Girl from the Bukid

It is all rather unremarkable, but here for your reference is yesterday’s itinerary:

3-4 a.m. Rise. Regret this decision. Ingest caffeine. 

4:15 a.m. Feed and praise the cat.

4:30 a.m. First rounds about the opera. 

4:45 a.m. Deposit chocolates in box five for Antoinette Giry.

5:30 a.m. Rounds complete; return home.

5:33 a.m. Belatedly notice I have neglected to wear shoes for rounds.

5:34 a.m. Belatedly realize that this is likely advantageous, as it reduces noise.

5:35 a.m. Absentmindedly wonder if rogue maintenance workers have seen the Opera Ghost clad in his stocking feet on the rafters.

5:36 a.m. - 1:45 p.m. Compose. Occasional cat-praising breaks.

1:47 p.m. Cat-praising breaks evidently do not occur often enough; cat irritably swats over inkwell, damaging the fifth movement. 

1:50 p.m. - 3:00 p.m. Obliged to rewrite fifth movement with one hand; the other steadily pets the cat to prevent further messy incidents. Cat purrs contentedly. Cat owner experiences a fuzzy, pleasantly warm feeling somewhere in the region of his rib cage.

3:01 p.m. Ingest sustenance. Cat wanders off, likely bent on destroying prized possessions.

3:03 p.m - 3:30 p.m. Answer correspondence, including one from Giry: “Eat these chocolates yourself–you look a fright. Have also included baguettes. Eat immediately. -A.”3:40 p.m. Post response: “Do not tell me what to do. -E”

3:50 p.m. Receive her response: “Do not fuck with me, Erik. Eat the goddamn chocolates, or so help me. -A.”

3:56 p.m. Oblige out of mild fear; do not wish to repeat the Groin Incident. Consume three chocolates; leave the rest for Christine, Antoinette, and her daughter. Keep bread. They once rioted for that sort of thing, you know.

4:00 p.m. Wards blare. An intruder? I no longer relish murder on a regular basis. Close eyes and will visitor away.

4:03 p.m. Wards continue to blare. Sigh heavily. Retrieve lasso. Cat blinks at me approvingly from atop the divan. Such a good girl.

4:05 p.m. Worse than an intruder; Nadir. 

4:06 p.m. “How the devil do you continually best the traps? Must I simply shoot you on sight?”

4:06 p.m. “You only ate three chocolates, Erik.”

4:06 p.m. “Leave at once, Daroga.”

4:06 p.m. “Must I eat the rest myself?”

4:07 p.m. “Abscond, flea.”

4:07 p.m. “Admittedly, I did sample the almond toffees. Delicious. Here, take the box.”

4:07 p.m. “Do not hand me–”

4:07 p.m. “I brought shiraz.”

4:07 p.m. “I suppose you’d like a medal. Goodb–”

4:08 p.m. Daroga steps over threshold; settles comfortably on divan. Cat purrs happily and curls into a ball in his lap. Am now obliged to entertain. Would rather contract the bubonic plague in 14th century Venice.

4:15 p.m. Sample shiraz. Grudgingly admit it is pleasantly inoffensive.

4:15 - 5:00 p.m. - Grudgingly enjoy reminiscing. Daroga is maddeningly reasonable and affable as always. Multiple inquiries after my health and potential new crimes. Lie splendidly.

5:01 p.m. “Liar.”

5:01 p.m. “Drunkard.”

5:02 p.m. After several drinks, Daroga admits to a romantic affection for Antoinette. Admires her “spunk.”

5:03 p.m. Dissolve into hysterics; may have ruptured a vital organ.

5:04 p.m. “Oh, shut up, Erik.”

5:05 p.m. Bliss–Christine arrives.

5:05 p.m. Lovely confusion upon her face. “What’s so funny?”

5:05 p.m. “Nothing, Mademoiselle Daae–your friend here has had a tad too much to drink.” Nadir says it rather too quickly.

5:06 p.m. “Abominable liar.”

5:06 p.m. Inexplicably decide to refrain from voicing Nadir’s confession, likely due to several empty glasses discarded on the table before me. Feel uncharacteristically charitable. In horrifying danger of adding a pep to my step. 

5:07 p.m. Nadir leaves. Charms Christine, as always. He shoots a warning glance my way. I raise my brows suggestively beneath the mask; he cannot tell, of course. Realize I may be a tad drunk.

5:07 p.m. Christine squints up at me. “Are you drunk?”

5:07 p.m. “No,” I say seriously, and then plant a firm kiss on her rosebud lips. She laughs, silvery, full–ah, bliss!

5:10 p.m. “Did you eat the chocolates Antoinette sent you?” 

5:10 p.m. "Oh, for the love of–”

5:45 p.m.- 7:00 p.m. Lessons. A loose term, now–she is more than adept. Ecstasy of that voice. She makes several insightful suggestions as to the direction of my score. She laughs, adds the odd dry comment here and there. Moves from Pamina to the Queen with ease. Brushes my hand fondly with her own. Another kiss. I could die in peace.

7:15 p.m. Break. I watch her leave the room like a lovesick idiot. The cat trots after her; they have reached a tenuous truce. 

7:45 p.m. Returns. Announces she has prepared dinner. Darling thing.

7:50 - 9:00 p.m. Dinner surprisingly enjoyable. She has only burned a quarter of it this time. Progress. Easy conversation. Ah, my love. The cat knocks over a candelabra. I do not notice until the flame reduces a bit of the rug to a pile of cinders. Stomp it out hurriedly. Little damage. Christine scolds her; hissing ensues. Hairball deposited on hem of Christine’s dress. Truce shattered. 

9:00 - 10:00 p.m. Return to rehearsals. Mastery on her part. I’ve nothing more to teach her. I tell her as much. Why, I wonder, does she persist in this ill-advised affection? Response: Kisses. She pulls away slowly, murmurs, “The wise know there is always more to learn.” She sounds, I tell her, like an old philosopher; why the sudden introspection? “Wine,” she says by way of explanation, giggling, breaking the sudden gravity. It is delicious.

10:05 p.m. She departs. 

10:06 p.m. She returns. “I’m going with you,” she says.

10:06 p.m. I frown. “Where?”

10:06 p.m. She waves a hand absentmindedly. “When you go skulking about the opera tonight.”

10:06 p.m. “I do not skulk,” I say as I skulk to the closet to retrieve my cloak.

10:06 p.m. “I’m going with you,” she says.

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story. 

Historical AU 

Royal AU 

Modern AU 

Coffee Shop AU 

Bar/Restaurant AU 

Bookshop AU 

Florist AU  

Hospital AU 

Dance AU 

Airport/Travel AU 

Neighbour AU 

Roommate AU 

Detective AU 

Bodyguard AU 

Criminal AU 

Prison AU 

War AU 

Circus AU 

Summer Camp AU 

Teacher AU 

Dystopian AU 

Space AU 

Performer AU 

Soulmate AU 

Fairy Tale AU 

Massage Fic  

Sick/Injured Fic 

Proposal Fic  

Wedding Fic  

Holiday Fic  

Birthday Fic 

Pregnancy Fic  

Baby Fic 

Vacation Fic  

Bathtub Fic 

Text/Letter Fic 

Coming Out Fic   

Grief Fic  

Survival/Wilderness Fic  

Almost Kiss 

First Kiss 

The Big Damn Kiss 

Dance of Romance  

Flowers of Romance 

Chocolate of Romance  

Blind Date  

Not a Date  

Fake Dating 

Fake Married 

Arranged Marriage  

Accidentally Married 

Marriage of Convenience 

Mutual Pining 

Secret Relationship  

Established Relationship 

Awful First Meeting 

Forgotten First Meeting  

Accidental Eavesdropping  

Interrupted Declaration of Love 

Poorly Timed Confession 

Love Confession 

Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C)  

Everybody Knows/Mistaken for Couple 

Star Crossed Lovers  

It’s Not You, It’s Me 

It’s Not You, It’s My Enemies  

Character in Peril 

Heroic Sacrifice 

Flirting Under Fire 

Locked in a Room 

Twenty-Four Hours to Live  

Stranded on A Desert Island 

Stranded Due to Inclement Weather 

Huddling for Warmth 

Bed Sharing  

Did They or Didn’t They? 

In Vino Veritas  

Above the Influence  

Anger Born of Worry  

Green-Eyed Epiphany  

The Missus and the Ex 

Second Love  

Intimate Artistry  

Married to the Job  

Innocent Physical Contact 

I Didn’t Mean to Turn You On 

Aroused By Her Voice  

Erotic Dreams 

First Time 

Unexpected Virgin 

PWP 

Kink 

Makeovers 

Hair Brushing/Braiding 

Sleep Intimacy 

Scars  

Time Travel  

Curses 

Magical Accidents 

And what’s funny is she played it smart — not only by giving herself some plausible deniability by writing it about high schools and colleges in general rather than just about our school, but also by calling out the worst sports specifically. She could have left it at ALL student athletes, but by explicitly stating that football and basketball are the worst perpetrators, she won all the other athletes to her side — golf, tennis, swimming, track. Instead of having all student athletes at her throat, she turned everyone against the basketball and football teams.

Supposedly, Cherik was born in the third part of the astrological month (July 12−22), since in this period musicians, writers and artists are often found.

I will talk about Erik from the point of view of his zodiac.

(Beautiful art by @rosemarycountess)

Outwardly always calm, friendly, pliable person. Erik is polite, he has good manners, he is helpful and gallant with those who respond to him with the same friendliness. A bit old fashioned, it is the epitome of the classic school of gentlemanly manners.

His strengths - craving for creativity, care, prudence, tenderness.

Erik points out that he is not as simple as he wants to appear; he yearns for power, but power is not obvious, but hidden, secret, through magic. In his subconscious, Erik is immersed in the inner world, in the past, where he is looking for a meeting with himself. This Erik is a nature lover and knows how to see beauty around him - this sense of beauty in him is highly developed. He likes solitude by the water.

Very prone to feelings and vulnerable. From the side it may even seem cold, but this is just his face shield mask. He reacts sharply to negative events and criticism. It is characterized by compassion. And actions are more often based not on logic, but on feelings and emotions. When the Maestro has a good mood - this is a charming man, a sensitive companion, a soft and gentle creature. But sometimes calm, he becomes sad. Due to the negligence of the interlocutor, his gallantry gives way to violent sharpness. The world around him seems evil, people are absurd, he becomes suspicious, finds fault with trifles, plunges into irritation or melancholy, spreading his mood to those around him. This Erik is a born psychologist, with a deep understanding of the causes of phenomena, a strong desire to get to the heart of the problem. He knows how to listen carefully and support the interlocutor.

However, if you want to know the secrets of communication with the Maestro, then remember that this man needs the sympathy of the person with whom he communicates; he makes no sharp talk or strong criticism, regardless of whether it is deserved or not. In this obsession, Erik draws strength for another life, namely intense dreams, a flight of fancy and inner dialogues. The Maestro is capable of frequent feelings, he has a lot of emotions and a sensitive soul, so he should be treated with caution. Often, Erik can exaggerate the complexity, in his rich imagination trivia grows into problems, a petty quarrel seems to him a drama. The Maestro is either merry, sometimes sad, then friendly, sometimes gloomy, laughter gives way to tears and he jokes again and cries again in his soul. And all these feelings are sincere. So its that vulnerability is large enough, and the imagination only aggravates it. Thus, Erik’s imagination can bring to depression. He can get sick from feeling unnecessary, superfluous, unloved, from what he thought he was being treated badly. The love of art and innate creativity help him to succeed in the musical field.

Erik is very attached to his family, especially his mother. The Maestro absorbs the feelings and emotions of those around him, but he tries to keep his own. In love, he is devoted, but does not forget about himself and his desires.

He prefers to take the first step towards rapprochement, but then chooses a passive expectation of feelings from the partner. He is very receptive to beauty, loves physical intimacy, but is shy and looking for real feelings. Without true love, Erik quickly becomes disillusioned in a relationship and continues to search for real feelings. The Maestro is deeply and strongly experiencing the birth of relationships within himself, but outwardly this does not show and is kept closed and even somewhat cold. But in the depths of his soul, this Erik dreams of great love. He needs to be understood, protected and pitied. And when he makes sure that such a partner is next to him, he becomes soft, sentimental and sensitive. Oh, the Maestro is capable of drowning a girl in tenderness… His loyalty and close attention to his beloved makes him one of the best lovers among all the Phantoms. Not very confident in the external environment, calm Erik, very hot and passionate partner in love. His sensitivity makes him a skillful lover.

 But the one who loves this person should know that he needs to talk about love, and he does not get tired of listening to it. And he does not get tired to love in return: this is a very faithful Erik, his feelings are not cool. He is very afraid of losing his friend, his beloved, afraid of separation, although he is able to wait for years…

Like I thought I was just acquaintances with this person because they never told me details about themselves and we just talked movies and writing . But then they made time to have coffee with me and they showed up out of breath because they ran. Like. RAN to be on time for coffee with me?

And I was like “i don’t mind waiting” cause I never want to run

But they said they wanted every minute they could get because I’m so busy usually

Which is when it clicked that I didn’t get how much they considered me a friend because I just straight away didn’t see MY signs of affection in them and went “cool! Casual buds it is.” But now that I’m seeing their signs of affection, I feel a little silly for dismissing them like that even though I felt like we could be best bros.

TOUCH got a bro that likes to give high fives? Back slaps? Are they a hugger? Do they not blink an eye at cuddles?

QUALITY TIME this bro will (as op stated) sprint to spend every minute possible with you. Every second that you guys are together is a declaration of affection.

WORDS does your bro tell you how amazing and great and fantastic and wonderful you are all the time? Guess what…?

GIFTS do they buy you coffee? Snacks, energy drinks, spot you at the restaurant? Did that one key chain removed you of them? Ding ding!

ACTS are they always doing things for you? Ie: Nah bro, I got this, I can do that, need me to get anything for you, I can help with…?

also me: 

“And you are light to me…”

The worst pain I have ever known has been the pain of childhood loneliness; the loneliness of the abused child who is ALL. ALONE. 

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it adequately described…but I can remember, in horrifying clarity, lying in my bed at 11 or 12 years old, body wracked with quiet sobs (so no one would hear me). I’m not sure if I was crying BECAUSE of the loneliness, but the pain would compound like that. It would go like this–not necessarily in word form, but feeling: “I hurt so much…I need help, I need comfort, who can I go to?” And I knew that my father, my mother, my mother’s boyfriend, my brothers–if I went to any of them, they would all tell me I was being ridiculous; calm down; what do you have to be upset about?; I’m busy/it’s late/stop being so selfish (for bothering me with your issues). 

And you’d realize there was no one, no one to go to. And the pain would erupt even further, because now you’re in pain because no one cares, but now no one cares that no one cares. And it could go on for hours like that: sob, anyone? No one! sob, sob, anyone…? No one! –and you’d wrack your brain for the millionth time, but no one new would appear: you’d thought of them all, and none were safe to go to.

It’s easy to say that there were probably teachers or guidance counselors who would have cared for me if I’d gone to them, but when you’ve been unloved and abandoned from birth, you don’t expect anything different from them–you’ve learned from your family that you would only be burdening this relative stranger with your inconsequential problems, and besides, the rejection would overwhelm you–all of the important adults in your life have cruelly hurt you when you were vulnerable; why would a teacher be any different?

So you just…lie in bed…you stay in your corner, your closet, wherever, alone, because alone is the only safe place to be. Aloneness, especially for a child, is a pit of misery; a pit of seemingly endless sorrow that just takes your breath away–and yet, it is STILL better than going to the monsters you know would hurt you when you’re most vulnerable. And you know that no one, NO ONE, cares, or will save you. 

And you grow up, and the pain is still there–no matter how many friends you make, you’re still alone. When the misery sets in, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve known your friends, how strong your bond supposedly is. You’re alone. You grip yourself, thinking your insides will just rip apart; how could one body, one soul, experience and contain this level of suffering and survive? But you do…you do. For me, if I just stick it out, it just…goes away, after a while. I numb out. “Dissociate,” probably. And it’s gone from my awareness…until the next time.

To this day, I still isolate when I feel this way…I’m terrified of rejection and abandonment; I’m terrified that even friends I’ve known for years will be unempathetic, bothered, annoyed–the worst: they’ll realize who I “really” am. All these years, they’d known me, or they thought they knew me–now they see the REAL me. This part of me they’d never known was there…and everything else collapses, the whole relationship ends, because I made one mistake, or just “was” a way that they were disgusted by.

If you ever felt/still feel this way, please reblog. I’ve never seen this sort of thing accurately described…never really felt that someone writing of loneliness really…really grasped this level of sorrow…this level of absolute solitude that only someone who’s never had anyone from the start, who’s only had predators for caregivers, can comprehend and sympathize with. 

Husband, to celebrate my fresh employment, decided to treat me with the newest and greatest piece of my collection. I am madly in love.