings and ran out the door, Smith tried to ask where he was off to in a rush,

"Sir, you can't just leave! where are you even going???"

When he pulled into the driveway, 'Thank God' he thought as he saw your car parked there. He got out, left all his belongings in the car, not a care. You were more important; you were the most important thing in his life. He opened the door and called;

"Shut the fuck up Smith, I can leave whenever the fuck I want and its none of your business where I am going."

Smith squeaked a reply, but Lee was already down the hall, he went to your classroom and groaned when he noticed a lack of you and your belongings. He ran to the parking lot, got into his car as soon as he didn't saw your car, without a doubt it was always parked next to his. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white, he shakily exhaled, he knew he had fucked up and was hoping you were at home.

"Y/n baby, where are you? I'm so sorry about what I said."

The silence was nerve-racking, so after checking all the other rooms for you, he headed to the bedroom to check. There you were, peaceful and asleep, he couldn't have been happier. He walked across the room to the side to the bed you were facing, and sat gently on the bed, softly stroking your hair.

Your POV:

You slowly awoke out of a dreamless slumber to someone touching you. You flinched when you realised it was Lee, and you remembered everything that happened today. He felt your reaction and immediately pulled his hand away. He saw the tear streaks on your face and sighed,

"Y/n I am so fuckin' sorry; I should have never had said those hurtful things to you, you didn't deserve that, God, I don't deserve you. I didn't even mean them, I need you so much, and you do so much for me, and I take that shit for granted, please forgive me y/n, I love you."

You saw the raw emotion across his face and sat up, you could see the tears in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wipe the one away falling down his cheek with your thumb. You smiled softly and leaned into him,

"I forgive you Lee, and I love you so much. I don't think you meant it but what you said really fucking hurt, and this hiding our relationship is really hurting us, so please can we finally go public and not have to worry and hide anymore?"

"Thank you so much and fuck it! who gives a shit if you and I are together? whoever doesn't like it can suck my dick, I can't lose you honey."

You smiled, finally knowing you'd and Lee would finally be able to be yourselves without having hide and sneak around.

"You aren't losing me Lee; I wouldn't do that to you. Now kiss me, you idiot."

He didn't hesitate a second before crashing his lips into yours, your hands finding his neck before climbing into his lap. His hands sneaked around your waist bringing you even closer, you could feel his erection under you, and you couldn't help moaning into his mouth. He broke the kiss to whisper,

"Well now how about I make do of my promise from earlier?"

The End

I hope this was good! please leave comments or asks if you enjoyed :)

[willows-escape]

Phantom HCs - Cherik with a Chubby!Reader

Pairing: 1990!Erik x GN!Reader

Warnings: fatphobia and nsfw content (has its own section)

Word Count: 2,370

Notes: This was a request that somebody sent me that I was really eager to write, as somebody who is plus sized/chubby myself. I might do it with the rest of the Phantoms I write for, but I don't know if that's something people would want to read?

Also, the series I spoke about in an earlier post - it’s still being worked on, but it shouldn’t hopefully be much longer. I’m looking to write around 11-ish parts, probably more, and I want to have three solid chapters written before I post the first one. Just so I can have the chapters to post while writing the next few. Having both female and male versions to write is also slowing it down, but I hope the wait will be worth it !

⟢ Erik does NOT care if you're chubby, skinny, average size or whatever. Your size isn't even a thing to him.

⟢ This Erik isn't as focused on stereotypical beauty as the others - he originally takes notice of Christine due to her voice, and the fact she looks like his mother is only an extra added bonus lol.

⟢ So I feel like your appearance is just not an important factor to him. It would be other things about you that would attract him first. Anyone could be stereotypically attractive, but not everyone could be you.

⟢ But don't be mistaken, he definitely thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world.

⟢ If you worked at the Opera Populaire, and he saw the way other workers teased you or gossiped behind your back, he'd be scratching his head in confusion.

⟢ He may be hopelessly infatuated, but he couldn't see anything about you that was laughable.

⟢ I'm not trying to imply this Phantom is ignorant or unaware of societal norms - unlike the others, he has a strong relationship with somebody who links him to the outside world. He hides due to his own flaws, after all.

⟢ He knows being slender and thin is the current ideal, but he also knows that ten years ago having a bigger body with soft curves was also largely desirable. So he didn't like to pay much attention to societies trends. They changed like the wind.

⟢ Which is why he'd sometimes forget that not everybody looked at you as if you were an angel that was sent from heaven to grace the earth.

⟢ If people's teasing and rude comments ever affected you so deeply that you brought it up to him, that would be the only time he ever acknowledged your body type. And his acknowledgement would only be vehement reassurance and exclamations of his affection towards you.

⟢ "But my cheeks are so fat, it makes my face look like a ball!"

⟢ "A very beautiful and loveable ball!"

⟢ He wasn't great at the whole reassurance thing.

⟢ After a while of courting you and as he began to realise how cruel some people could be to the most gorgeous person he knew - he began to feel a sense of solidarity with you.

⟢ He believed he was beyond hope and that he could never be accepted into the real world, and he wouldn't ever insult you by trying to say you were as repulsive as him. You were anything but that. Yet he felt as if you two were on some kind of wavelength.

⟢ You were both looked down upon for things as flimsy as physical appearances, and he felt a little closer to you due to that.

⟢ And he had a few existential crisis' where he laid awake at night thinking about how maybe society is the problem, not him, because how can they even ridicule you when you were perfection!

⟢ Then he'd take off his mask and look in the mirror and be like nope, he's definitely the problem.

⟢ Anyways. Less sadness and insecurity, and more fluff!

⟢ He loved how comfortable and soft you were. Erik had never held another person in his arms before you, never laid with his head on somebodies lap while they read him a book and mindlessly ran their fingers through his hair.

⟢ And he loved it.

⟢ His favourite time of day was when it came time to go to sleep, and he could lay with his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist and drift off into sweet sleep.

⟢ It took him a while to become so comfortable with this, though. It was weird enough that you two didn't have a chaperone during your meetings, never mind sharing affection. But if you asked him enough and tried to sneak in lingering touches and small caresses, he'd fold.

⟢ "Want to hold my hand yet?"

⟢ "Same answer as half hour ago, no."

⟢ "Am I truly so horrid that you do not wish to even hold my hand?"

⟢ "That is not what I said."

⟢ He didn't understand that couples followed these courtship rules in public, but were definitely smooching and snuggling in private. Even if you tried to explain that to him.

⟢ But eventually he caved.

⟢ He was touch starved beyond belief, so it didn't take him long to give in. Maybe a month or so. But it was also an awkward experience for him at first, so expect to give him a lot of guidance.

⟢ "This just doesn't feel right, why on earth would somebody lay like this when they are far more efficient and comfortable positions for somebody to lay?"

⟢ "That's because your arm's meant to be behind my neck, Erik, not over it."

⟢ "Ah. Yes, that feels better."

⟢ But once he got the hang of it, he was obsessed. Every part of you just fit so perfectly in his arms, you slotted together like puzzle pieces. It was glorious.

⟢ If you ever lived together, whether that be you go down below to stay with him or he manages to somehow bring himself to live with you amongst the real world (which would take many years and a ton of hard work), your evening conversations may look a bit like this:

⟢ "Excuse me, but when are you retiring to bed? Your scarf can wait until the morning." He was subtly glaring down at the knitting needles cradled in your hands as he spoke.

⟢ "Not long, just give me a few more minutes. I just want to complete this row of stitches."

⟢ "Alright, but when you come to bed, can you wear some of your summer nightwear?"

⟢ "But why? We're in the middle of winter, I'll freeze."

⟢ "I'll keep you warm." *leaves*

⟢ He definitely didn't just prefer the thinner fabric of your summer nightwear, which meant he could feel your body press against his and also allowed him to feel every curve of your figure with no barrier.

⟢ If you ever got married, expect him to just ask you to sleep naked. Not even for sexual reasons, he just loves the feeling of you.

⟢ You'd have a hard time refusing him in the colder months.

⟢ Also, imagine him singing you to sleep? His back resting against the headboard while you snuggled up against him, his hands delicately trailing over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their path as he sung to you.

⟢ That's an idea to elaborate on for another day.

⟢ Returning to the previous topic of his love of physical affection, kissing you would be magical.

⟢ And he'd be terrible at it.

⟢ The first time you kissed, you'd be the person to lean in first. And he'd look at you as if you'd grown two heads, but he wouldn't deny you. He'd go through many mood swings in the two seconds it took for your lips to touch.

⟢ "Erik," you'd eventually have to pull away, "Pucker your lips, and close your mouth a bit."

⟢ "My apologies."

⟢ That also has nothing to do with the head canon topic, I just wanted to include that.

⟢ Erik would love to draw you. Before he ever approached you, he'd spend his time making sketch after sketch of you, trying to immortalise every vision of you he had in his mind.

⟢ He'd get frustrated that he couldn't properly capture your true charm, but after a while of drawing for hours a day for a long period of time, he'd soon become an incredible artist. He wouldn't use this particular skill for much, unless you asked him to.

⟢ He also couldn't really draw anything that wasn't a person, considering his practice was very limited to one subject.

⟢ He'd have to send Gerard on trips to the store often to keep up with his new hobby.

⟢ "Erik, why do you suddenly need all this paper? The store clerk said he's had to order an earlier shipment of the stuff, because I'm buying up all his supply!"

⟢ "You wouldn't understand."

⟢ He'd also design and create the prettiest clothes for you, ones that would flaunt and uhm, extenuate, your best assets. So much material and thread would be stolen from the company in his pursuits.

⟢ He'd start doing this before you two even properly met, and when you began courting, you'd be taken aback by his display of clothing that he kept scattered around the catacombs.

⟢ Those dresses were probably not intended for him.

⟢ You'd grow especially suspicious when he began offering you these items of clothing, and how they all seemed to perfectly fit you like a glove.

⟢ "Erik, why are all these clothes my size? It's as if you took a measuring tape and made these clothes specifically to fit me."

⟢ "Just things the costume department had laying around."

⟢ "The costume department definitely does not keep clothing in my size."

⟢ "Well, they did when I got them."

⟢ Moving on lol

⟢ There are many reasons somebody may gain weight, but assuming you don't have a condition that causes it and simply appreciated food, Erik would be floored at all your weird and wonderful ways of preparing and eating your meals.

⟢ "What is in this bottle? It looks grainy, you aren't planning on putting this on your food, are you?"

⟢ "It's seasoning! Come on, try it! It makes the food taste a thousand times better!"

⟢ "Seasoning? Isn't that expensive?"

⟢ "Hey, you give me the money for the food, you don't tell me what category of food it needs to be spent on. I'm sure your salary is more than enough to cover the cost."

⟢ He'd grumble about how he was saving it for more important things, like wedding attire and a new instrument that he wanted to learn, but he wouldn't actually mind. His salary was definitely generous.

⟢ One time, he caught you sitting in the sun in the woods, and he was about to approach you when he saw the most baffling thing. You had a cloth splayed on the grass, covered in a weird brown substance that you were dipping strawberries in!

⟢ "What the hell is that?"

⟢ "Melted chocolate! *nom nom nom, gulp!* It's delicious with strawberries, would you like to try?"

⟢ "I'm quite alright, thanks."

⟢ Okay, your food choices were pretty normal, but for sheltered Erik who only ate things in their original state with no added flavour enhancers, he was shocked.

⟢ He might eventually expand his food palate, but it would take plenty of convincing on your behalf. He was perfectly happy with his unbuttered bread, thank you.

⟢ He was exceedingly stubborn.

⟢ But he's a fool for you, really <3

NSFW SECTION

⟢ You'd either have to be the most seductive person to walk the earth before Erik agrees to do anything sexual with you, or you'd have to be married.

⟢ Considering his intense attraction to you, it wouldn't be hard for him to consider you the first option.

⟢ For the purpose of this head canon, let's assume either one is true and he says yes.

⟢ The moment the first article of clothing comes off of you, he's starstruck. He can't believe he didn't say yes sooner.

⟢ He's torn between being regretful that he waited that long and feeling euphoric that he's really about to worship your body to his hearts content.

⟢ He's incredibly touchy feely. Consider every part of your body groped and kissed at least five times.

⟢ Favourite position is definitely you riding him. He'd have a few hang ups on it at first, as missionary back then was the only sex position that the church approved of, and he felt guilty about making you do so much work.

⟢ But he'd learnt his lesson about denying you by then.

⟢ You always had the greatest ideas, if those strawberries dipped in chocolate were anything to go by.

⟢ His eyes were greedy, watching the way you'd lower and lift yourself up and down his aching length. The way your skin stretched over your muscles as you chased your climax, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders hunched as you rested the palms of your hands on his chest.

⟢ He didn't know whether he wanted to keep his eyes locked onto you, or where your bodies were connected down below.

⟢ Just the thought made him so worked up and flustered he'd break a sweat.

⟢ His hands fit so perfectly in the dips of your waist, encouraging your movements as you rutted your hips against his. You looked like a painting, your plush thighs pressed tightly into his sides as you worked yourself into bliss.

⟢ He'd run his hands over every part of you, being extra cautious of being gentle. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

⟢ He definitely finished early the first like. 20 times you did that position. He felt terrible, but you considered it an amazing confidence boost. All apologies would die on his tongue the minute you'd lay down and ask him to finish the job by other means instead.

⟢ And speaking of thighs - his head being crushed by your thighs as he went down on you? God yes. He was used to the feeling of something constantly covering his face, and your legs were a welcome addition.

⟢ He's definitely messy and obviously inexperienced, so his rhythm would be uncomfortable and all over the place to begin with. But he'd figure out what drives you crazy in no time.

⟢ He's very, very eager to please. He'd worship every inch of you at every opportunity he could.

⟢ And have you seen this man's hands? Yum.

⟢ If you ever surprised him by wearing something skimpy or risqué? I hope you didn't have any plans for the next few hours. He's definitely taking his time with his gift.

THIS MAN UGH HE'S SO 😭💗

[myfanfictiongarden]

Things I was not prepared to find in Gaston Leroux´s The Phantom Of the Opera:

Raoul being a sailor-on-leave, preparing for an expedition to the North Pole

His older brother Phillipe attempting to introduce the “too good boy” to the “pleasures of society” and failing (Raoul has only eyes for Christine)

Raoul suspecting she is seeing someone else?

Christine being from Uppsala (been there!)

Her father being a typical artist of Romanticism and suffering from homesickness and melancholy 

Christine and Raoul are already cute in the stage version/2004 movie, but, omg, are they adorable in the novel🥰

Their meet-cute in Perros

Seriously, they are just adorable❤️❤️❤️

Christine being slightly shortsighted 

Christine spending 2 WEEKS down with Erik when she is first captured

Her fighting and shouting to be set free while he casually sets down packages of presents for her

The Louis-Philippe style furniture being rather minimalistic and modern looking (although it was in use 1850-1870)

The Un-masking sequence being extra horrifying and heartbreaking at the same time

The level of emotional-blackmail that Christine has to endure from Erik

Mamma Valerius being either senile or incredibly dense, wth….

Seriously, the whole secret-engagement sequence, with Christine and Raoul having improvised picnics of two biscuits and a glass of wine, strolling under false trees on the stage, having only eyes for each other  ❤️  all while she constantly fears he might be watching them😭

The two managers highjacking the tense narrative with comedic gold while trying to determine who and how takes their twenty thousand francs each month 😂

Mmd Giry having exactly one braincell- not that her motivation is far fetched, but I expected more (my favourite version of her will always be the 2004 version)

An inspector from Teheran helping Raoul to find the once-again abducted Christine

Who the heck is that man in the fell hat?

The torture-chamber being heated up by electrical heaters

Erik being more than just mentally unstable, wth…

Not sure if any adaptation captures how clever and brave Christine actually is in the novel… girl is being incredible

Erik’s colourful past (this guy has really been places)

The emotional and mental strength Christine shows

Having the Kiss be told from Erik’s perspective, omg… I was literary sobbing😭

The Kiss being only on the forehead (first he kisses her and later her kissing him after Raoul is released)

… give me a minute, I’m still recovering from that scene…😭😭😭

Christine and Raoul having a small secret wedding before moving to the North to have a long happy life😭❤️

Under the line are some darker aspects I was NOT prepared to find:

Erik being somehow an even bigger creep then in the musical

Seriously, he is literary holding Christine hostage several times, hoping she’ll “give in”, doesn’t matter that he is behaving as a gentleman and keeping distance 

(Also, who… who was that “lady” he was seen with occupying Box 5…? Don’t tell be the sort of company he would engage with is of such kind as all the dark!fics are implying he did…)

Her un-masking him for the first time is frightening in the musical, but here he switches from really horrifying mania (taking her hands and placing them on his exposed face) to complete emotional breakdown (falling to the floor and sobbing like the most miserable person on earth)

Christine literary adapting the same method as most irl would in that situation, “play nice and hope the abductor will play nice too”

What the heck were “the rosy hours of Mazenderan” … like, it sounds so messed up

Erik’s time in Persia as the favourite “entertainer” of the Sultana, WTH

Christine actually attempting to commit suicide after she is abducted the final time, like, wow…

Erik being mentally so far gone that he thinks if she won’t live any longer, then he shouldn’t neither, nor anyone in the Opera

The final choice she is given being literary “death for you and everyone or marriage to me”

Erik mentioning how he never kissed a living woman… do I even want to know what that means…

“Christine came to me with her beautiful blue eyes wide open, and swore to me, as she hoped to be saved, that she consented to be MY LIVING WIFE! ... Until then, in the depths of her eyes, daroga, I had always seen my dead wife; it was the first time I saw MY LIVING WIFE there. She was sincere, as she hoped to be saved. She would not kill herself. It was a bargain ... Half a minute later, all the water was back in the lake; and I had a hard job with you, daroga, for, upon my honor, I thought you were done for! ... However! ... There you were! ... It was understood that I was to take you both up to the surface of the earth.[…]Then I came back to Christine, she was waiting for me. […|Yes, she was waiting for me ... waiting for me erect and alive, a real, living bride ... as she hoped to be saved ... And, when I ... came forward, more timid than ... a little child, she did not run away ... no, no ... she stayed ... she waited for me ... I even believe ... daroga ... that she put out her forehead ... a little ... oh, not much ... just a little ... like a living bride ... And ... and ... I ... kissed her! ... I! ... I! ... I! ... And she did not die! ... Oh, how good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! ... You can't tell! ... But I! I! ... My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never ... let me kiss her ... She used to run away ... and throw me my mask! ... Nor any other woman ... ever, ever! ... Ah, you can understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And I fell at her feet, crying ... and I kissed her feet ... her little feet ... crying. You're crying, too, daroga ... and she cried also ... the angel cried! ..." Erik sobbed aloud and the Persian himself could not retain his tears in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shoulders shaking and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain and love by turns. "Yes, daroga ... I felt her tears flow on my forehead ... on mine, mine! ... They were soft ... they were sweet! ... They trickled under my mask ... they mingled with my tears in my eyes ... yes ... they flowed between my lips ... Listen, daroga, listen to what I did ... I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears ... and she did not run away! ... And she did not die! ... She remained alive, weeping over me, with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer! […] Ah, I am not going to die yet ... presently I shall ... but let me cry! ... Listen, daroga ... listen to this ... While I was at her feet ... I heard her say, 'Poor, unhappy Erik!' ... AND SHE TOOK MY HAND! ... I had become no more, you know, than a poor dog ready to die for her ... I mean it, daroga! ... I held in my hand a ring, a plain gold ring which I had given her ... which she had lost ... and which I had found again ... a wedding-ring, you know ... I slipped it into her little hand and said, 'There! ... Take it! ... Take it for you ... and him! ... It shall be my wedding-present a present from your poor, unhappy Erik ... I know you love the boy ... don't cry any more! ... She asked me, in a very soft voice, what I meant ... Then I made her understand that, where she was concerned, I was only a poor dog, ready to die for her ... but that she could marry the young man when she pleased, because she had cried with me and mingled her tears with mine! ..."... yeah, just

[dissociativewriter]

Once Upon Another Time

Love and Deepspace x Phantom of the Opera

Pairing: Sylus x Christine (OC) x Caleb

wc: 1.9k

cw: implied murder, nothing bad really happens in this part, maybe actual murder eventually, consensual kidnapping (?) eventually, probably angst eventually; not proofread; no beta we die like Josephine

Synopsis: A singer at the opera house, Christine is faced with a Colonel from a childhood she barely remembers and a mysterious figure, called the Opera Ghost, who seems to know all the secrets of the opera house and beyond. Stuck between life above and below the opera house, Christine attempts to balance her care for the two men with her budding career in opera. Unfortunately, it seems neither man will settle for half of Christine’s love.

author’s note: I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and finally decided to write it! I’m currently planning on this having about 15 parts, but that’s not definite. I hope someone likes this idea as much as I do.

art found on Pinterest (springstorm art & sesame fruit)

Series Masterlist

1- Overture

The chatter of the crowd echoed in the concert hall as Christine peeked out from behind the curtain. She twisted the rings on her fingers, glancing around at the hundreds of people waiting expectantly. The corset to her elaborate costume gown suddenly felt too tight, leaving Christine gasping as if a weight were on her chest. Two warm hands on her shoulders helped to steady her.

“Careful there, cutie. Wouldn’t want you to pass out right before your big performance.” The playful tone of her coworker helped to ease her breathing, but she couldn’t escape the worry when she looked in his eyes.

“Rafayel… what if I can’t do it? All these people are waiting to hear me.” She pointed to herself in disbelief. “Me? I can’t help but feel like they’ll be disappointed.”

Rafayel’s brows drew together, the gaze in his deep sunrise-like eyes hardening as he turned her around to face him. “Hey, hey, none of that. You wouldn’t be here, about to go on stage if you weren’t talented. Do you hear me?” He leaned down a little, making sure he was eye level so she couldn’t look away. Seeing a smile tug at the corners of her lips, he eased his grip a bit. “Besides, if you’re panicking, who’s going to comfort me? I have to go on after you, how am I supposed to match that?”

Christine rolled her eyes, the comfort of their bantering lessening her panic. “Please, Raf, you sound like a siren.” She crossed her arms, raising a brow. “Sometimes I think you might actually be one.”

“Who knows, cutie, maybe I am. I’m just waiting to lure you in so you’ll fall in love with me.” A grin played in his lips as his hands dropped to his sides. He stepped closer, nudging her with his shoulder. “Is it working?”

Christine laughed, nudging him back. “Not quite. You’ll have to work harder than that.” She reached a hand out, smoothing out a resilient strand in Rafayel’s hair.

“You know, I think it’s working more than you’d like to admit. Just look at you, dying to touch me.” He dramatically held the back of his hand to his forehead, dropping his head back and sighing. “Although I don’t blame you, I am so charming and handsome. Admit it, you’re in love with me!”

“As if!” Christine shoved his back, moving to step past him before he could catch her. He stumbled with a loud yelp.

“Ouch! I’ve fallen, won’t someone help me? I didn’t realize you were so heartless, Christine! How could you just leave me like this after ruthlessly throwing me to the ground?” The sounds of Rafayel’s monologue faded as Christine stepped back into the dressing room, the door softly clicking shut behind her. She walked to the mirror, faced with a reflection she hardly recognized. Stage makeup and detailed costuming made her seem like an entirely different person. She searched for something in her appearance, anything to assure her that she was still Christine, that that wouldn’t go away even if she made her way onto the stage. She finally settled on her eyes. Yes, her eyes. Something distinctly hers, something they couldn’t take away, something they couldn’t hide no matter how many layers of blush.

Christine let out a shaky breath as she smoothed a wrinkle in her white ball gown. It was a beautiful dress, far better than Christine felt deserving to wear. She straightened her back, taking one final look before turning to exist the dressing room.

She was met with mutterings around the corner, hushed whispers of something too concerning to discuss in normal tones. She glanced over, taking note of the silver, starlight-like hair of the tall man she recognized as Xavier. Christine carefully crept behind him, making sure to be as quiet as possible so she could find out why security had to report to the one of the opera house’s most important patrons the night of her big performance.

“…Monsieur Andre, I really don’t think it will be an issue. The Opera Ghost may be a frightening figure, but there shouldn’t be any real issue. If that’s all he is, a ghost, then there’s not much he can do to the audience or performers, and even less we can do to him.” Xavier attempted a reassuring smile as he continued on. “Rest assured, if any issues arise, I’ll be quick to take care of it.”

“I trust you, Xavier, I do. But the Phantom of the Opera has reaches far beyond your own, and I’m afraid he may strike tonight with so many important guests!” Andre took out his handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his brow before imploring the guard, “Please, Xavier, at least stay close by Box 5. You don’t have to go in, I wouldn’t want you to anger the Phantom, but keep an eye on it?” To this, Xavier nodded grimly.

How odd, Christine noted, that Xavier is brushing off the Opera Ghost so easily. He, if anyone, believes the legend most fervently; it’s the entire reason he began to work as a guard for the opera house. He wanted to investigate, see if the tales of terrified party-goers and aristocrats were true. Looking at his face, though, Christine realized: that wasn’t a man unworried, but a man hiding something.

“Christine! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The strong voice of Talia cut through Christine’s thoughts, simultaneously striking anxiety into her heart. There was nothing more alarming than the older woman seeking her out personally. “Rafayel keeps whining about something or other about you, we need to make final preparations before your song, and I wanted to make sure your costume was alright.” Before she could protest, Christine was pulled along behind Talia, a firm hand gripping her wrist as she stumbled through the preparations on stage right. Nearing backstage, Christine heard a bit of Rafayel, leaning against a stage prop, holding his makeup artist hostage as he moaned and groaned about how no one respected him anymore.

Ducking her head, she increased her pace with Talia, hoping to dodge the impassioned singer. He caught sight of her, however, and quickly rushed off to catch up with her, leaving his makeup artist scrambling after him, brush in hand.

“Christine! Hold on,” He panted behind them, struggling to catch up as Talia sped up. “A little fishie like me can’t handle this! All this stress you’re putting on me is too much. And some of the chorus girls said they heard something up in the rafters! You don’t think it’s the opera ghost, do you?”

“Rafayel, I’ve told you before, there’s no such thing as the opera ghost! You need to stop encouraging the chorus girls,” Talia grumbled, shaking her head. She abruptly stopped in her tracks, dropping Christine’s hand. “Both of you, behave!” she whispered over her shoulder. She took a proud step forward opening her arms welcomingly. “Colonel! What a wonderful surprise! What brings you to our humble opera house?” She smiled politely, her hands dropping to clasp over her abdomen.

“Madame Talia, so nice to see you!” The Colonel turned, a small smile on his face as he greeted her. He was impossibly tall, imposing, his uniform as crisp and clean as his conversation. “I decided to stop by after I heard such wonderful things of this upcoming performance.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, as if he were going to share a great secret with Talia. “And who knows, maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of this ‘Opera Ghost’ I’ve heard so much about.” He straightened up, noticing the two singers behind Talia, and offered a nod in greeting. His eyes stopped briefly upon seeing Christine, a flicker of some almost-familiar emotion passing through his violet eyes before disappearing as he turned his focus back to Talia.

Christine shifted on her feet uncomfortably, feeling seen in a way she hadn’t in a long time, as if this strange colonel knew something about her that even she didn’t. She leaned over to Rafayel, whispering as Talia and the Colonel talked, “Who is that?”

Rafayel blinked at her for a moment, hesitating as he searched for something in her eyes. “He’s the Farspace Fleet Colonel, and the youngest one they’ve had.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have a crush on him, do you?”

Christine’s cheeks flushed slightly. “What? No, he just—” she sighed wistfully. “He seems familiar, somehow.” She gave him one final glance before turning around to make her way to the stage. Her feet moved quickly, trying to shake off the feeling of eyes on her back as something from a past long gone nipped at her heels. She found her usual spot, the corner of the stage where the heavy velvet curtain met aged brick. Christine sighed, observing the hundreds of faces before her.

From the seats close to the orchestra pit, to the seats high in the boxes along the walls, it seemed every seat was filled. Every seat, that was, except for Box 5. The Opera Ghost’s box. That was something Talia was adamant about: Box 5 belonged to the opera ghost, so no one should be sat there. Of course, there had been a few eager, inexperienced stage hands or entitled, high-ranking members of society who thought that was ridiculous. Why should the best seat in the house be left empty for a ghost?

Those people were never found.

Christine never believed in the legend of the opera ghost. She’d always assumed it was something the tired organizers of events at the opera house told newcomers so they wouldn’t meddle. Whatever the chorus girls would hear in the rafters, well, it may have well been mice.

But now, as Christine observed the audience before her, she couldn’t help but notice Box 5. The seats were empty, of course, the box kept impeccably clean. Not a single seat or cobweb out of place. There was something off tonight, though. Maybe it was just because it was her first night performing, maybe it was just jitters, or maybe she was right and there was someone in Box 5! The privacy curtains were blowing slightly, and Christine knew for a fact that there was no draft in any of the boxes. She couldn’t see much else, courtesy of dim lighting and the distance, but Christine’s eyes were drawn to a glowing crimson. What she saw, she didn’t know, and it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

She stayed for a moment longer, waiting to see something, anything. The lights dimmed even more then, though, a cue for Christine to get into place and the audience to quiet down. She heard the scurrying footsteps of last-minute additions and changes, the pressured voices of costume designers and singers alike. Christine took a final breath before moving onto the main stage, taking her spot at the very center.

When the curtains rose, Christine tried to keep her cool through the blinding lights and loud applause of the audience. It was different, she realized, to be in front of an audience instead of just observing one. She stood proudly, back straight as Talia had told her, waiting for the orchestra to begin her song. She looked at the boxes again, something deep in her gut drawing her to them again and again. Christine felt her mouth go dry as her eyes moved through the opera house, catching on a curiously familiar flash of violet, and a much more unnervingly familiar flash of crimson.

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[livwritesstuff]

So Steve obviously loves Valentine’s Day.

This didn’t ever come as a surprise to Eddie, and in the years between when they started dating and when their kids were born, it was something that never changed.

When Steve walked in the door fresh off the afternoon carpool route with their three daughters in tow and said, “Dude – I swear to god this has gotta be the best Valentine’s Day ever,” Eddie wasn’t exactly taken aback, more just unsure what could have happened so early in the day that had him this confident that V-Day of 2012 would be the best one ever.

“Why?” Eddie asked suspiciously.

“When I dropped off Ava, David invited me over to watch the basketball game,” he replies, still with a massive grin on his face even as their daughters dump their backpacks and jackets and shoes all over the ground instead of hanging them up like they should be doing.

Eddie made a face – David, one of their neighbors and an unfortunate addition to the elementary school carpool circuit, is notably a total fucking loser. 

He’s also obsessed with Steve (and not even in a gay way, which Eddie could at least understand – no, it’s in this weird, loser, ex-jock who peaked in high school kind of way).

“I know, right? I’m pretty sure he’s that fucking desperate for something to do tonight that isn’t his wife,” Steve continued.

“What’s wrong with his wife?”

“Ed, believe it or not, it gets even better.”

“Tell me,” Eddie demanded, finally getting that Steve’s got a whole-ass story for him.

“I’m going to, man, holy shit,” Steve shook his head as he stepped over the mess their kids left behind (because one of them would be corralling them all back downstairs to deal with their shit like they’re supposed to)

So Eddie listens as Steve launches into a retelling of the conversation he apparently had with David, who, predictably, acted like a total fucking loser about how Steve actually wanted to spend time with his family on Valentine’s Day.

“What does this have to do with his wife?” Eddie asked when Steve reached a stopping point, “Other than how incredibly sad it is for her.”

“Right – so get this. David ended up telling me that his wife is going out tonight with Chris, and I figured he meant Chris, like Christine, Liam’s mom, because I know they’re friends, but it’s not. It’s Chris, the divorced dad on the PTA, and apparently they hang out all the time.”

Eddie’s eyes widened as he pieced together what Steve was implying.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?!? And, look, you know I think cheating is wrong, but…I dunno, I really hope she has a fantastic Valentine’s Day.”

[twistedtummies2]

The Dragon's Masque (AU; Malleus X Fem!Reader)

This is the first entry to a new AU I've had in mind for a few years now: an AU for Twisted Wonderland featuring Malleus Draconia as the Phantom of the Opera. It took a long time for me to figure out how I wanted to introduce this world, what points I wanted to hit right from the start, and what characters were really essential, since I've actually put a LOT of thought into this world. Hopefully this first story will prove an acceptable beginning.

This AU is inspired by various versions of the Phantom story, including the popular ALW musical, a 1990 miniseries starring Charles Dance, the 1943 film starring Claude Rains, and even a few nods to the book and other interpretations here and there. I've also included various little references, some more obvious than others, to a number of Disney movies; let's see how many of them you catch. ;) Two unique things: first of all, while there are some sort of implied kinks involved here, there is nothing DIRECTLY kinky in this tale. I decided to keep this first tale "safe," so to speak. It's also unique because, for the first time, the POV Main Character isn't a gender neutral figure: in this universe, the MC is the stand-in for Christine, and for various reasons, I felt it was best to keep the character as a female. So, if you're a lady yourself, or if you just don't mind that perspective...good! XD With that in mind, in honor of Malleus Draconia's birthday...here's the beginning of what I'm tagging as the Dragon's Masque AU. Hope you all enjoy!

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“Ugh…you’d think somebody as prissy as Madame Bette would clean up things better…” You glanced over your shoulder and couldn’t help but smile. Ace Trappola was slumping his way onto the stage of the grand and glorious opera house in which you both stood. The two of you lived and worked in the Corbeau de la Nuit Opera Company: a prestigious place that many in the city of Sage would have gladly given an arm and a leg to serve in. Of course, there was nothing particularly prestigious about your current position: dressed in a dusty apron as you swept and mopped the stage floor for the night. All was quiet. All of the ballet corps members and the other workers and residents of the opera house had gone off to bed, either in their private rooms or in their homes off-property. As far as you were aware, only yourself and Ace were left. You half-chuckled as he sat down on a large basket full of unwashed laundry, and fanned his face with a cap. Some of his red orange hair stuck to his brow, partially obscuring the heart-shaped tattoo he wore over one eye. “You know,” you brought up, pausing in your work and leaning on the broom, “You don’t HAVE to do this. You’re not a stagehand like I am.” Ace opened his eyes and smirked; a slightly roguish smile which carried a charm all its own. “And leave you lonely?” he teased. “Come on, we both know you’d just be sick without me around.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d get to hear you complain less,” you responded. “That sounds like a relief to be honest.” “Ha! We both know my complaining is the only thing that helps you sleep at night!” “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” Ace laughed and slapped his cap on his head. He was dressed a little better than you were, his red shirt and fine vest and trousers a contrast to the ragged old dress you wore. Aside from a bit of dust on his pant knees, he seemed to be much cleaner. “Well,” he sighed, as he rolled up his sleeves. “I better take these costumes to the washroom.” “Why?” “Uh…because that’s how you clean laundry? Jeeze, I know you’re not the smartest tool in the shed but-” You held out your broomstick in a teasingly threatening gesture; Ace immediately shut his gob and held his hands up in surrender. “I mean,” you smirked, and then your tone became more sincere, “Why do you help out like this? You’re Monsieur Fortesque’s stand-in, not a cleaner.” Your tone became teasing again as you added, “I’d almost think you just wanted to hang out with me more.” Ace’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.

“Wh-wha…? HA! Hey now, d-don’t be silly!” he sputtered, and then quickly composed himself. “Ahem…if you really wanna know, Bette and Fortesque pay me to do this.” “They do?” “Yeah,” snorted Ace, and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder with a slight sneer. “Seems the Prima Donna and her favorite tenor like getting back to their fancy-pants townhouse as soon as they can, and - don’t know if you noticed - but you’re kind of the only stagehand we’ve got on the late shift most nights.” You shrugged. You had noticed, but you didn’t especially mind: Manager Crowley had arranged things as such. At the time you came to the Corbeau de la Nuit, you didn’t have any other place to go. You’d come here looking for a job, without a home, without much money to fend for yourself…and presently, in the 1880s, there weren’t very many obvious opportunities to strike out on your own for your gender. If he wanted to make you the sole stage-cleaner each night, you saw no grounds to complain. “So,” Ace continued, “They made a deal that if I help clean up the dressing rooms after they were done with each rehearsal or performance, they’d kick a little extra cash my way, on top of my salary for working here. Besides, not like I’ve got a lot else to do, since I haven’t had a chance to do much ‘standing in’ to begin with…” A glimmer of disappointed sadness flickered over Ace’s handsome features. Your smile softened; while most opera companies had rotating casts and chances for alternate players, Fortesque and Bette were notoriously stingy when it came to giving up time onstage. In that way, the tenor and the lead soprano of the opera house were a perfect couple: each craved the spotlight as much as the other, and neither would dream of giving it up to an even slightly lower-class young man like Ace. They were snobs, as well as selfish hams. You propped up the broom you held against one of the wings, and then trotted over to Ace to place a hand on his shoulder. He blinked and looked up, a bit surprised by the action. You smiled kindly. “One day, you’ll get your chance,” you promised him. “And I hope I’m there to see it happen.” Ace swallowed almost imperceptibly, as his cheeks flushed again. He grumbled something and tugged at his cap to try and hide his blush. “Yeah, well…can’t come soon enough,” he muttered, then smirked. “Hey, maybe we could perform together.” You giggled. Now it was your turn to blush. “I’m a stagehand, not a singer.” “Tell that to my ears,” Ace snorted, then his tone sudden became more sincere. “Seriously, your voice isn’t half bad. You could do something with it.” “If I had a chance, maybe,” you admitted, then shrugged. “But I don’t think anybody here is gonna give the lonely janitor who cleans up their footprints every night much of a shot.” Ace nodded sympathetically, then smirked. “Well, hey, if I keep having to do stuff like this,” he teased, gesturing towards the laundry basket, “Maybe you and I could swap out: you could sing, and I could do the cleaning! Heck, if they’re asking me to help like that, clearly I’m doing a better job than you!” You responded by swatting him with a washcloth. You took a little more pleasure than you liked to admit in the almost comical yelp he let out in surprise. “Just go get those dresses cleaned up!” you snapped, but you couldn’t help smile. “Then you can get to bed.” “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll finish up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer.” Ace shrugged and agreed; he clearly cared more about sleeping than sticking around at that point, judging from the monstrous yawn he let out before picking up the laundry basket and staggering offstage with it, heading for the washroom elsewhere in the opera house. Once again, you were alone in the grand auditorium of the opera house. Gilded grotesques looked down on you with sightless eyes as you finished sweeping, and then began to swab the proverbial deck with the mop. A few times, your eyes drifted up to the audience, or down into the orchestra pit, checking to make sure nothing was amiss that needed your attention: sometimes cats, mice, and other small, stray critters liked to sneak in, and while they rarely ever made it into the opera seats, you didn’t want to take the blame if they did. Not that you likely would, to be fair. More likely the blame would fall upon the Opera Ghost. A soft, chortling sort of laugh left you as you paused in your work, glancing up towards one particular spot of the audience: one of the box seats. Box Five. It was said that this was the preferred “haunting place” of the so-called “Phantom of the Opera.” Few had seen him and lived to tell the tale, and those who claimed they had seen him always described him the same way: a tall, dark figure, with raven locks, dressed in the elegant garments of a dapper aristocrat. His teeth were like swords, the devil-like horns upon his head were like spears, and the sound of his voice could change from a deadly hiss to a shocking thunderbolt. The most startling point of the supposed Ghost’s appearance, however, was the chalky mask he wore upon his face. This was the one point where all the stories differed: everyone said he wore a mask, but what was underneath it? You’d once heard Ruggie Bucchi - one of the members of the workers in the flies - describe him as having skin like yellow parchment, and claim that “a great black hole served as the nose that never grew.” Of course, Ruggie was given to exaggeration, and other descriptions were certainly present: in one description, he had a single eye, peering out with a heat like acid. In another, he had a hooked nose and bristly red hair, like some sort of goblin or beast. You didn’t buy any of these stories. There were many fantastic creatures and strange people in the world, to be sure…but somehow, you still didn’t feel there was any reason to believe in ghosts.

As you returned to your work, however, you couldn’t put the musings of the mysterious, supposed spectre out of your mind. You knew that many strange things happened in the opera house, at random intervals, which simply didn’t seem to have an explanation. Backdrops would come undone, though everybody in the flies insisted they’d been secured. Instruments, props, and even costume pieces would vanish without a trace; sometimes they’d never be seen again, other times they would be relocated…but in places where they frankly should not and logically could not have been. And many a ballet dancer would tell you that they had heard strange sounds and a disembodied voice from somewhere beneath their feet, or spotted a shadow that seemed to come out of nowhere, gliding along the wall. You didn’t know how many of these were just coincidences or the work of some prankster, but one thing you WERE sure of was that there had to be a rational explanation of some sort. Perhaps that was why you didn’t mind being alone, onstage, so late at night. Time passed silently at first as you mopped the stage…then, as you were about halfway finished, you suddenly heard a familiar sound: music, playing somewhere in the opera house. You paused to listen; the music seemed to come from an organ, and it was distant enough that you knew it was not coming from the orchestra, or anywhere TOO close by. At the same time, though, you couldn’t quite figure out where it WAS coming from: the music drifted through the audience seats and down into your ears, like vapor slowly slithering its way onto the stage from the farthest points of the wings, or water trickling from the not-gargoyles above.

Had you been any of the silly little ballet rats, you would have likely been spooked…indeed, even Ace might have been a bit put off. As it stood, you just smiled and chuckled; there was a chapel somewhere in the vast, sprawling expanse of the opera house. You’d never been there yourself, but you figured that was where the music likely came from. What was a church without an organ, right? You had, in fact, heard the music in the past, and it never concerned you: whoever was playing, and whyever they were playing, it was none of your business. So you shrugged and, as you had so often before, continued to work. As you did so, however, you suddenly realized the tune being played was one you recognized. In fact, it was a song you knew very well; you could remember your father singing it to you, as a lullaby, long ago. A smile painted your face as you began to move to the music, and then began to hum…and after a while, you began to sing to the melody itself… “I Wonder…I Wonder…I Wonder, why each little bird has a someone? To sing to, sweet things to! A gay little love melody!” Your eyes turned upwards as you stopped in your work, lost in the music; memories poured through your mind, and your eyes became slightly misty. You seemed to peer straight through the high and far-off ceiling of the opera house…past the the magnificent, crystal-strung chandelier which hung over your head, its gaslights dimmed till you finished your work and went to douse it completely… “I Wonder…I Wonder…if my heart keeps singing, will my song go winging? To someone, who’ll find me…and bring back a love song to-!” “Mademoiselle.” Startled, you jumped slightly and gasped. You hadn’t realized the music had stopped, nor had you realized anyone was in the room with you. At first you thought it might be Ace, but he never called you something so polite. You looked around, trying to spot the source of the voice.

“Who…who’s there?” you called out, holding tightly to the mop as if you might defend yourself with it.

A soft, amused laugh clucked its way through the stage area. Like the pipe organ before it, the sound seemed to drift out from everywhere, and yet nowhere, all at once.

“A friend. I hope,” the voice said. Its sound was low and dark, but with a sort of velvety smoothness that was comforting; a warm but somehow powerful voice, cozy yet great and terrible at the same time.

You paused, tilting your head…then, feeling a little silly, you lowered the broom.

“Where are you?” you asked, glancing about, trying to spot the source of the voice. “Don’t be afraid.”

The voice laughed louder than before.

“I am not afraid,” it replied, as if the very idea was a joke.

“Well, then come out,” you insisted.

The voice paused, then replied, almost matter-of-factly, “But then YOU will be afraid.”

“No I won’t,” you said, earnestly. “You say you’re a friend? Then prove it. Show yourself to me.”

Another pause, then the voice intoned, “As you wish.”

You heard footsteps, and suddenly realized they came from a spot above you. You looked up…and your eyes widened as you peered up into Box Five. From the shadows of the unlit box, you saw a figure emerge, slipping into a spot of dim illumination, thus coming into view. It seemed to slide from the shadows themselves, till you could make them out. They stood like a man, but they were dressed in dark clothes, making it hard to properly see them. The one thing you COULD see was the pale mask upon their face, and the glowing green eye that peered down at you from behind it. Your heart seized in your chest. “I know who you are,” you said, your soft voice carrying breathily through the performance chamber. The mask shifted as the figure cocked their head to one side. You saw the light glisten upon a pair of sharp, crooked-looking horns. “Do you?” they said, simply. You nodded, and a smile came to your face. “Well, I know what they CALL you, anyway,” you said, amiably. “You’re the Phantom of the Opera.” You couldn’t be totally sure, due to the darkness and the distance, but you swore the figure smirked slightly. “Guilty as charged,” they replied. “I’m surprised you’re still able to hide your fear.” “What makes you think I’m scared of you?” “Most everyone is.” “Most everyone are idiots,” you replied, blandly. The one visible eye of the “ghost” widened, then he barked out a laugh that echoed through the hall. It was a sound that likely would have chilled most people who heard it to the bone, but you really weren’t bothered at all. In fact, the sound was quite lovely; it almost seemed to carry a musicality of its own. And the laugh was not a sinister, cruel, or mocking laugh, either; the Phantom seemed genuinely and simply amused. “I suppose this cannot be denied,” he chuckled, and his head tilted the other way. “I did not realize someone so…intrepid was living in my opera house. Let alone someone with such a magical voice.” You blushed, and fidgeted on your feet. “You, uh…you heard a little bit of me singing, did you?” “I did,” the Phantom confirmed, simply, and you saw the head tilt in an elegant bow. “Heh heh…well, uh…I’m sorry about that-” “Don’t be.”

The voice said the words almost like a command. Immediately, you felt your mouth click shut. Then the voice became softer, lighter. You couldn’t be sure, but you swore you detected just the faintest tremor in it… Could it be the Phantom was…nervous? “Daughter of Man,” the Phantom began, in that strange tone, “You have a truly ASTONISHING voice. It is like an Angel’s: exquisite in color, tone, and shape…in fact, in almost every detail. Except, of course - and you will forgive me for the observation - it is clearly untrained.” “I’ve never really had a chance to-” “Please. Let me continue.” You did. The Phantom took a breath - you saw the fingers of a white-gloved hand brush against the guard rail of the box - before he went on. “Without proper training, your voice - despite its beauty - will wither away like old grapes upon the vine. It might never achieve the grand heights which I believe it can attain, if you allow it to blossom and grow. If you will allow me…I think I can help you.” Your expression showed your surprise, but you remained silent. You sensed the Phantom still had more to say. “As you have likely gathered, I am no TRUE spirit,” the Phantom confessed, then paused for just as second before elaborating: “I am many things, however…among them, a musician, and not one without my own training as a singer. I will gladly teach you all that I can, but there are a few conditions.” “Conditions?” you checked back, almost without meaning to. “Yes,” nodded the Not-Ghost from on high. “I have never taken on any students, for until tonight I never wanted to.” You gathered the weight in his words and smiled. “I’m not allowed to tell anyone who’s teaching me,” you figured out. “Precisely. And you are not allowed to bring anyone to where I shall teach you. Our sessions will be thoroughly private: just the two of us, alone. It would be awkward if a so-called ‘ghost’ became known as a mere music teacher, after all.” “I can understand that,” you admitted. You weren’t sure, but you thought the Phantom arched one eyebrow. “You are not…concerned?” he quizzed. “Not especially,” you said. “I think if you wanted to hurt me in any way, you would have done so already. There’s no need to go through all this if that’s your goal. And as far as I can remember, the ‘Opera Ghost’ never has hurt anybody who didn’t deserve it first.” “Your faith in me is already greatly appreciated. Am I to presume that you will accept my offer, Daughter of Man?” You nodded. There was no deep thinking involved. “I can’t think of a single reason to say no. Unless, of course, the price-” “There will be no price. No money. All I ask is that you be on time for our lessons, and we can work out a schedule tomorrow evening.” “Thank you,” you almost sighed with relief, then paused before asking. “Do you…really think my voice is…that good? That I can…do more with it?”

“I do not think it, Mademoiselle. I KNOW it.” A great swelling of pride leapt into your chest. “What is your name, my dear?” the Phantom asked. You gave it. The Phantom repeated it to himself; the crisp, cool way your name sounded upon his unseen lips gave you shivers of many kinds. “Now, what is your name?” you thought to ask. “Mine?” the Phantom replied. He seemed startled you would ask. “Well, unless you want me to just call you ‘Monsieur Fanotome,’ or something, but that seems kind of silly. Surely you have a name of your own.” Once again, you couldn’t be entirely certain, but you swore that in the one eye you saw gazing down upon you, something affectionate flickered. “I do, certainly,” the Phantom said, and took a breath: “My name - Child of Man, Angel of Music - is…”

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Want to know a secret?” “Coo-coo!” “Promise not to tell?” “Coo-coo!” “We are standing by a wishing well!” You had never thought this day would come. You certainly never dreamed it would come this quickly. You did your best to hide your nerves, as you sat before the set piece of the well, and spoke to the puppeteered doves perched upon its edge. All the while, you were keenly aware of the presence of the audience, all gazing upon you with judgemental eyes…in a full house…in the grandest opera venue the city, perhaps even the country, had ever known. You tried to push the nerves out of your system; to stay in-character, to stay with the scene, as you twittered to the puppet-birds in a tone that almost matched their symphonic cooing. “Make a wish into the well! That’s all you have to do! And if you hear it echoing? Your wish may soon come true!” As you relaxed and let your voice flow, you thought of how you’d reached this point…while the chorus, hidden in the wings, echoed your singing… “I’m Wishing…” “I’m wishing!” “...For the one I love, to find me…” “To find me!” “...Today.” “Today!” Bette had been selected to play this role, of course, with her husband Fortesque as the leading man. But one prank too many from the mysterious opera ghost had finally done the trick for both, it seemed: after a sandbag nearly rendered the Madame unconscious, both she and her husband declared they were leaving the company, and would not be returning without a raise. (And considering how rich they already were, the likelihood of Crowley giving them one was next to nil.) While this was not the first time the two had gone through a blowup of this nature…the great problem was that the newest performance of a much-beloved opera, “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” was due to perform that night. Bette and her husband-accomplice likely hoped that would force Crowley into taking action. He did, but not the action they’d likely expected…and now, here you were. Your voice trained by your “special teacher,” and ready to show what all the work you’d both done could amount to. “I’m hoping…” “I’m hoping!”

“...And I’m dreaming of the nice things…” “The nice things!” “...He’ll say.” “He’ll say!” You then began to vocalize wordlessly, the riffs and calls once more echoed by the chorus. You did not turn to see, but you could faintly hear footsteps approaching you from behind. You knew who it was, of course. After all…the departure of the two stars meant that you weren’t the only one who would get to finally show your stuff in the spotlight. “I’m Wishing…” “I’m Wishing!” “...For the one I love, to find me…” “To find me!” “...Today.” “TODAY!” You jumped, startled, as you turned…and beheld the young, handsome figure of a man with terracotta-hued hair, dressed in a crimson-and-gold outfit that could only be worn by the wealthiest in the kingdom. Your eyes were immediately arrested by the warm, friendly, somewhat playful look in his own cherry-colored irises. “Oh…OH!” you exclaimed, as you got to your feet. You started to break away…but the young man (Ace, of course, in his costume) took hold of your hand, still smiling. “I’m awfully sorry!” the “Prince” told you, the “Beauty in the Woods.” His smile became almost embarrassed, yet encouraging, as he added: “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” “Oh, it wasn’t that!” you replied, somewhat shyly. “It’s just that you’re a…well, uh…” “A stranger?” the Prince finished, with a chuckle. “Mm-hm! And…and my aunts have always warned me not to talk to strangers!” “Very smart of them. But don’t you remember? We’ve met before!” You stopped short at that. “W-we…we have?” you blinked, innocently. “Of course!” the prince chortled, and then smiled in the most charming way possible as he looked deep into your eyes as he began to sing: “I know you, I walked with you Once Upon a Dream…” You squeaked as the “Prince” spun you around, and began to dance with you. He winked boyishly as he led you across the stage; around the forest floor, spinning around the well in a waltz.

“I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam!”

You smiled back at him, and soon fell into step with the charming youth, as he continued to croon.

“And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem! But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…”

He scooped you up close, pressing your bodies against one another with a tender, passionate smile.

“You’ll love me at once, the way you did Once Upon a Dream.”

Now it was your turn; a flicker of encouragement in Ace’s eyes, which weren’t due to his character, seemed to pass the ball to you, as he spun you around, and you twirled away. As you came to a stop, you curtseyed with a mischievous laugh.

“Yes, I know you,” you parroted back, letting your soprano ring out clear and true with each note. “I walked with you Once Upon a Dream!”

You scampered behind a tree on the set. Ace hurried after you, and peeked behind it…only for you to pop up from the other side and tickle him behind his ear, making him yelp and laugh.

“I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam!”

The Prince grinned almost wickedly and lunged, as if he meant to hug you, but you dove out of the way and swished behind him…before jokingly placing your hands over his eyes. This time, you led him around as he blindly stumbled a bit.

“And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem…”

Finally, you spun him around, and took his hands, and the two of you waltzed together once more.

“...But if I know you, I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once…”

Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, and a lovestruck look crossed Ace’s face as he seemed to blush.

“...The way you did Once Upon a Dream.” With a final twirl, the two of you embraced. The audience applauded in an instant.

As you held Ace tightly, waiting for the applause to die down and the maestro to strike up the next bit of music on the program, you whispered into his ear…

“We finally made it. They love us.”

“Well, that’s not too surprising,” he whispered back, breath tickling your own ear now, and you could feel his lashes flicker as he winked jokingly. “We always knew they’d love me.”

You subtly pinched him for that one, and he pouted slightly before playing it off as part of the character with a laugh.

As the two of you got ready for the next tune, two separate figures were watching you intently from the audience. They seemed to care little about Ace, their attention fully enraptured by you, as you laughed, smiled, and sang along.

One of them had a fond, nostalgic look on his face, as he stared at you with wonder-filled eyes, colored peacock green. The tattoo of a spade was inked around one of his eyes, as he applauded you with an admiring grin.

“BRAVO!” he called out, then his voice lowered as he spoke to himself, eyes seeming to glisten. “Can it be…can it really be you…?” As he wondered and mused, the second figure never even noticed. White-gloved palms clapped together with an authoritative sound…illuminated by the dim lighting of Box Five. The area’s sole occupant, the one and only audience member present in the box seats there, smiled, grin curling upwards with pride…and something softer. Something…almost reverent. “Brava. Brava,” the lips parted to whisper in a sibilant yet sweet way. “Bravissima, my Angel…”

--------------------------------------------------------------

KNOCK-KNOCKITY-KNOCK-KNOCK!

“Who’s there?”

“Just me, Ace! You decent?”

“Well, I’ve got clothes on, if that’s what you mean.”

Ace took the jocular invitation and opened the door to Madame Bette’s dressing room…or rather, on this evening, YOUR dressing room. You had changed out of your costume into a long, white dress, and had been busy tidying up, cleaning off your makeup and pulling the wig-pins out of your hair. You smiled as your scene partner entered, dressed in a white undershirt, and still in his costume bottoms.

“How dashing, my Prince,” you teased with a wink.

Ace just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…forgive me if I wanted to pop in and say you did an AWESOME job tonight! I hate to admit it, but I kinda wasn’t sure if you’d be up to the challenge. You really saved us and pulled through!”

“Hey, the show must go on,” you shrugged, and smiled as you continued speaking to him, though your gaze now turned to the mirror. “Besides, I’ve been working on my voice for months now. I’m glad I finally got a chance to show what I can do. It was nerve-wracking, though!”

“I bet it was,” nodded Ace, then frowned. “Speaking of all that training, when are you going to introduce me to this guy who’s been teaching you? I wanna shake his hand for tonight.”

“I don’t think he does handshakes,” you chuckled. “And I told you, he prefers to keep a low profile.”

“Psh. Must be REALLY low, if you won’t even say his NAME,” huffed Ace. He paused, then bit his lip, and cleared his throat. “Ahem…so, uh…anyway, I…kinda had a question for you.”

“Oh?” you vocalized, inquiringly, looking up at him in a somewhat puzzled fashion. He was shifting rather anxiously on both of his feet. “What’s the matter? Did I miss something in the libretto, or-?”

“No, no! You were…absolutely perfect there,” Ace answered, with a slightly high-strung laugh that wasn’t like him at all. “It’s just…well…I was thinking-”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKITY-KNOCK!

Both of you jumped, a bit surprised, as another knock came at the door. You couldn’t help but frown slightly; how many visitors were you going to have before you even finished getting out of costume?

“Hello?”

“Excuse me,” a voice called from the other side. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but can I come in?”

You and Ace looked at each other. He shrugged, clearly not sure what was going on.

“I suppose,” you answered, slowly.

The door opened once more, and another young man entered the room. He had dark hair, and eyes of a blue-green hue. A spade was tattooed over one of his eyes, and he dressed in a rather fine-looking blue suit: the sort only the nobility seemed able to afford. His smile was kind and slightly apprehensive as he stepped onto the scene…carrying a bouquet of blue roses. “Madamoiselle,” he greeted you, and his smile became teasing. “Where has your scarf gone?” Your eyes lit up and a wide smile stretched across your face. You could hardly believe it! “Deuce!” you exclaimed and jumped to your feet before rushing over and giving him a hug. “Oh, you made it! I wasn’t sure if you knew!” Deuce jumped slightly as he was hugged so tightly…then blushed red as a beet and tried to pull away. “Hey…h-hey, no getting mushy on me!” he chided. “You owe me, by the way, y’know I can’t stand opera!” “Unless I’M in it, right?” you joked, pulling back with a knowing smile. Deuce smiled back. “Well, if you’re in it, I’ll always try my best,” he promised. You smiled wider, then heard a cough that caught both of your attentions. Ace was standing nearby, waving, a sort of befuddled, somewhat frustrated look on his face. “Uh…hi? How are you?” he greeted, in a sarcastic manner. “Mind telling me who you are and what’s goin’ on?” Deuce nodded his head respectfully. “Deuce Spade. I’m a Viscount of the Queendom of Roses. I, uh…” He blushed and looked at you as he offered the flowers. “...I’ve known the star here for…a long time.” You giggled and took the roses gratefully, then turned to Ace and explained: “Deuce and I grew up together. My father was a musician who was patroned by his family, until…well…” “I see,” Ace replied, then narrowed his eyes at Deuce. “Funny, they’ve never mentioned you before.” “Well, we haven’t seen each other in a while, but we try to keep in touch through post,” Deuce shrugged, then his eyes lit up with excitement as he looked at you again. “Oh! Did you get that last letter I sent you? About that amazing new ‘gas-powered carriage’ my parents got? It is SO COOL! The thing moves faster than any horse, I even got to drive it here!” “Really!” you exclaimed, impressed. “You’ll have to show it to me sometime!” “I can show it to you right now,” Deuce said, with a smirk, and tossed his head back towards the door. “See, I was thinking we could go get something to eat, kinda celebrate your victory and…y’know…catch up a bit?”

You smiled apologetically as you took Deuce’s blue-gloved hand. “I’d love to, Deuce, but-” “-BUT,” Ace broke in, and you froze up as he slung one arm around your shoulder with a cocky smile, pointing to himself. “I’m afraid little miss Lead Soprano here already agreed to go out to dinner with ME for the evening!” “She did?” Deuce asked, looking disappointed. “I did?” you blinked, completely baffled. “Well, you were just about to,” sniffed Ace. “That’s what I was gonna ask you before I was so RUDELY interrupted.” He glared at Deuce with the sort of aggravated jealousy a schoolboy has when their favorite playmate is hanging out with somebody else. Deuce glared back in a similar manner. “What makes you think they would have said yes to that?” he asked, crossing his arms with a stern sort of scowl. “Well, I bet they’d rather hang out tonight with a FELLOW CAST MEMBER than some hoity-toity rich kid they haven’t seen in ages!” “That’s uncalled for!” snapped Deuce, jabbing a finger in Ace’s direction. “Besides, I think they’d much rather get to see an amazing new invention and eat somewhere nice for a change!” “‘Somewhere nice’?! Are you implying I wouldn’t take them somewhere nice?!” “Well, no offense, but I can probably afford better.” “I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE AT THAT!” “Sorry, sorry!” Deuce exclaimed, sounding genuinely contrite as he put up his hands. You couldn’t help but smile; he’d never liked to flaunt his own wealth. If anything, he was embarrassed by it. One of the reasons you liked him. “All the same,” Deuce went on, in a steady way, clearly trying to stay polite. “I’d love a chance to see my childhood friend again and chat about everything we’ve missed out on the past several years.” “And maybe you’ll get that chance. But not tonight,” harumphed Ace. “You don’t control her!” Deuce sneered. “Neither do you!” Ace sniped. “Why not ask what SHE wants?” Deuce growled. “I know what she wants!” “No, you don’t, and talking like that is going to get you a smack in the head, Ace.” Trappola subsided, flinching like a guilty dog being scolded by its owner, as you finally spoke up. Deuce smirked with triumph…but only for a fleeting moment as you turned to him again. “With that said, I’m sorry, Deuce, but I can’t go out to dinner tonight. I actually already have an engagement.”

Deuce’s eyes shot very wide and his face turned red. “Y-You’re…engaged?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT?!” “No, no, not engaged! Just…I meant I’m going out with somebody else for dinner tonight!”

“Yay!” Ace grinned.

“Not you,” you told him, blandly.

“Boo,” Ace pouted.

You couldn’t help but smirk with some affection before once more returning your attention to Deuce. You held up the flowers and thanked him for them before adding, “Maybe we can arrange a chance next week. Or, hey…this probably won’t be my only show, with everything going on. We’ll find another time.”

Deuce still looked a bit disappointed, but he also seemed somewhat relieved…presumably at the knowledge that you weren’t anyone’s fiance.

“Alright,” he conceded, then bit his lip before almost shyly asking, “Are you…sure you won’t come and see the new car? That’s what they call it; I guess it’s short for ‘carriage.’”

He mumbled the last several words and shrugged one shoulder. He looked so deeply disappointed you couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

“Next time,” you said. “I promise.”

Deuce clearly felt a bit better hearing that.

“Now,” you said, and looked at both him and Ace. “Can you both go? I need to finish getting out of everything so I can make that dinner date.”

“Whatever,” shrugged Ace.

“Sure thing,” nodded Deuce.

The two turned around and headed for the door at the exact same time…then grunted as they each bumped into each other in the process. They backed up and gave each other much-too-patient smiles, their eyes filled with something close to a desire for homicide.

“After you, ‘Viscount,’” Ace slithered.

“No, after you, ‘sir,’” Deuce responded in a similar fashion.

They each nodded to each other…and promptly both tried to get out the door at the same time again, and bumped into one another even harder than before.

You facepalmed and had to bite your lip to hold back peals of giggles as, with much flailing of hands and fumbling of feet, the two finally managed to wedge themselves free from the room and out of the door.

“Goodnight!” you called to them, in a cheerful tone, as you watched them each give each other vengeful, envious glares before you shut the door at long last.

As soon as the two were gone, a sigh of relief left you. Off and on, throughout the little bickering session, you’d been glancing at the clock on the dressing room wall.

He’d be here any moment now, you were sure of it. “That was a close one,” you murmured to yourself. “Indeed. I was half tempted to take my true form and swallow them whole; my ears are going to ache for a month.” You whirled about, startled. There was a long, tall mirror in the dressing room, attached to a wall. The glass panel had slid aside, revealing a dark passage beyond.

Out of the passage he stepped: a tall, lean-but-muscular figure, garbed in a fancy black tuxedo, with white gloves. A long, purple cape stretched back behind his shoulders, and upon his head was a black fedora with a purple hatband…with two small holes cut into the brim to allow his horns passage. His jet black hair was tied into a ponytail with a purple ribbon, and his ears were pointed, almost elfen in appearance. One side of his face was covered by a perfectly polished porcelain mask, which was fastened - like his hair - with a purple ribbon. Behind the mask, all you could see was one of his eyes: each eye a toxic shade of green, with slit pupils, and irises that seemed to glow in the dark. The other half of his face was sculpted like marble, almost as pale as the stark white mask, with a softness and silkiness one could sense even without touching the skin. As he smiled, the points of long, sharp teeth could be seen. He was here. The Phantom of the Opera. But you knew him by another name now. “Good evening, Malleus,” you greeted him politely. “Good evening, Daughter of Man,” Malleus Draconia - the elusive Opera Ghost - responded, and bowed in a courtly fashion. “Your performance tonight nearly took my breath away. I am exceptionally proud of you.” “Thank you,” you said, feeling rather humbled by his praise…but your humility soon faded as you smirked. “Have you been watching me change this whole time?” Malleus seemed to bristle like an irritated cat at the suggestion. “You wound me, my Angel of Music,” he sniffed, snootily, and stood ramrod straight, swirling his dark violet cloak behind him. “I should hope you know I have better manners than that.” “I do, I just couldn’t help but tease,” you giggled, then cocked your head to the left. “Did you mean what you said?” Malleus cocked his head in the opposite direction, inquisitively. “About swallowing them whole. Ace and Deuce.” Malleus narrowed his eyes. “I know you consider them your friends,” he said to you. “You’ve told me of your correspondences with the Viscount, but I sense he comes to the opera for the wrong reasons.” “What do you mean?” “He values the beauty of faces, and of mechanical flim-flammery,” scoffed Malleus. “Not so much the beauty of music.” “Uh-huh,” you replied, not sure you really had grounds to disagree, and also not wanting to start an argument. “And what about Ace?” “Oh, Trappola is simply obnoxious at times.”

You snickered. Malleus smiled gently. “I like it when you laugh,” he remarked, faintly. “It’s almost as pleasant a sound as your singing.” “Thank you, Maestro,” you said, then held out your hand. “Now…shall we go?” Malleus smiled wider. One of his white gloves - the fingers long and the gloves tapered at the ends (perhaps to conceal claws? You’d never seen him with his gloves off) - stroked against your skin before he grasped your hand in his. Then, with the very gentlest of pulls, he led you into the passage through the mirror. His free hand swept out against the nearby wall. In one fluid motion, he picked up a lantern hanging on a hook there… …And also flipped a hidden switch. The mirror closed behind you. “Come with me, my Angel,” the Phantom intoned, his voice echoing into every corner of your mind, as he guided you down the long, dark, winding stairway that led somewhere deep below the opera house, within the very bowels of the city. “I have waited for this moment longer than you realize…”

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The way to the Phantom’s Lair was like something out of a fantasy. You’d traveled there many times by now, but somehow it never got any less fascinating. At the bottom of the stairs had waited Caesar; a stellar stallion whose reins were being held by one of Malleus’ servants - a young man named Silver, whose hair matched his name…and who you’d found sleeping standing up. Malleus was used to this by now. You rode upon Caesar as Malleus and Silver led him along a winding path, descending even further into the depths of the ground. During this part of the journey, you could hear nothing but your own breathing, and the steps of the horse and its leaders. Finally, you came to a small dock, through which the great river ran under the ground, in caverns and catacombs hidden far below the streets of Sage. Waiting here was a little boat, which Malleus personally piloted like a gondola, using a punting pole. Silver, meanwhile, hopped upon Caesar’s back, and road with him down a side path to some other part of the catacombs. All along the path across the water, to the final stage of your journey, the walls were decorated with candles, which never seemed to go out or even dim no matter the dampness. In between the candles were pieces of art, hung up like a gallery; numerous paintings and charcoal sketches, framed for only the viewing purposes of Malleus and his secret staff that dwelled with him beneath the ground. “Is that one new?” you asked, pointing at one particular painting as the two of you glided past in the boat. “Yes,” Malleus nodded. “Lilia purchased it only yesterday. I hadn’t expected tonight to be the opportunity when I would share it with you.” “You don’t sound like you’re bothered by that,” you smirked over your shoulder. Malleus smiled innocently and chuffed through his nose, then turned his attention forward again. As he continued to push the boat along towards his secret lair, you couldn’t help but watch Malleus…and gaze upon the mask he wore. You often wondered what he was hiding beneath it. You would have expected, with all his other oddities, he wouldn’t feel so self-conscious…and the other half of his face, which was visible, clearly was rather handsome. All this time, however, you’d never dared to really ask about the mask. You’d noticed it, naturally, and he’d noticed you doing so, and once or twice it would be brought up in conversation…but you hadn’t once wanted to ask what was beneath it. Tonight…that curiosity felt more intense than ever. After everything he’d done for you, after all you had accomplished together - his spirit and your voice, combined - didn’t you deserve to know a little more? “Is something the matter, Daughter of Man?” The perplexed question snapped you out of your musings. You shook your head, half to clear it, and half to answer Malleus’ inquiry. He shrugged, and returned his attention to the river. You turned away, and watched the river ahead. You could see a faint glow at the end of the tunnel you both now skimmed through. You were almost to his hidden home. Perhaps tonight, at dinner, you could find the chance to learn the one secret he kept even from you. The boat slunk its way through the underwater passage, and was skillfully harbored at a small, ramshackle sort of pier. The planks led up to a set of stone steps, which led up to a magnificent pipe organ: the half-dragon’s pride and joy. A crooked path led from the pipe organ to two caverns, which you knew housed the rest of the so-called Phantom’s home. One smaller cavern contained Malleus’ private chambers, while another, larger cavern had been separated into a kitchen and a dining room. You did not know where his Servants typically lived, though he had made it clear they did not live with him: they would leave and arrive at appointed hours. They - and yourself - were the only ones who could enter this secret sanctum…and live to tell about it. Not that any of you would. Why bother?

Malleus tied the boat off at the dock. He then snapped his fingers. You weren’t sure if it was real magic or some sort of mechanical trick, but when he did, huge candelabras rose from the water, and flared up on their own accord, providing better illumination to the dimly-lit catacombs. As the candles went alight, Malleus doffed his hat, hanging it upon a rack at the end of the pier, near the steps. He then undid the bit of silk rope that fastened his cape, and swirled it (perhaps more dramatically than he intended to) off of his shoulders. He then strode back along the pier and extended his gloved hands with a gentle, encouraging smile. You accepted both his hands in yours and cautiously stepped off the boat and onto the pier. Once you were side by side, he looped your arm into the crook of one of his own, then led you past the pipe organ - past other odds and ends that littered the main cavern - and towards the tunnel leading into the dining area. “Where are the others?” you asked, a bit surprised when no one else came to greet you. Typically, Lilia was there to say hello, and Sebek was there to kow-tow to his “liege” and say some half-degrading comment about yourself…which typically earned him a swat from Lilia or a stern glower from Malleus. “I gave them all the night off,” Malleus explained. “Silver will be joining them in due course, I suspect. I hope it won’t seem too forward, but…I rather wanted our little victory dinner tonight to be just between us, and there wasn’t much time to prepare.” “As long as Lilia didn’t do the cooking, I’m more than okay with that.” “Oh, please, don’t even jest about such things,” shuddered Malleus, the eye behind the mask showing sickly revulsion. “I would sooner remove this mask that subject you to that unholy torture.” “I doubt whatever’s under your mask can be worse than Lilia’s cooking,” you responded, pointedly. Feeling a bit daring, you reached up a hand to touch the masked cheek…only for Malleus’ own hand to guide yours away with a sort of cheeky smile. “There are only three things worse than Lilia’s cooking,” he replied. “One of them is what’s under this mask.” “Dare I ask what the other two are?” “Bette’s singing, and Bucchi’s breath.” You snorted with laughter and couldn’t help a cheeky smile of your own. “I notice that things like ‘death’ and ‘poison’ aren’t listed.” “You’ve tried Lilia’s cooking. Would you honestly say those are worse?” “I guess not.” The two of you laughed. You couldn’t help but marvel at that simple fact: to the rest of Sage, and especially to those who dwelled and worked in the Corbeau de la Nuit Opera House, the horned gentleman you walked with was a figure of fear and mystery. But here you both were, candidly (and poorly) joking about someone’s bad culinary habits, as if it were the most perfectly ordinary thing in the world. All the same, you couldn’t help a sadness that crept into your smile.

If Malleus genuinely thought that his face was worse than Lilia’s cooking, and death was better…well, that had to say something, simply put. You had little time to feel sorrow, however, as he brought you to the dining room. Two chairs had been set, one on each end of the table. The food was not piping hot, but it was still warm as it sat ready for you all; either he or someone in his little group must have set up shortly before he went to fetch you, or even while the two of you were on your way. There was roast beef, scalloped potatoes covered in some sort of cheese, buttery biscuits, a small basket of fresh fruits for one to choose from, and some spinach dip to accompany a collection of breadsticks. “Help yourself, My Angel,” Malleus intoned, as he gestured to the feast before you, bowing and sweeping out one hand grandly as the other went to his chest. “You have more than earned your fair share of all this tonight.” You blushed and thanked him. You served yourself a small bit of everything, but you knew the majority of all this food would be going to one of two places: either into the larder for storage and future consumption…or into the dragon’s belly. If there was one thing everyone who lived in, around, or (apparently) under the opera house seemed to share, it was a bizarrely voracious appetite. “Where did you get it all?” you thought to ask, as you took your own seat. “Oh, it’s quite simple: I had Silver and Sebek visit the market earlier today,” Malleus answered, as he tucked a white cloth napkin into his collar. “They picked up the meat, the potatoes, and-” “No, no, I mean…if Lilia didn’t cook, who did the cooking?” you elaborated. “Well, that’s rather a different question,” smirked Malleus. “You should say what you mean, Child of Man.” You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t think of what to say. You opened your mouth, and the unmasked eyebrow arched, as if warning you to think a little more about what came out of said mouth next. Finally, you huffed and sat back. Malleus chuckled, a look of playful victory in his eyes as he took up his knife and fork, and prepared to eat from his own plate. You took up your own pieces of cutlery, but paused before you actually began to eat. You watched as Malleus lifted a bite of roast beef to his mouth…watched his fangs part before he popped the morsel of meat into his jaws…then shook your head, face a little flushed, as you tried to focus on your own meal. All the while however, you could hear the half-dragon thrum as he tasted the supper before him, and couldn’t help but quiver. There were some things you loved about him you simply could not explain. Such thoughts soon left your mind, however, when you took your first bite of dinner. A startled sound left you, and your eyes widened. Malleus looked up immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asked. A slight note of anxiety filled his voice as he checked: “You don’t like the roast beef?” “N-No, it’s not that-” “Ah,” he sighed, almost despondently. “I know. It’s the spinach.” “No!” you exclaimed, and smiled. “Nothing is wrong! I…this is REALLY good!”

Malleus’ eyes widened a bit…then a look of great satisfaction painted his face. “Oh. Is that all?” he asked, chuckling, in a sort of tone that indicated he was trying not to show just how delighted he truly was. “Well, I’m…exceptionally glad to hear it.” “Seriously, who made this?” you had to inquire. “Silver?” Malleus didn’t answer, his eyes focused on the knife and fork sawing through his helping of roast beef. “It wasn’t Sebek, surely?” Malleus still didn’t answer…but as he swallowed another piece of meat, you suddenly noticed a how the skin of his one unmasked cheek seemed to darken faintly. It was then the pieces fit together in your head. “...You. You made this yourself, didn’t you?” Malleus smiled and looked up at you. You weren’t entirely sure, but you swore there was something almost bashful in the inclination of his head and the glimmer in his eyes. “I have talents beyond simply my music, my mortal friend,” he replied. “Not cooking. At least, you’ve never cooked before. You usually have someone bring food down here from the restaurant inside the Corbeau de la Nuit…or, if you’re desperate, you just ask Lilia to make something, and pray you’ll survive.” Normally, such a statement would have made Malleus laugh. It didn’t this time. “Was…was this your first time?” you asked, captivated by the idea. Malleus nodded and put down his cutlery, folding his hands and giving you a sort of hopeful look. “I trust my first attempt is acceptable?” “Very,” you smiled, and your smile grew as the full weight of what had happened, what you were tasting, struck you. “I…I’m flattered, Maestro. It really means a lot that you’d go through so much for me, with-” “For you, it is nothing, Daughter of Man,” Malleus replied, somewhat grandly, lifting a hand to halt your words. “I would wrestle with demons and angels for you. Learning how to properly use an oven and seasoning is the least I could manage.” “How DID you manage it?” “Well, first of all, I used a recipe book, and followed it diligently. Second of all, I asked Lilia for his advice…and proceeded to do the precise opposite of everything he told me.” “Yeah. That would do the trick.” Both of you laughed, and once again returned to your meal. Several times you looked up, watching as Malleus feasted. He ate politely, but he ate large portions; several times you saw him dab at his mouth as he rumbled faintly, cleaning up any juice and crumbs that speckled his lips and chin, marring the perfect skin. At one point, you paused as you noticed something. “Uh…you missed a spot.” Malleus paused and looked up at you. “Pardon?”

“Right here,” you said, and pointed to the side of your face where his mask rested. Draconia frowned and dabbed over his mask…then sighed softly as he saw a spot of liquid from his glass of sparkling grape juice. He’d poured one for each of you, with all the manners of a high-class butler. “Thank you,” he muttered, and lowered his napkin, frowning in a mildly frustrated manner. You paused, then turned your gaze to your food as you continued to eat. “You know,” you said, without looking up. “It might be easier to eat if you didn’t have part of your mouth covered by your mask.” You heard the knife and fork in Malleus Draconia’s hand scrape at the plate. Another sigh, louder than before, came from him. You looked up at last as you heard the unmistakable clatter of the utensils falling to the emptied plate. His look was very serious. “That is the second time, Mademoiselle, you have brought up my mask,” he said, his voice grave. “I’m beginning to think you have something you want to say about it. If so, say it.” You hesitated before nodding and speaking your mind: “I want to know what’s under it. I don’t understand why you keep your face hidden all the time. At first, I thought it was just because you were trying to play up the whole ‘creepy opera ghost’ act, but…by now, we’ve come to know each other so well-” “-And no matter how well someone knows another, there will always be things they keep private,” Malleus reprimanded in interruption. “Believe me, my dear, you do NOT want to see what is beneath this mask.” You bit your lip, then suddenly stood up. “Were you injured?” you blurted out. Malleus blinked. “Come again?” he responded, flatly. “Is that why you keep it covered? Is your face scarred? Or is there a medical reason? Like, is this some kind of way of keeping it from getting infected or something? I just…there has to be a reason you are so sure I don’t want to see! And who else HAS seen? Lilia? Silver? Anybody at all? If they can stand it, then why not-?” Malleus rose very swiftly, and you suddenly felt a jolt of nervousness flow through you. He towered over you as he strolled around the table and peered down at you with burning green eyes. “Darling,” he said, in a voice that was somehow so inviting and yet so thoroughly dangerous, all at once. “Please, do not ask any more questions about my mask. I keep it on for your sake, as much as my own. And I do not appreciate being pestered about it.” You bit your lip…then nodded and bowed your head. “I’m sorry,” you half-whispered, sincerely. “I…just…thought you might…trust me enough.” Malleus softened then. His smile returned and he cupped a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eye once more. “It is not my trust of you that is truly in danger,” he replied. “Tell me, my dear: do you trust me?”

He leaned close, whispering into your ear: “Are you afraid of me?” You answered honestly, and without hesitation, despite a certain tremble in your heart. “No. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t think I ever really have been. I never believed you were a ghost, and you’ve never done anything to make me feel like I should be scared. I know you’ve scared plenty of other people, but you’ve never done anybody harm, as far as I know. So…I don’t think I have a reason to be afraid.” “If you peered beneath the mask, that would change,” Malleus said, as firmly and simply as if it were just a fact of life. “That is the last thing I would want. I have…precious few people in my life who DON’T fear me.” He paused, then his voice quieted as he added, “I have precious few people in my life, in general. I…could not bear the thought of frightening you. Of losing you. So, please…never ask me to remove my mask.” You paused, then finally replied: “I won’t ask.” Malleus smiled wider, pleased with that answer, and then backed away from you. He took your hand in his and kissed the back of it, still smiling. “After dinner,” he said, “Would you perhaps accompany me back to the music chamber? I wish to hear you sing.” “You heard me sing earlier,” you couldn’t help but giggle. “In front of a crowd of hundreds.” “That WAS in front of a crowd of hundreds,” Malleus snorted. “I want to hear you sing something for me. Only for me. If that isn’t too much to ask.” “It isn’t,” you said, shaking your head. “I just asked a lot of you, obviously, and…well…I think you’re entitled to having something in return. I couldn’t have made it to tonight if it hadn’t been for you.” Malleus seemed prouder than ever before, as he sat back at the table. He poured himself another glass of sparkling grape, and held it up in toast. “Then let us drink and continue to feast in honor of our friendship,” he proclaimed. You lifted your cup and inclined your head, replying, “Yes. To our friendship.” Then both of you drank. But as you drank, and as Malleus served himself another heaping helping of roast beef, you couldn’t help a dark little desire fluttering in your head. You had told him you wouldn’t ask him to remove the mask…but now, more than ever, you were determined to see what was beneath it. For better or for worse.

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“BUUURRRP! Oof…oh, do pardon me…” You flushed and giggled, as Malleus patted his mouth and then his stomach. “My, my! Who knew the Opera Ghost could be so unmannerly?” you couldn’t help but tease, and nudged him with your elbow as you both walked towards the main sector of the sanctum, and the gilded organ that waited there. Malleus frowned, looking a bit affronted. “How is it unmannerly?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. “I said pardon me. Isn’t that a show of good manners? Or am I expected to say something else?” You just shook your head with a sort of weary amusement. “No, you showed good manners. But most people wouldn’t expect the Phantom to let out a sound that makes the whole cave shake.” Malleus blinked. “What sort of sound WOULD they expect me to make?” “I don’t know. Probably something like rattling chains.” “Why would I rattle chains? That seems both pointless and, for a lesser creature, likely taxing. But I suppose true ghosts DO have time to waste…” You just laughed. The Phantom guided you to his pipe organ. His usual elegance returned as he seated himself at the keys. He removed his gloves; he never liked playing with them on. Beneath the white kid leather, his hands were the same pale skin tone as the visible portion of his face. His nails were black, and came out to points, like claws. Some might have found the sight unsettling, but you were honestly quite taken with his hands: the fingers long and strong, thin but clearly all muscle. “Have you any requests?” he asked. “Your voice is all I need. The song can be left up to you.” “No. I prefer to leave the choice to you, Maestro,” you replied, with a somewhat mocking bow. Malleus rolled his eyes, and then flipped through the ledger of sheet music that was always perched in place at the organ. He selected a song he knew you were both familiar with. After pointing it out to make sure you knew the what he was going to play, and getting your agreement, he took a breath. His fingers plinked a few keys on the keyboard…then, they began to play in earnest, drumming out a few notes beneath their clawed tips, which bellowed from the great organ, carrying the mysterious tune high up through the vents of the opera house, to echo through its solemn halls and out to the empty stage. The place you’d first heard the music of the night. Now, you could hear it in all its splendor. Your heart seemed to beat faster, as you instinctively adopted the posture you’d been trained to use in recitals. Malleus grinned, approving of your poise, the tips of his fangs shining brightly. His voice boomed, echoing off the walls, overpowering even the pipe organ’s magnificent sound.

“Sing, My Angel of Music! Sing for me!” And so you did. “Have you ever yearned to go, past the world you think you know? Been enthralled to the call of the Beauty Underneath? Have you let it draw you in, past the place where dreams begin? Felt the full, breathless pull of the Beauty Underneath?” You closed your eyes, as the music shifted in tone, and seemed to flow through your blood like silk. “Can you taste it? Have you heard its music and embraced it? Do you crave the visions that it shows you?” You looked at Malleus again, as the music went on. “Do you wonder why it chose you? Like it knows you? Knows you have a darkness running through you? If you’re not afraid, I’ll show it to you.” He grinned as he looked up at you, and put in his own lyrics; the song was a duet. “You don’t fear the darkness, do you?” You shivered slightly, and shook your head, as if in answer to the question. He chuckled, and the organ sang its own tune as you prepared for the second verse. The song was one he had taught you a good while back: in the story from whence it came, the lyrics were to be sung between a teacher and a student. Once upon a time, that had been enough to summarize your relationship with the Phantom…but now, you sensed a deeper layer beneath the lyrics as they left your own mouth, as well as his. “Have you found yourself beguiled, by the dangerous and wild?” you sang, your voice carrying out with a mysterioso quality. “And been hooked, as you looked at the Beauty Underneath?” Another shiver went through you, as paper was flipped, and you hugged yourself; you suddenly felt a strange chill. “Have you felt your senses surge, and surrendered to the urge?” your voice shifted into a sort of husky tone, which was meant for more intimate scenes and melodies. “Tell me you know it too; know the Beauty Underneath!” Your eyes once more fell to Malleus, as it was his time to sing the next part. His voice was as rich and decadent as dark chocolate, and filled you with a warm, deep sweetness that few others had ever managed. “If it’s in you - in your skin, and bone, and blood, and sinew - if it doesn’t frighten you and shake you, there are places I can take you…” “I can taste it!” you sang back. “I have heard the music and embraced it! Even in the wonders you have shown me!” “It’s as if you’ve always known me,” Malleus responded, and there was such a depth of meaning in the way he sang it, you suddenly knew he was doing more than playing alongside you. You swallowed thinly as the key changed once again. Your voice shook slightly as you started the next segment, watching every motion Malleus made. You could see the way muscles rippled beneath the skin as his fingers danced along the keyboard, how his shoulders dipped and swung as he swayed like a serpent where he rested, his head oscillating in a reptilian fashion as he poured all his heart into the keys.

“It’s all so beautiful,” you began, and your voice soon strengthened again. “So strange, yet beautiful. Everything just as you said!” “And they’re so beautiful,” Malleus returned, and his eyes drifted from the sheet music and the keys towards your own hands, clasped before you. “Perhaps TOO beautiful. What I suspect cannot be. Still, they seem so much like me…” Your eyes connected - yours gazing into meaning-filled green irises - as you chorused together. “I can’t look away.” For just a moment, the music paused…then, with a sort of nervousness you never saw in the elegant Phantom before, he hammered at the keys again, and returned to the piece. In a flicker of an instant, you looked askance, tucking some hair behind your ear… …And noticed the purple ribbon of his mask. In that moment, you made your mind up to do something terribly drastic. Something part of you screamed was foolish on so many levels, but the rest of you could not ignore. Suddenly, you felt the need to see beneath the mask grow more intense than ever before. You wanted to know the face behind the voice, in every detail. With an impulse you were seemingly unable to control, you began to cautiously reach towards the mask…but then Malleus jerked his head towards you, and you pulled back again. He hadn’t noticed. There was an innocent joy, a delight, almost a childish exuberance in his elegant features, as he simply continued the piece, clearly waiting for you to pick up your cue. You did so quickly, as if you weren’t planning anything. “Are you ready?” “Yes!” “Come closer.” “Yes!” “Have no fear of the Beauty Underneath.” You reached a second time…but once again, his head jerked towards you, as he nodded and chuckled between his parts. He was still oblivious as you hurriedly pulled back your hand, giving an apprehensive sort of look he clearly didn’t catch. Your heart was beating more quickly as you knew what you were going to do. Half of you kept saying this was probably wrong…but another half of you, frankly, did not care. “You can face it.” “Yes!” “You can take it.” “Yes!” “You see through to the Beauty Underneath!” Your hands trembled as the music began to race to a crescendo, and the notes both of you sang became higher and higher. You kept them clasped, holding back the urge till you felt the moment was right.

“To the splendor!” “The splendor!” “And the glory!” “The glory!” “To the truth of the Beauty Underneath!” “Beauty Underneath!” “You’ll accept it?!” “YES!” “You’ll embrace it?!” “YES!” “LET ME SHOW YOU THE BEAUTY UNDER-” “AAAAARRRRRREEEEEIIIIIAAAAARRRRRGH!” Swiftly your fingers tore away the mask. You held the porcelain and ribbon construct in one hand…and in a second, fell back against the nearest wall. If you lived to be a hundred, you felt you should always remember the superhuman cry of grief and rage which the Phantom uttered the moment the costume piece was pulled free. Malleus rose to his full height with a discordant bang upon the organ keys. He leered down at you, looming over you, as he faced you in full. In a second, his whole demeanor had changed. His fangs were bared, gritting against one another, and his hands had curled into claw-like shapes, the taloned tips more prominently displayed than ever before. There was something wild in both of his green eyes which had once smoldered beneath the surface, but never been truly visible. The tone of his voice carried an imperious, thundering quality, stronger and yet more terrible than it had ever seemed before, as it rang through the lair with a power not even the stage could have contained. “FOOL!” he roared. “YOU WANT TO SEE?! WELL, LOOK AT IT! FEAST YOUR EYES, GLUT YOUR SOUL, ON MY CURSED UGLINESS!” You didn’t have much choice. Your eyes were wide and your mouth hung agape as you gazed at the face of the Phantom of the Opera. While one side of Malleus’ face - the side the mask did not hide - was smooth and pale and seemed to be carved by an expert sculptor…the other side was quite a different story. The skin had been replaced by a collection of dark, jagged-edged scales, colored a glossy black hue. The scales caused the edges of his nose and a small portion of his upper lip - the part the mask had covered - to curl slightly, and jabbed into the edges of his hairline. When coupled with the horns and the glowing, reptilian eyes, not to mention the bared fangs…had one looked at Malleus in profile from that side, unmasked, he might have been mistaken for some sort of demon, or beastly monster. He glared down at you, still standing tall and strong, his eyes filled with an acrid look of anger and something approaching pain. It was the pain that caused your lip to start to tremble slightly. He gave you an expression that was not quite a sneer and not quite a smirk - and leaned towards you, narrowing those venomous eyes. His voice was cold and frosty, with the sinister hiss of a serpent tucked into its tones.

“Well? Are you satisfied?” he snarled, a tone of biting sarcasm snapping into his voice. “I’m a very handsome fellow, am I not? You-” He stopped short. All of the wrath, all of the betrayal, all of the sorrow, but NONE of the pain left his face. Those feelings that did leave were replaced with confusion, shock, and amazement…as you reached out and placed your hands upon the scaly, ravaged cheek. Your fingers ran over the scales, feeling their hard, somewhat sharpish edges. The texture was like snakeskin and alligator hide put together, but with a toughness that almost rock-solid, like black gemstones jutting from his flesh. You bit your lip, and uttered a single question. “Does it…does it hurt, Malleus?” Malleus looked gobsmacked. His eyes were as wide as your own. His mouth remained resolutely shut as he swallowed thinly, blinking a few times, as if bewildered by your words, actions, and reactions. “Malleus?” you urged, concern painting every syllable you spoke. “Does it hurt?” “...D-Does…it…?” You had never seen the half-dragon so completely taken aback. So totally speechless and uncertain. He seemed almost shell-shocked. Slowly, he lowered himself c loser to your level. He dropped to one knee, looking into your eyes with a look that was completely different from any before: not the gentle, tender, but somehow supercilious gaze that so often filled his optics, nor the lordly fury that he’d shown only seconds ago. Now, he seemed…vulnerable. An almost childlike wonder, mixed with a tragic puzzlement, flooding his green gaze. He somehow seemed…younger. Smaller. It was a totally unique side to him than any you’d witnessed in the past. “You’re…not…afraid?” he asked, slowly. “Why would I be?” you asked back, very honestly. Malleus didn’t blink. Didn’t move. You almost swore he had stopped breathing for a second. You had to hold back a chuckle. You knew making light of the situation was likely a bad move. You smiled sympathetically and stroked his cheek again as he shifted your posture to sit up more comfortably. “Malleus…I don’t know what made you think I’d be so scared of…this,” you said, giving his cheek a pat, then finally withdrawing your hand. One of his took its place, as if trying to absorb the warmth that lingered from your touch into his own digit-tips. “But I’m not. I’m simply not. It’s really not as bad as you think. Honestly, I think it’s kind of…interesting.” “Interesting?” he repeated, sounding as if he were tasting each syllable and trying to decide how he liked them. You nodded, smiling a bit wider. “I’m guessing this is like the horns and such, right? Sort of…a sign of your dragon side?” you presumed. Malleus nodded. His expression was finally starting to cool, but only slightly. He still looked rather baffled…perhaps even slightly suspicious. “Well, then all I’m wondering is why it’s like that, and - more importantly - if it hurts you. Like…they don’t feel…uncomfortable, or painful?” Malleus paused…then shook his head to show that, no, they did not. You sighed with relief. “Thank goodness,” you said, and then looked up with a bit of sadness in your eyes. “That was the only thing I WAS scared of. Worrying if I’d hurt you physically, or if they did.”

“Nothing else?” “Nothing else,” you promised. Malleus Draconia’s eyes flickered up and down over you…then he turned away, noticeably moving so the scaly side of his face was hidden from immediate view. “Well…you aren’t exactly the first…but you’re certainly among the few,” he murmured, sorrowfully. Your eyes shone with concern. What had he been through that he felt he had to hide his face from others? How had it ended up that way? Had he been cursed? Was it just a defect of his humanoid form? These questions, you suddenly felt, were best left unasked. He was shaking. One had to look close to know it. But you definitely had that close look. Carefully, you held out the mask to him. Malleus looked at it, ears pricking up, then up into your eyes. You smiled kindly, and nodded encouragingly. He bit his lip - an uncharacteristic action from him, up to that point - then plucked the mask from your hand before rising to his feet. Hastily, he fitted it back into place, and tied the purple ribbon to keep it there. When he turned around again, the coolness he usually held had once again covered his features, and the mask hid the scaly hide from sight. “That was…not very thoughtful of you, my dear,” he said, steadily. He didn’t sound angry, nor even disappointed. Perhaps mildly annoyed, but…mostly, he just…seemed to say it. You smiled apologetically and got to your feet before reaching out to take one of his hands in your own. He stiffened slightly, but you pretended not to notice. “I know. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done something like that, and I promise that I won’t do it again. But…for the record…never feel you need to hide your face, or anything else, from me. I promise, I will never judge you or hurt you.” You then paused and smirked. “Besides, you lied to me.” “I…did?” Malleus blinked, questioningly. “Of course! Lilia’s cooking is WAY worse than that!” Malleus stared at you…then, his expression changed to an uncommon smile…and a bark of laughter suddenly left him. You soon found yourself laughing alongside him.

“See?” you teased. “If we can be like this, after that, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I certainly hope not,” Malleus replied, crisply, his smiled taking on a slightly sad look. “I’m…admittedly still…reeling from what just happened, but…I’m grateful. Truly. Though I can’t guarantee I will ‘treat’ you to the sight of…”

He brushed his fingers against his mask’s edge.

“...This…very often.”

“You don’t have to,” you vowed to him. “You are my teacher, and my friend, ‘Monsieur Fantomas.’ I promise, in the future, I will show more respect to your privacy.”

“And I promise you I will attempt to keep better control of my temper.”

“Then that’s all that really matters right now,” you said, and skipped forward before placing a kiss to his masked cheek, just to show him. For the second time that night, the Phantom of the Opera seemed to blush. An awkward moment passed between you both, in silence. It was broken when a clock somewhere in the lair struck the hour. “It is, ah…getting late,” Malleus said, and went to fetch his cape. “I…shall return you to your-” “Actually…Malleus?” “Yes, Daughter of Man?” You shuffled a bit, before daring to ask: “I know after what’s happened, this may seem a bad time to check, but…could I…spend the night here? With you?” Malleus would have gaped, but he was much too proper for such a reaction. He came pretty close though. “It gets a bit lonely in my quarters at the opera house, and…after all that’s happened, I don’t really feel like taking the boat and finding our way back upstairs and so on. So…could I just…stay here? Till morning?” Malleus gazed at you for a second or two…before a smile that spoke of gratitude beyond ages split his face. “Of course, My Angel,” he said, and bowed in his usual, high-fashion manner. “I have a spare bedroom, in a secret passage adjacent to my own. Sometimes Silver needs a spot to ‘crash,’ as I think they put it.” “That will do well-” “No, no. I’LL sleep there. YOU shall take MY bed.” “B-But-!”

“No buts!” Malleus chirruped, and suddenly was right in front of you, giving your nose a teasing tap. He chuffed with amusement through his nostrils as you covered your snout to prevent further assault. “You gave me the honor of your company, and more importantly, your acceptance. You’ve been a dutiful and wonderful student…and beyond all else, one of the few people I think I can call a friend. Besides, I acted deplorably only a moment ago. So no arguments: you shall sleep in my bed tonight, and I shall take the guest room.” You thought about this for a moment…then gave a sly smile. “Compromise,” you suggested. “We’ll BOTH sleep in your bed. Side by side. Unless you object to it.” You’d half-expected Malleus to be shocked at the notion of a young lady sleeping beside him…but instead, he tilted his head, thought about it…then shrugged. “I concur. That seems a logical halfway point for us to meet at. Provided you are comfortable with it.” “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. And Malleus?” “Yes, Child of Man?” “Thank you. For…so many things. And I’m sorry once more.”

Malleus Draconia smiled and took your hand. He placed a chaste kiss upon it, and then led you with a serene step, conducting your movements as he had long conducted your voice. He guided you towards his bedroom, drawing back the curtain that led within. “You, my Angel of Music, have nothing to apologize for. And I have far more to thank you for than you will ever know.” With those words, the Phantom of the Opera let the curtain fall, hiding you both from view.

This, you were both sure, as you dreamed soon after, would forever be a night to remember.

The End…?

[catogorizing-like-no-man-before]

TOS S1E8 What Are Little Girls Made Of

Aired October 20, 1966

Stardate 2712.4

Rating - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This episode has great conflict and themes. Christine Chapel makes a sympathetic, level headed heroine. Always gotta give my TOS girls appreciation.

We get to see Kirk's strategic mind in action. I really appreciate how his strengths - understanding what drives other people and strategy - are showcased.

The conversation about the humanity of androids is compelling, and the androids' drive to live, be fulfilled and thrive is haunting. It may lack some nuance that Next Gen will explore, but it's a solid introduction to the concept.

Summary

The Enterprise visits Exo III to see if researcher Roger Korby is still alive on the planet. Christine Chapel, Korby's fiancee, joined the Enterprise's crew in hopes of finding Korby.

When Korby responds to the Enterprise's hailing frequency, Kirk and Chapel go to the surface with two security personnel. When the security personnel meet unfortunate ends, Kirk realizes Korby is not what he seems.

Well for the time - 😬🔘🔘🔘🔘

The episode implies Andrea was created to provide Korby physical pleasure. I think she's actually handled quite well, but it is uncomfortable.

I have a lot of conflicted feelings about Andrea. A very surface-level observation: her outfit is very revealing, but that's part of the show implying her purpose. And, I mean, she's serving.

So I'm ultimately fine with it.

The one thing I think is questionable is Kirk kissing her and using physical intimacy to manipulate her. She's so uncomfortable and confused in the scene, I have a negative reaction to it. But that doesn't make it an inherently problematic scene.

Kirk introducing women to love and lust to ensure his survival is so classic, and while I can think of an explanation for why she would kill Korby and herself (being jealous of Christine), I can't think of another reason she would kill android Kirk. Not having the scene would also rob Andrea of depth because it's the catalyst to her struggling with free will vs programming.

Andrea is a strong character that elicits many thoughts and emotions. Considering what she was made to do, I think she's handled with respect and compassion.

All of that to say, on the surface, I think a viewer could think this episode is misogynistic but I actually think it's pretty thoughtful.

Characters

Kirk

Christine Chapel

Roger Korby

Rayburn

Uhura

Spock

Matthews

Dr. Brown

Andrea

Ruk

Planets

Exo III

Midas V

Ships

USS Enterprise

The other kind of ship

Spirk

Kirk made sure to manipulate the programming of the Kirk android, so he would be mean to Spock. As far as I can tell, this was a safety net, so Spock would be suspicious of Android Kirk when he impersonated him.

It worked. Especially because this interaction has no impact on the episode's plot, I consider it foundational material demonstrating why Spock and Kirk trust each other so much.

[merrysithmas]

re: nursing & Nurse Chapel in SNW @ Paramount/the fandom

new trekkies have begun to notice that Nurse Chapel eventually becomes a doctor in TOS canon. i'd like to challenge the stale (and rife with outdated sexism) misconception of that event with a more modern lens that hopefully SNW can retcon...

Christine does not stop becoming a nurse to become a doctor. She can be a doctor AND a nurse.

A DNP (clincial doctor of nursing practice) or nurse phd (researcher) or nurse educator/researcher (phd). One of my main issues with TOS canon is how they made Chapel "upgrade" from a nurse to a doctor which is extremely outdated and inherently insults the field of nursing (implying medicine is a hierarchy which it isnt - and SNW does a good job showing the partnership btwn mbenga &her). Most nurses never venture into physicianship but instead pursue doctorates in their chosen field: nursing. Because they want to be nurses.

I hope this is one thing they retcon and make clear she is a clinical doc of nursing (who have all the same diagnostic/prescriptionist responsibilites as a doctor of medicine) or some other variant of doctor of nursing.

Christine likely became a nurse because nurses have diff freedoms (and a closer patient relationship) and can expand to work in innumerable specialities - as nurses are trained as multi-specialty healthcare providers - whereas doctors are more limited and stick to their specialty. She chose to be a nurse because she wanted to be a nurse.

People choose nursing over becoming a physician for MANY reasons - and let me tell you, it's absolutely 100% not because the doctors are more intelligent lol. Nursing is a multifaceted field which consists of myriad opportunities, learning experiences, specialities, 1:1 patient connections, and freedoms that a physician will never have. Nurses can work in an ER, OR, Labor and Delivery, community health center, an herbalist shop, someone's home at their bedside, and research lab all in the same week. Physicians cannot do that - they have various legal and technical limitations (still a great field, but different).

Nurses are a medical jack of all trades - that is what Christine is.

An accurate portrayal of nursing is hardly ever shown in modern media which either erases nurses entirely (see House or ER or any other medical show), or sexistly mischaracterizes the field and ignores that nurses are hard scientists who partake in research, war, and can attend up to 10 yrs of schooling in their specialities (more than an MD). Not to mention that it is nurses who train in and learn the practical knowledge of medicine (injections, sterilization, IV admin, patient positioning for expelling mucuous, suctioning sputum, etc - doctors do not train in practical medicine and if they do they do not practice it).

If you are at the hospital and you have a head nurse and a physician resident making a call - guess who is going to have the last word. It isn't the doctor. And that is a respected norm.

It is thrilling to watch as Christine participated in research, engages in community outreach, joins fellowships, continues her education, assists surgery, diagnoses patients, engages in war and Starfleet, and cares at the bedside.

The old fashioned notion of "just a nurse for now" is about as stale as some of the sexist/misogynist concepts in TOS - and Christine is a GREAT example of a modern nurse character, highly accurate, and SNW would do well to correct further misconceptions of the field by making her an example of a Doctor of Nursing.

As far as I know, being a trekkie forever, they never stated what kind of doctor Chapel was - perfect opportunity.

[dailycass-cain]

Birds of Prey #13 ends the "second arc" of the series aka the Birds finding out who was targeting Babs. Was it a rewarding finish? What about the Cass and Spirit World?

Well, here are my thoughts on the issue.

So I'm just gonna start off with the negative stuff I have to say about the issue. #1 being I was a bit disappointed at the entire resolution of it all. It is not so much how the Birds got free from the world hoping, but more about how the arc's villain, Maia was dealt with.

She just leaves and-- I guess she goes back into the portal? I mean that's what the characters say she did but it's never really implied on the pages.

In that regard, I felt a little meh on there being no real resolution. The Birds are free and all, but Maia isn't really beaten. She could still target Babs or do something else to make the Birds' lives hard.

#2 is a nitpick but Xanthe and Constantine just don't interact with Cass at all. I get it, given she wasn't with them until after getting Cela out. And man the comic got crowded. But zero interaction left me 😞. Not even Xanthe seeing Barda which I kind of wanted to see.

This is kind of a "hope" with the new Cass series is that well if this series does do well, I kind of want to see Cass interact with these characters (and new ones).

Like how is it we've seen her meet Richard Dragon? Or seeing Bronze Tiger again in Cass's life?

We're just getting Oynx and Grace in the next arc. Both have some strong ties to Cass that I'm REALLY curious where writer Kelly Thompson goes (sides the Barda stuff).

I'm rambling so back to the issue itself.

The final nitpick is a real nitpick. Cass was just called Cass at the intro. While Babs got the Batgirl/Oracle combo bit.

Come on DC… we've got two Batgirls in this issue. Just throw us a little bone here.

So I'm done focusing on the negatives so let's talk the positives now: the Cass and Cass/Cela portions are probably the strongest bits of the entire issue.

Like, the way Cass figures out how to end the loop and get Maia to open a portal and them to escape was quite genius. She a smart small bat.

Using the Spirit World proxy to "summon" her dead sisters was a nice touch to freak Maia the heck out. It also is a nice way to touch on last issue's cliffhanger with what Xanthe was feeling.

Same goes for all the Cass/Cela interaction. Like, Cass being Cass always is an open heart to anyone, and Cela has that and other things that Cass can relate too.

Again their interaction was the highlight of the issue as you could feel Cela's hope in seeing her fallen sisters and wanting to stay in "Spirit World". Or that she left Cass, and left on the downer note with her.

In all honesty, I kind of hope we see Cela again and she isn't lost like Christine or Harper in lost female "friends" that Cass strikes up with and it's completely ignored by others.

There is potential here with Cela in that she could try and find the real Spirit World, and there's an adventure with Xanthe to be ringed in with.

Besides the stuff involving Shiva and Spirit World too.

But that's more to the point I said prior. Just see more of these connections.

This was still a fun issue with the problems. There was still more good I had than the bad. But there was a bit more compared to prior outings.

Still, the art by Gavin Guiday and coloring by Jordie Bellaire were nice.

For Bellaire's coloring did a nice job homaging the prior coloring by Sebastian Chang (colorist on Spirit World) making the colors pop. Just felt so short in this variant. I guess it just makes me want to see that place again.

So yeah, the arc concluded but it does feel kind of rushed. I don't mind it given next we get Oynx and Grace Choi.

But there is a few things I hope Kelly gives us more stuff with like Mirai Maps.

A friend said they felt Mirai Maps felt "there" and we got nothing (other than answers to her tech). I agree we do need more on Mirai Maps more so why'd she stick around.

As for Cass? Yeah, it's obvious which character Kelly does favor most given Cass steals the show again. Though I'll admit she is kind of outshining Dinah a bit too much. But I digress we got Dinah's characterization in Kelly's side story that same week.

So, here's to the next arc and whatever we get with Dinah in Green Arrow! Just wish she had another series to read. I feel like there's one but nope just Green Arrow and Birds of Prey. A real pity.

[mariacallous]

Europe believes it is ready for Donald Trump 2.0. Having survived one Trump administration, European policymakers believe they have a recipe for navigating a repeat. Their confidence, however, is unwarranted. Focused on the wrong goals and distracted by political crises, Europe is far from equipped for the challenges of Trump’s second term as U.S. president.

Most significantly, European bureaucrats have yet to internalize the urgency and extent of the changes that will be required in military spending and strategy. Bribes and flattery may mollify Trump temporarily, but neither is likely to derail his plans to shift U.S. military commitments away from Europe. Europe may soon find itself exposed, lacking both the U.S. security blanket and a viable alternative of its own.

For Trump and his advisors, European complacency poses a challenge to one of their core objectives: shifting Europe’s defense burden onto NATO allies. But the new administration does have some levers it can use to force Europe out of its reverie and signal the seriousness of its intentions: reducing the U.S. military footprint in Europe decisively early in his term and pushing security responsibilities onto European Union member states.

Since Trump’s election victory last November, European leaders have been proactive, engaging in furious diplomacy and promising Trump all sorts of policy wins to forestall the punishing tariffs and U.S. military drawdowns he threatened during his presidential campaign.

At the top of the list of goodies are pledges to spend more on defense, one of Trump’s longtime demands. In recent weeks, NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte has been clear that Europe knows it must spend more. With many countries now at or above NATO’s target of spending 2 percent of GDP on defense, European policymakers are discussing raising the goal to 3 percent in hopes that higher budgets—though still short of Trump’s 5 percent ultimatum—might keep U.S. military forces committed to the continent’s defense.

Europe also hopes to use economic alignment and engagement with Washington to avoid spats over trade and defense. Christine Lagarde, president of the European Central Bank, for instance, has called for Europe to adopt a “checkbook strategy,” buying more U.S. natural gas and weapons to stay on Trump’s good side.

Other European policymakers have urged their counterparts to more vigorously adhere to U.S. export controls and de-risking initiatives aimed at Beijing, implying a possible bargain: Europe’s help—economically if not militarily—with Washington’s “contain China” agenda in return for U.S. support against Russia. Concessions on economic or China policy may buy some time for Europe, but are unlikely to deter Trump. Shifting NATO’s defense burden to Europe is a top priority for Trump and his inner circle, one on which they may have little willingness to compromise.

Beyond carrots, European leaders have also turned to scare tactics, hyping the so-called “interlinkages” between the Asian and European theaters. They warn, for instance, that U.S. global credibility and containment of China require that the United States maintain its presence in Europe—and bankroll Russia’s defeat in Ukraine.

There are several versions of this narrative: one emphasizes the North Korean and Chinese role in Russia’s war in Ukraine, another that Taiwan might be the next domino if Ukraine falls. A third suggests that a U.S. withdrawal from Europe could drive Europe itself into China’s arms. But all play on long-standing U.S. fears about loss of influence on the world stage and are aimed at those in Trump’s circle who argue for prioritizing U.S. resources toward Asia.

Europe’s efforts to prepare for Trump’s return have not been entirely in vain. Increased defense spending by NATO members since 2020 should please the new administration. Indeed, Trump has already taken credit for this progress. But while promises of more military spending are good, few countries have figured out where to get the money for larger defense budgets. Many countries are more focused on Ukraine—and the consequences of a U.S. pullback from that war—than on bolstering their own defenses.

All this leaves Europe badly out of sync with an impatient U.S. administration about the degree and speed with which burden-shifting should occur.

This complacency is perhaps unsurprising when one considers the long history of back and forth between Washington and European countries on burden-sharing, a debate that stretches back at least as far as NATO itself.

For decades, U.S. policymakers have pushed for more burden-sharing (while being unwilling to apply actual pressure), and European policymakers have pledged to do more (while failing to do so). On both sides, there has been a generally accepted assumption that Europe cannot defend itself thanks to internal divisions.

Perhaps counterintuitively, European policymakers also have the record of the first Trump administration to reassure them. Despite Trump’s rhetoric, his first administration made no significant changes to the U.S. commitment to Europe. NATO even expanded under his watch—adding Montenegro and North Macedonia—and his administration increased the provision of weapons to Ukraine.

But Trump’s second term will likely differ from his first. From 2016 to 2020, the primary voice calling for the United States to pull back from Europe was Trump himself. Most of his advisors opposed retrenchment and subscribed to Washington’s elite consensus that shifting the burden to Europe would reduce U.S. influence and put U.S. security at risk. Today, however, the forces within the Trump administration pushing for the United States to commit fewer resources to European defense are much stronger.

There’s a growing sentiment among Republicans that Washington has paid far more than its fair share in Ukraine and elsewhere. Then there’s a strong push from so-called “prioritizers,” such as Elbridge Colby (the administration’s nominee for undersecretary of defense for policy), who argue that Washington should focus most of its resources on the Indo-Pacific, where its most pressing interests and most serious rival are located. Finally, the Defense Department is increasingly—if quietly—concerned about budgetary issues, shrinking stockpiles, and the strain that multitheater deployments place on limited personnel and systems.

European states have made progress in building their defense capabilities in recent years. Spending has increased, partly because of Trump’s first-term rhetoric and far more due to Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine. The European Union has debuted initiatives in joint procurement and financing—such as the European Defense Industry Program– that enable smaller states to coordinate on defense programs, avoid duplication, and build a better defense industrial base. Non-EU minilateral agreements have proliferated, such as Sky Shield, which currently brings together 22 European states to coordinate on ground-based air and missile defenses. (Austria may leave under its new government.)

But while these steps are dramatic by European defense standards, they are at least 10 years too late. Joint defense among European states remains embryonic. Their militaries are too small and lack key technology or combat enablers (such as in-flight refueling or intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance capabilities). Nor do they have a common system of command and control outside the existing U.S.-dominated NATO framework. Put bluntly, Europe’s militaries are not even remotely ready for prime time.

Worse, there is no real sense of urgency about making the investments required to establish an independent European defense. Many European policymakers talk as if defense coordination were a generational problem to be solved; the head of the French aerospace company Dassault, for instance, told the Financial Times in March 2024, “The reality of building a European defense industry [is] it’s going to take many years and even many decades.”

Europe’s leaders engage in bargaining, hoping for clarity on what they can expect from the United States in the future, and explain all the reasons why they cannot—politically or economically—replace Washington’s contribution to their security. However, with a Trump administration poised to lean on burden-shifting, European leaders may find that these excuses fail to win them much of a reprieve.

Fortunately, solutions to Europe’s security deficit are within reach. At a minimum, Europe’s nations will need to increase spending, augment the size and readiness of existing militaries, and source needed systems and platforms. These steps will require political choices about prioritization, but they are not unsolvable.

And if Trump and his advisors are serious about getting Europe to do more, they have options. If the biggest problem is a lack of political imagination on the part of European leaders, then Trump is well-placed to shock them into action by making some of his past threats credible.

The most obvious step would be to withdraw a substantial number of U.S. military forces from Europe soon. This is easier than it sounds. Under former President Joe Biden, the number of U.S. military forces in Europe increased by at least 20,000. With the risk of broader war in Europe far lower than in 2022, these forces could be pulled back without significant risk or hassle. This would signal to Europe that Trump’s team is serious about rapid burden-shifting.

Trump’s team can also lean on existing institutions to directly off-load defense responsibilities onto European states. NATO’s force-planning process—which sets capability requirements for the alliance—is one such mechanism. Washington could set aggressive force and capability targets for NATO’s European members. Defense plans could be rewritten to give European forces primary responsibility in certain scenarios, pushing them to assume a bigger role and providing a more acute motivation to build their military forces.

Even the war in Ukraine offers opportunities. For the most part, the war has served as an impediment to discussions and investments needed to make burden-shifting a reality. Reducing U.S. involvement in the war in Ukraine itself can be a step toward a more balanced U.S.-European defense relationship, allowing the administration to push Europe to step up and meet some of Ukraine’s armament or funding needs outside the U.S. security umbrella. Just as important is that Trump’s team should not let European states use Ukraine as a stalling tactic to push off conversations about their own security.

Pursuing a hard line on burden-shifting may come with trade-offs for the United States, too. There may be limits to how much cooperation the Trump administration can expect on economic issues, such as trade and export controls on China, while it presses Europe on security and defense issues. Yet, in the long run, getting Europe to carry the responsibility for its own defense would be worth the reduced economic alignment, particularly if it allows the United States to focus its own resources more squarely on more important economic and security priorities.

However hard the Trump administration chooses to press Europe, though, it is increasingly acknowledged in Washington—even among diehard trans-Atlanticists—that burden-shifting is coming to NATO. European leaders may have lulled themselves into a false sense of optimism, believing that they have figured out the formula to persuade Trump. But his concerns on European defense are no longer a passing whim; they are increasingly common wisdom. Europe needs to wake up to reality: Its security freeriding is over.

[companion-showdown]

Family Feud Nominations, Who is the Best Doctor Who Family

If I've missed a character out of one of the families let me know (within reason, I imagine all these families are massive in the EU, so prioritise tv or significant characters)

Currently, the only rule is no families may inculde anyone who is even ambiguously The Doctor, it'll get super complicated super fast imo

Any characters, eg River, who can link up multiple different families to create a single massive family unit will be treated on a case by case basis. If it is possible to pick one of the smaller family units that they are a part of to include them in while not including them in any of the others (in a way everyone will agree at least makes sense) they will be included in that family only, otherwise they will not be included

Please bare in mind when you are nominating that I am hoping to keep the number of nominations under 64 to run this as a mini-tournament. This is not a hard rule so if nominations do exceed 64 its not a big deal, just something I'd like everyone to bare in mind

Nominees

Foreman-Campbell (Susan, David, Alex)

Chesterton-Wright (Ian, Barbara, implied to be married after they leave)

McCrimmon (Jamie, Heather, V.M.McCrimmon, various others)

Waterfield (Victoria, Edward (father))

Lethbridge-Stewart (Kate, The Brigadier, Doris (Brig's wife in Battlefield), Archibald Hamish (TUAT), Gordon (Kate's son in Downtime), Kadiatu, The Great Intelligence, Lucy Wilson)

Grant/Jones (Jo, Cliff, Santiago (Jo's grandson in Death of the Doctor))

Smith (Sarah-Jane, Lavinia (aunt), Brendan Richards, Luke, Sky, Mr Smith, K9 (they are her family and I will not be hearing otherwise), Barbara, Eddie (parents in Temptation of Sarah-Jane Smith))

Leela, Andred, Veega, Rayo

Adric and Varsh (brothers)

Nyssa, Tremas, and Kassia (daughter, father, step-mother)

Jovanka (Tegan, Vanessa (aunt in Logopolis), Colin (cousin in Arc of Infinity))

Turlough (Vislor, Malkon (brother in Planet of Fire))

McShane (Ace, Audrey (mother), Kathleen (grandmother), Liam (brother))

Tyler (Rose, Jackie, Pete, Tony (baby mentioned in Journey's End), no I will not be adding the metacrisis to this list)

Another Smith (Mickey, Rita (grandmother))

Slitheen

Harkness (Jack, Grey, parents, Alice Carter (daughter), Steven Carter(grandson))

Isolas (Fear Her)

Jones (Martha, Francine, Clive, Tish, Leo, Leo has a baby as well, Adeola Oshodi)

The Family of Blood

Redfern-Smith (Joan, John (various), possible dream children and grandchildren)

Shafe Kanes (from Utopia, Kristane, Beltone)

Mott-Noble-Temple (Donna, Sylvia, Wilf, Shaun, Rose)

The Adipose

Pond-Williams (Amy, Rory, River, Brian, Anthony, Amy's aunt and parents)

Owens: (Craig, Sophie, Stormageddon Dark Lord of All)

Gillyflower (Mrs Gillyflower, Ada)

Paternoster (Jenny, Vastra, Strax)

Oswald (Clara, Ellie, Dave (parents), grandmother, and I'm going to say Danny makes the cut, Orson)

Potts (Bill, Mother, Moira (foster mother))

O'Brien-Sinclair (Graham, Ryan, Grace, Aaron (Ryan's father))

Khan (Yaz, Najia (mother), Hakim (father), Sonya (sister), Umbreen (grandmother))

Lewis (Dan, Eileen (mother), Neville (father))

Swarm and Azure

Bel, Vinder and their as yet unborn child

Sunday (Ruby, Carla, Cherry, many many foster siblings)

The TARDIS and Lolita

Little House of Cwej

The House of Lungbarrow (Grandfater Paradox, Qenceus, Inocet, various cousins, Irving Braxiatel, Maggie Matsumoto, Ulysses, Penelope GAte, Anna Joyce)

The House of Dvora (Morbius, The War King, Thessalia, Romana, various others)

Langer (Clyde, Carla (mother), Paul (father))

Jackson (Maria, Alan, Chrissie)

Chandra (Rani, Haresh, Gita)

The Wu Diaspora (Cindy Wu and her clones)

Munmeth and Mutmunna (Medicine Man)

Ada and Alice Obiefune

Who (Susan, Barbara, Louise)

Jones-Davies (Ianto, Rhiannon, Johnny, David, Mica)

Summerfield (Bernice, Issac, Claire, Jason Kane, Peter, Wolsey, Keith, Rebecca, Cousin Eliza, Benedict I-IV, Christine)

Miller (Lucie, Pat (aunt))

Schofield (Hex, Cassie, Hilda)

House of Witforge (Narvin, Lenaris, Helico, Narvin's father, Rexin)

Faction Paradox

Pollard (Charley, Louisa, Richard, Margaret, Edward Grove, The Sound Creature)

Mesh Cos, Lon Shel, Julian White Mammoth Tusk

Cooper-Williams (Gwen, Rhys, Anwen, Geraint, Mary (Gwen's parents))

Chenka (Liv, Tula, Kal, Garlon Rosh)

Sinclair (Helen, Albie, Trev Bailey)

Forrester

Proctor (Cleo, Jordan, parents)

Nominations will be open until Midday Friday (03/05, 12:00 BST (GMT/UTC +1)), I will try and give a more specific time then

[dj-triumph]

*Jesus Voice*

It.

Is.

FINISHED.

I have at last seen the 2004 Phantom movie in full. Here's what I got in the final quarter. If you have borne witness to my rambles, thank you. It has been a journey.

- The way the audience hears Don Juan Triumphant and immediately all their ears are bleeding lol fair. What is this set, though? Don Juan is having a bonfire? Yeah yeah “the flames will at last consume us,” I get it. Say less.

- ERIK DESCENDING UPON PIANGI WITH HIS FLUTTERING CAPE. OK BATMAN.

- I can't believe Gerry is shirt-open functionally nude in PONR compared to my man stage!Erik wearing a fucking Ghost of Christmas Future shroud with only his shaking Hands to demonstrate his abject horniness. They're trying to put the PORN in PONR and everybody is watching like 👀👀👀👀👀 and yet somehow this is one of the least sexy PONRs I have ever seen? I miss Mommy Christine and the two of them fighting for dominance :(((((

- fkdjsflaksjd he put his hands on her and Christine really said "choke me daddy" I'm sCREAMING. This girl is like 98% micro-expressions but her main expressions are just👁️👄👁️ or 🫦

- Erik stop SMIRKING

- when they begin their descent into hEEEELLLLL and Erik asks "why???" I swear he's asking her why she tore off his mask. I am also not exactly sure what Emmy's Christine hoped to achieve in that scene either tbh

- Daroga, come get your boy Raoul!!! Keeping his hand at the level of his eyes ain't doing shit for him while he's drowning! That's an excellent scene. The recurring trap door usage is fun. It's a little bit Scooby Doo in a good way.

- This Final Lair ain’t doing it for me y’all. Where is the chemistry, the manic chaos, the suspense, the accusations, the shattered fantasies, the suffocating combination of fear and despair and love!!! Fuck me UP please I beg!!! The blocking is as bizarre as the 25th anniversary but now it reads as dungeon BDSM with unsafe rope play, and everyone is wet but not in a fun sexy way...

- There was no reason to have Erik smash three (3) mirrors at the end. One would've been fine, I think. He's such a pretty crier, which isn't very Erik in my opinion, but alas. They are all pretty Single TearTM criers.

- I am retracting my comments about his deformity not being "enough." The reason the Exposed Brain helps sell it on stage is because some of us are watching these shows from the second balcony back row, so for a movie it's not as necessary

- Erik lives! *Frankenstein voice* HE'S ALIIIIIVE!!! But if Christine died two years ago, and that ring he left on her grave hasn't been snatched up by passersby, this implies Erik left it recently?? As if he knew Raoul was coming?? Erik PLEASE she is already dead, there's no reason to fight her husband

Okay admittedly this all might’ve packed more of a punch if I hadn’t spread out my watch over the span of a week and tried to finish it while fighting with my cat! Probably this film deserved my undivided attention, but this gets like a B- idk it was cute. I'll think about it. ANYWAY back to writing E/C sickfic---

[glassprism]

This may be an odd question, but do you think the Phantom is as “powerful” as he really claims or is it more psychological? Like physical do you think Raoul is as strong as he is? For example if he actually dod keep his hands at the level of his eyes and avoiding the lasso, Do you see him being able to (to put it bluntly) knock the phantom out or subdue him to escape or get him arrested? I like to think if the Phantom didnt “turn nice” and let them go they could have still won somehow..

P.S. I may have asked this on a couple pages to get different opinions I hope that is ok

I think there are a bunch of related but also separate questions, so I'll just tackle each one.

First, is the Phantom as powerful as he claims? Well, in my memory, I don't think the Phantom actually claims to really be that powerful at all. He claims to be the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Music, all of that, and at specific moments he will make a threat, albeit a nebulous one ("...a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!" "Remember, there are worse things than a shattered chandelier!"). But the occasions where he does make some powerful claims are pretty limited, in my opinion, and usually happen only when he's around Christine.

And that makes sense when you think about what he is: he is just a man, though a very intelligent and manipulative one, hiding within an opera house. Much of his power relies on using subterfuge and trickery and veiled threats - so yes, psychological, not physical. His power lies in his mystery and people not knowing what to expect from him. Because at the end of the day, no, he isn't as powerful as to take on an entire opera house; were they to realize this and turn on him, he has nothing against sheer numbers. And in fact we see this at the end: once his spell has broken and the mob is in his home, his only choice is to flee; he cannot fight all of them - though he still relies on one last trick to do so.

I suppose that also answers your second question: is he as strong as Raoul? Again, we don't really know, except perhaps in non-replicas or restagings where the two engage in fist or sword fights, but in those, and I'd argue in the replica as well, I'd say the answer is no; the Phantom is pretty soundly defeated in them. And yeah, part of that feels like plot armor - Raoul basically can't be defeated because he's needed in the final scenes - but I would also argue that the Phantom is well aware of this, which again, is why he relies on tricks like the fireball - or sneaking up on Raoul and trapping him in the lasso (or a cage if you're Vegas).

And that leads to your last statement. I know it's not a question, but I want to address it as one: could Raoul and / or Christine have escaped if the Phantom hadn't redeemed himself? I wanted to talk about it mainly because the statement implies that if the Phantom did not resort to physical strength or psychological tricks, the pair could figure out a way to get away from him, but I think that discounts one last but very important factor: the Phantom's emotional hold on Christine, which then extends to Raoul. Because I think the show makes it very clear that Christine holds very conflicting feelings on the Phantom, going from fear to pity to compassion, and a great deal of her journey is resolving all of those.

So I think the question of whether the two could escape is very up in the air (and thus ripe for fanfic fuel). Christine might resist the Phantom all the way, in which case she and Raoul might "win" over the Phantom. But what if that doesn't happen? What if she resists initially but starts to succumb to her sympathetic feelings for him? What if she strikes a deal and goes along with the Phantom out of a combination of wanting to save Raoul and feeling sorry for the Phantom? What if she genuinely starts to fall for the Phantom? Because if any the latter options occur, this potentially puts Raoul in a bind, because doing anything to the Phantom could lead to hurting Christine in some shape or form. It might not even be what she wants anymore, escaping the Phantom.

So yeah, that's my thoughts on the whole thing.

[dross-the-fish]

I’m sorry if this is a very touchy simple but I just kind of want to make sure that I got it right, but did Erik groom Christine?

Based on my interpretation of the book I'm going to tentatively say no. He certainly lied to Christine, and he manipulated her but I wouldn't go so far as to say it fell into grooming territory. The moment the jig is up Christine has no problem confronting him on it and immediately tries to get him to let her go. Erik also doesn't really try to use the "Angel of Music" persona in the same way again after he's come clean because he knows she's not going to fall for it. I'm also not sure how young Christine actually was when the whole "Angel of Music" thing started but if she's in her early 20's in the book I think it's safe to say she wasn't a small child like the 2004 movie version of the musical seems to imply.

Who TF even made this choice....why would you do that? DX The 2004 movie also has her around 16 years of age based on the birth date on her grave stone but that could be an oversight (I really HOPE it's an oversight and not her actual intended age) still...I feel like you could make more of a grooming case for this movie/musical because of her age and the fact that Erik keeps invoking the references to the angel of music and her deceased father, even after the lie falls apart. In "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" it's always been ambiguous to me if it's her father Christine is mourning or the Angel of Music, particularly because right after that song ends Erik takes advantage of her grief and tries to lure her back in "Have you forgotten your Angel?" and he seems to have much more of an emotional pull over her than his book counterpart after the unmasking scene.

[fairuzfan]

I think it's irresponsible to imply gender identity determines whether you're capable of rape. The OP of that post about Christine is openly arguing with anyone who has even a basic question about documented court proceedings. Christine didn't gain some new ability when she came out as transwoman that removed her from taking any accountability for actual crimes. Being trans has literally nothing to do with whether or not she could harm someone. In fact, her charges were literally dismissed as a result of Christine being autistic. I recognize she's faced transphobic harassment, and endured transphobia from the prison system, and I'm not going to act as though that didn't harm her. It just doesn't make her automatically innocent either.

I am sad that she suffered so much hatred and harassment from others. But I think it's disingenuous to suggest trans women turn to rape when they're lonely and have faced online hate. Many trans women face harassment, and to argue that they're some sort of poor walking time bombs that can't be saved or held accountable if they then raped someone is just weird to me. Rape is rape no matter who is doing it. Unfortunately that post and the replies just reads as TIRFy to me. I think Christine deserves an apology from KiwiFarms, certainly. Anyhow, have a nice day. Hope I don't sound harsh.

??? I'm so confused because one of the main responses was from a transwoman.

Also i thought everyone knew what happened to Christine was a result of years long harassment campaigns???? Because she is trans and autistic??? Very confused by this ask ngl.